Elliot really was watching her.

After seeing how she broke up with Owen, he finally realized-so this is how she ends things with people.

Soft voice, hesitant farewell, that kind of reluctant sadness and helplessness-he could see it all clearly, even just standing there.

So gentle.

Not at all how she'd been with him.

Elliot let out a dry laugh and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray by the hallway.

As he walked past Owen, his steps slowed for a second-he'd caught a whisper from the man.

"I'm not breaking up. No way I'm giving up on her..."

Even though Owen was still stuck in his heartbreak, he could feel the overwhelming pressure from this stranger walking by. He glanced at the man-clean-cut, refined, practically screamed money-and hesitantly asked, "Who... who are you?"

Someone like him, if he were from Draycott, Owen definitely would've heard of him.

Elliot didn't answer. Just gave a fleeting glance and walked off like nothing happened.

The impression he left behind though-too striking. Perfect looks, even sharper aura-and completely unfamiliar.

Out of nowhere, Owen remembered what Charisse had said only minutes ago:

"I like someone else now."

Meanwhile, Charisse had just hopped into a cab, nearly shouting at the driver to floor it to Northgate General Hospital.

Just half a minute earlier, she'd gotten a call from Claire Abbott.

Her dad was in critical condition.

By the time Charisse arrived, her father had already been rushed into emergency surgery. Her aunt Claire sat in the hallway, tears streaming down her face.

"Aunt Claire, what happened? Dad was fine earlier today! How did it get like this all of a sudden?"

Claire's eyes shifted, avoiding hers. "It was... Clayton's people."

The name sounded like a punch in the gut.

Calling Clayton Ellis a kingpin of Draycott was putting it lightly. He'd gotten rich off the shady business years ago, and even though he'd cleaned things up since, everyone knew he still had his hands in some underground pie-usury, for one.

Charisse had seen the thugs he sent out to collect money-absolute nightmares. Thuggish, violent, and a few even drove people to their deaths. Total desperadoes.

And unlucky them-her family had taken a loan from him.

The principal had been paid off long ago, but the interest had ballooned to something massive. With Clayton's crew, debts like that weren't just forgiven.

"So they came to collect again? That what made my dad so stressed he collapsed?"

"No, not about the debt this time..." Claire's voice faltered. "It's..."

She hesitated, lips trembling, before she finally forced it out. "Clayton said... he wants to marry you. If you agree, he'll write off all the debt-and cover your father's medical bills too."

"To Clayton?" Charisse's voice shot up. "His son's over ten years older than me!"

Claire kept her gaze low, clearly uncomfortable, wringing her hands.

Charisse's face turned colder by the second. "Aunt Claire... please don't tell me you said yes."Claire froze, panicking as she stared at her. "Charisse, I didn't have a choice... I swear..."

So she really had said yes.

"I told you I'd figure something out about the debt, Aunt Claire. Was that really something you could just agree to on your own?"

Claire broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. "Charisse, you didn't see those people. They had a knife to my throat and said they'd slit it if I didn't agree..."

"And what could you do, really?" she continued, through her crying. "Look at how bad things are at home. You think there's anything a girl like you can do at this point? You've struggled for so long, has anything actually changed? No! You working part-time just isn't enough! Even me-I've been helping you all these years, and now I can't even afford your sister's tuition anymore, I-"

"I get it, Aunt Claire." Charisse cut her off, her voice flat. "You don't have to continue."

"Charisse, I'm not blaming you. I'm hurting too, okay?" Claire cried. "You're so young... you think I wanted you to marry some old guy in his fifties? But what else can we do? It's Clayton we're talking about! Even when your family was doing great, no one dared to mess with him-let alone now..."

"And after you agreed, then what?" Charisse's voice was steady, almost too calm.

"They said they'd be in touch. That was it."

Charisse stayed silent for a while before she finally said, "Alright, Aunt Claire. Go get some rest."

"But your dad..."

"I'll stay with him. You should go."

Claire tried a few more times to say something, but eventually left.

Charisse let out a long breath, slumping against the cold hospital wall like all her energy had drained out of her.

When she was four, Aunt Claire divorced and came to live with her mom. Her parents welcomed both her aunt and infant cousin into their home. For years, Aunt Claire and her cousin lived off her family.

Her parents had always been generous with them, giving them the best they could. After her mom passed when she was seventeen, Aunt Claire became the closest thing to family she had left besides her dad. Charisse had leaned on her a lot back then.

Even after the family went bankrupt, Aunt Claire still helped them out. But Charisse could feel it-things weren't the same anymore. That closeness was long gone.

And now, it hit her hard-outside of her dad, she had no one left.

She pulled out her phone and aimlessly scrolled through her contacts, not knowing who to call or talk to.

Just then, a news alert popped up: a female body was found near Clearstone River at 7 p.m. A comment below read, "Bet it's Clayton' people again."

But when she refreshed the page, the comment had vanished.

Clayton. A name that had basically become code for the devil in Draycott.

Charisse shut off her phone and hunched over, burying her face in her arms.

The surgery dragged on till dawn before her father was finally wheeled out. Though he'd made it past the worst part, he only woke up for a couple of minutes before slipping back into a deep coma.

A doctor called Charisse into the office, pointing at some scans while speaking seriously. "Your father's liver is in really bad shape. It's life-threatening. Our recommendation is a liver transplant as soon as possible."

Her eyes widened slightly. "A liver transplant?"

"Yes. The cost isn't the biggest issue-it's the organ. Right now, there's no compatible donor in our system, so your family should try to look elsewhere too. The sooner the transplant, the better the chance of recovery."

The relief Charisse had felt from not having to stress over her father's medical bills after getting that five million-it vanished in a flash.

She stumbled out of the office in a daze, then everything went pitch black. The next thing she knew, she was falling to the floor, hard.

She vaguely heard quick footsteps approaching, then felt a firm yet gentle pair of hands lifting her up. She tried to see who it was, but her vision blurred too badly to make out any features.

A familiar, calm voice asked, "Hey, are you okay?"

She couldn't answer. It wasn't until she'd been carried onto a hospital bed, rushed into the ER, and hooked up to an IV drip that the haze in her vision finally started to clear.

Not far away stood a tall figure in a white coat, his back facing her as he read through her chart.

She coughed twice the moment she tried to speak. The man turned around and gave her a warm smile. "Feeling better?"

Charisse nodded. "Yeah, much better. Thank you, Dr. Reid."

Maxwell Reid walked over. "I told you to come in every two months for a blood test. It's been six months."

"I didn't feel anything off, so I thought I was fine."

He gently rested the back of his hand on hers. "This cold? You really think that's fine?"

Charisse stayed quiet.Maxwell sat by her bed, his voice low and serious. "Anemia isn't a joke, Charisse. You've got a rare condition, you know you can't afford to get sick. If something goes wrong, it'll be impossible to even find compatible blood for you."

The mention of blood brought back memories-his first time meeting Charisse.

Back then, he was just a med student, doing rounds with his mentor. That night, they were called to a luxurious villa to treat someone.

The patient was a teenage girl, unconscious, and the cause: massive blood loss. Yet there were no wounds.

Then he noticed dozens of tiny needle marks along her arm.

She eventually woke up, but soon someone came in, asking to draw more blood from her. His mentor refused firmly, but she insisted.

The doctor finally managed to find a clear spot among the bruises to insert the needle. "Did he make it?" she asked, her voice quiet.

The other doctor nodded. "Thanks to you, he's out of danger now."

She let out a shaky breath. "Good. That's all I wanted."

But the whole thing wrecked her. On top of donating too much blood, her mom passed away soon after. She was down for almost a year, and ever since, her body never fully bounced back. Anemia became a chronic issue.

Strangely though, she seemed to have blocked it all out-never brought it up again in all the years that followed.

Maxwell handed her a stack of meds and jotted a prescription. "Make sure you follow the schedule, all right? Set phone reminders, whatever it takes-don't keep forgetting."

"Got it. I'll take them on time and come back for check-ups."

"And about your dad's condition-I've heard too. Finding a matching donor is tough, but we're keeping an eye out. The hospital will contact you ASAP if there's any news."

She nodded, then hesitated, asking, "Is the hospital the only place to look for a donor?"

"There are some online forums too. I'll help you post something."

He didn't mention the black market-but she already knew it existed.

In Draycott, Clayton ran that scene.

After leaving the hospital, she headed to a hotel to hand over her shift.

Not long after, a group of tall, intimidating men approached her. "Miss Walton, Mr. Ellis would like a word."

The other hotel guests more or less figured out who they were-they kept their distance, only sneaking glances now and then.

Charisse knew there was no use resisting, so she got into the car without a word.

The man in the front seat turned around and said, "Mr. Ellis is attending a banquet tonight. He wants you to be his date. He apologizes if this feels sudden."

She looked out the window. "I'm just a nobody. Whether I forgive him or not doesn't really matter, does it?"

The luxury van drove her to the biggest club in Draycott-Midnight Bloom. She was led into a large lounge where stylists were already waiting, all prepped and ready.

Racks of designer gowns filled the room-some brands Charisse hadn't even heard of before.

"Miss Walton, Mr. Ellis picked out all of these. You can choose the one you like best," the stylist said with a sweet smile.

"You're the expert. Just pick one," Charisse replied, sitting down in front of the vanity, not sparing a glance at the dresses.

The stylists exchanged quick looks before pulling out the one they all agreed was the most stunning.

"This gown is from a renowned designer..."

"This one's fine," Charisse cut her off.

Seeing she truly had no interest, the stylist wisely stopped talking and began helping her change.

Charisse wasn't sure if coming here meant walking right into a trap, but she didn't really have a say. If she had to be dragged into this anyway, she might as well keep some dignity.

She stared at her own reflection, expressionless, not understanding why Clayton wanted to marry her. They'd never even crossed paths-she didn't even know what he looked like.

If it was only about her appearance, there were a million ways to get her here. No need for that whole "marriage" line.

The gown was champagne-colored, with a voluminous skirt-vintage, lavish. The makeup artist gave her a bold look to match her striking features and pinned up her long hair, adding a touch of regal elegance.

Charisse figured this must be exactly the type Clayton was into.

Once her styling was done, the others quietly left until she was the only one in the lounge. She figured he'd show up soon. Her phone was already on the screen for calling the police-not that it would help much.

But thirty minutes passed, and there was still no sign of him.

Frustrated for no clear reason, she furrowed her brows and stared at her reflection. Then she suddenly ripped the diamond hairpin out-her long hair tumbled down.

She didn't bother brushing it. Just roughly ran her fingers through it. Then she wiped off the scarlet lipstick, leaving a natural pink tint behind.

Messy hair. Odd makeup combo.

A soft knock came at the door. A staff member gently pushed it open a crack. "Miss Walton, please come with me."

Charisse stood up, her flowing dress trailing behind her like a cloud.Being the most lavish spot in Draycott, the top floor of Midnight Bloom wasn't something just anyone could waltz into. If you were hosting an event here, odds were you had some serious pull.

By the door sat a plant bigger than most people. As Charisse walked past, the hem of her dress caught on it.

She was about to free it when a hand got there first, gently easing the fabric away.

Her gaze followed the hand-sleek watch, beige suit-and finally landed on a face with a faint, polite smile.

The man wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but he had a presence-calm and steady, like a quiet stream or an old mountain.

His eyes, behind rimmed glasses, were warm and intellectual, the kind you'd expect from a seasoned professor. Time had left soft lines on his face, despite his careful grooming. Charisse had a hunch who he was, but the image didn't match her expectations. So she stayed quiet, unsure.

Then, bending slightly, he helped straighten out the layers of her dress, making sure it looked just right. He stepped back to admire her appearance and nodded. "That dress really suits you."

She blinked. "You are...?"

"Hi," he said, offering his hand with a deep, solid voice. "I'm Clayton."

Of course. Not a single thing about him matched what she'd imagined.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Ellis." She looked at him directly. "I heard you want to marry me?"

"I figured you'd ask about the party first," he said with a smile, then answered bluntly. "Yes."

"Mind telling me why?"

"Because I want to."

What kind of answer was that... Clearly, he wasn't planning on explaining-or didn't think he needed to.

"You don't have to worry about the wedding. I'll talk it over with your aunt. As for your father's liver transplant-I've already got people working on it."

That single sentence made it clear: Clayton had a complete handle on her entire life.

Out of nowhere, Charisse thought of Elliot. Did Clayton know about him, too?

Before she could dwell on it, Clayton had wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her into the opulent hall.

He looked refined and gentlemanly, but his grip told another story-firm, in control, and unmistakably possessive.

As soon as they entered, every eye in the room turned to them. Most landed on Charisse, their looks filled with curiosity and speculation.

Clayton didn't stop to greet anyone, just led her straight inward. Up ahead, a few people stood talking. One of them flicked a glance their way, and suddenly the whole group turned to look.

When her gaze met Elliot's, Charisse felt her heartbeat skip.

Clayton's smile softened. "Elliot, glad you made it."

He gave Charisse's waist a slight squeeze. "This is my fiancée," he said casually, "your future aunt."

Charisse froze. Clayton... was Elliot's uncle?

"Aunt?" Elliot raised an eyebrow, repeating the words with a hint of amusement.

Whatever Charisse was feeling right now-confusion, absurdity, maybe even anger-it all mixed into a swirling mess inside her.Elliot suddenly added, "Nice pick, Uncle. But... what's up with the cut on her lip?"