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?"

The faint pink of her lower lip was marred by a deep bite mark-pretty hard to miss.

People around her started trading looks, eyes shifting with all sorts of thoughts bubbling underneath.

The mood in the room dropped a few degrees.

Some folks recognized Charisse, and plenty knew about her connection to Owen. In their eyes, someone impulsive and hot-headed like Owen was way more likely to bite his girlfriend during a makeout session than the always-composed Clayton.

So, was Elliot throwing shade at his future aunt just to embarrass her?

Charisse's heart gave a small thud. She knew full well: if she handled this wrong and made Clayton lose face, it wouldn't end well for her.

"Oh yeah?" Clayton tilted her face up by the chin. "Let me take a look."

He said it with a smile, but there was a silent chill lurking in his gaze-the kind that came naturally from someone who'd spent years calling the shots.

Color rushed to Charisse's cheeks. She playfully smacked his chest and muttered under her breath with a pout, "You're the one to talk."

Just a few soft-spoken words, paired with that shy look of hers, made everything crystal clear. No guessing needed-everyone immediately caught on to who was responsible for that mark.

The tension in the room dissolved in a heartbeat. Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Seeing Clayton chuckle too, Charisse knew he was pleased with her response.

She turned to Elliot with a polite smile, "So, do I need to report our private matters to you in detail, Mr. Grant?"

His cool gaze slid over her face, picking up on her subtle challenge.

He gave a dry laugh. "No need."

This was Clayton's party, and Charisse had no choice but to stick close to him while wave after wave of people came up to toast.

Thankfully, with someone like Clayton, drinking wasn't mandatory. Lots toasted him out of courtesy, but he only actually drank from a select few. Naturally, no one dared push Charisse to drink either.

Still, plenty of people noticed the mark on her lip and couldn't help but think-this young woman might look sweet, but clearly she's got moves. Even someone as calm and controlled as Clayton lost his cool.

Others were more blunt: Clayton must really like her if he's willing to go public with their engagement like that. Whatever strategy she used, it worked damn well.

Soon, the judgmental glances softened into ones of admiration or even flattery. The vibe shifted.

"Come on, have a drink with Elliot," Clayton said to Charisse, the words casual but meaningful. "He's one of the best from the younger generation in our family."

Charisse smiled politely, raising two glasses and offering one to Elliot. "I can tell. Mr. Grant definitely stands out."

She added with flawless poise, "Here's to you."She leaned half against Clayton, lips curved in a bright, radiant smile like she was genuinely having the time of her life.

What was she so cheerful about, huh? Feeling smug 'cause she landed someone like Clayton?

Elliot swept a lazy glance at Clayton's hand resting on her waist. Then his long fingers flicked, brushing away Charisse's hand. Her wine glass tumbled from her grasp and crashed to the floor, a crisp shatter slicing through the noise-but still not as cold as his voice.

"Toasting me? You're not there yet. Save it for when you actually marry Clayton."

The crowd around them collectively held their breath. Really, Elliot didn't bother to save her any face-first the stunt with mentioning that bite mark, now knocking her glass? Dude clearly couldn't stand the soon-to-be aunt.

Everyone was silently cringing for Charisse. If they were her, they'd be looking for the nearest escape hatch.

But she? Not even a twitch of embarrassment. That poised, perfectly appropriate smile stayed locked on her face like nothing had happened. She downed the rest of her wine without missing a beat, graceful as ever.

"I'll make sure you're not kept waiting too long, Mr. Grant," she said with a lift of her brows.

Then she gave a light nod, her tone cool but confident. "When that day comes, I trust you'll know how to show a little courtesy to me, your new aunt."

Elliot narrowed his eyes at her. A low chuckle slipped out, deep and unreadable.

"Sure," he said slowly, "just hope you've got what it takes to last till that point."

"I'll make sure of it." Her chin stayed high, neck straight like a swan-elegant and unshaken.

With that, Elliot left, disappearing into the crowd. Clayton was soon pulled away by someone, leaving Charisse alone.

She didn't know anyone else here. So she quietly picked a quieter corner and walked over to sit down.

Not far away, a group of women were chatting-though calling it gossip would be more accurate. Charisse didn't need to listen in to know what they were saying. You could guess with your eyes closed-it definitely wasn't good.

"Looks like that Elliot guy wants nothing to do with his new aunt-to-be."

"Can you blame him? She's so young hooking up with someone like Clayton-it's gotta be for the money, right? With women like that digging for her uncle's cash, why would Elliot be nice to her?"

"Still, he's the junior here. If Clayton's set on marrying her, Elliot being rude won't change much. Nephew or not, he doesn't get a vote."

"What about Victoria Davis though? She acts like she's already Mrs. Ellis. Didn't she just deal with that wannabe influencer around Clayton last month? Word is, the body they fished out of the river yesterday? That was her handiwork. Swollen beyond recognition."

"Shhh-don't talk about that here, that's creepy."

"So... how long till Victoria decides to come after this new girl?"

"My guess? She already knows and is probably on her way here as we speak."