“Queena, if you come back now, I’ll still want you.”

Queena Ross stood there holding an umbrella, staring blankly at Spencer Russell, who had suddenly appeared in Melbourne. She didn’t snap out of it for a long time.

Four years had passed, and she never thought she’d see him again.

After all, she had left without a word and never expected to see him again.

After a moment, Queena snapped out of her shock at the unexpected reunion and spoke softly, “Spencer, I already have a fiancé.”

As soon as she finished speaking, a low chuckle echoed through the silent night.

Spencer held a cigarette between his fingers, his tone casual. “The man you’re talking about getting married to—is it him?”

He raised his phone and showed Queena a photo.

In the photo, a woman wore a fishtail white gown, holding a bouquet of pink and white hydrangeas, smiling as she turned her head to look at the man beside her, dressed in a suit.

The man had his arm around her shoulder, his lips slightly curled, his handsome features still carrying a hint of youthfulness, lacking the composure and maturity that comes with age and experience.

It was Will, the younger version of Will.

Queena lowered her head, staring intently at that face, as if she were in a dream.

The voice beside her ear completely shattered her dream.

“His name is Jerome Powell, the billionaire heir of the Powell Group. Four years ago, he went abroad for business and was kidnapped by rivals, disappearing without a trace. Over the years, the Powell Family has publicly claimed that Jerome is recovering abroad, but they’ve been secretly searching for him all along. Just recently..."

Spencer spoke with a faint smile: “The Powell Family's young master has recovered and returned home, announcing that he will hold a grand wedding for Ms. Powell in the middle of next month.”

“Jerome and Ms. Powell have already obtained their marriage certificate and have a five-year-old child. To be honest, you're the one who came later.”

Spencer stepped closer, reaching out to grab her wrist, but she reflexively pulled away.

Her dark eyes suddenly grew cold: “Still not giving up? Then let me see how long your love for him can last.”

Spencer wanted to show her Will's true colors, whether she agreed or not, and forcibly brought her back to the country.

He then took her to a birthday ball hosted by the Powell Family.

She knew today was Will's birthday.

In previous years, they had always celebrated it together.

She had even prepared a birthday gift a month ago.

But now, she could only hide in the shadows, staring intently at the man who claimed to be on a business trip in New Zealand.

She saw him quickly tap his phone a few times.

At the same time, Queena's phone received a message.

“Honey, there's a bit of a problem with the project at the last minute, and I'm afraid I won't be able to make it back. I'll work overtime tonight and try to fly back tomorrow morning. Go to bed early and don't wait up for me. We can celebrate the birthday anytime.”

Queena stared blankly at the message until her eyes grew sore. The lights in the hall suddenly dimmed, leaving only a single candle illuminating the family of three on the stage.

Jerome held a pink, delicate little girl in his arms, who was impatiently urging him to cut the cake.

“What’s the rush?” Sandra’s voice carried a smile as she looked up at Jerome. “Let Dad make a wish first.”

“It’s okay.”

Jerome chuckled softly, “The wish has already been made.”

He looked down at the little girl's sparkling eyes, then turned to Sandra's curved eyebrows, “It's all here.”

The Old Mr. and Mrs. Powell watched the family of three before them with satisfaction, their faces lit with smiles.

In the shadows of the corner, Queena clenched her fingers tightly, her nails digging into her palms until they hurt.

Sandra lowered her eyes and smiled, then raised them again, her gaze locking with Queena’s in the corner.

Her smile froze for a moment, then she turned her head nonchalantly, straightening Jerome’s tie with a gentle voice: “Jerome, since you’ve been back, little Sheila has really become much more cheerful. It truly proves the saying that blood is thicker than water.”

As if sensing something, Jerome instinctively followed her gaze.

When he saw Queena's face, his smiling expression suddenly darkened, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Old Mr. Powell and Mrs. Powell noticed his change in mood and turned to look. Their eyes swept over Queena like they were gliding over a thin layer of ice.

He then turned his head and instructed his trusted lieutenants beside him, “Is the Powell Family's banquet open to just anyone? Have someone escort her out, but make sure not to disturb the guests.”

Soon, two waiters arrived, one on each side, and lifted Queena up.

Her arms were gripped so tightly that it hurt.

Queena instinctively struggled a few times, but was held even tighter.

Jerome bent down to put the little girl in his arms down, just as he was about to approach, Sandra gently pulled on his sleeve, her eyes pleading, “Jerome, don't make a scene. Don't embarrass me, okay?”

Jerome pursed his lips and remained where he was.

Queena watched his movements and smiled bitterly.

She clutched the brown paper bag tightly and about to leave obediently, when the chubby, delicate young girl suddenly appeared in front of her and spat in her face.

“Get out of here, you wicked woman. Stop clinging to my father.”

Caught off guard, Queena was pushed hard and stumbled, unable to steady herself.

Her heel caught on the long skirt, and she heard the sound of the straps snapping.

Before she could react, most of her chest was exposed.

The crowd gasped in shock, followed by mocking laughter: “What does this mean? Is this Young Mr. Powell's mistress from abroad?” "

“She has come right in front of the main character. Is she trying to force the first wife to give up her position? Another overconfident fool.”

“It's just something that can't be put on the table.. As long as she's bold, energetic, and shameless, it's enough.”

“But to be fair, Young Mr. Powell is quite devoted. Even when seeking entertainment, he still has to find someone who looks like Ms. Powell.”

Queena ignored the pain from her side colliding with the table corner and the humiliating insults, wrapping her arms tightly around her chest.

The next moment, the towering champagne tower collapsed with a crash, yellow liquid mixed with shattered glass pouring down on her.

Queena fell to the floor, her hairpin loose, strands of hair stuck to her wet cheeks with the wine.

The room fell silent, dozens of eyes fixed on her like spotlights.

Queena hurriedly tried to push herself up, but her palm sank into a pool of sticky champagne. Sharp glass shards cut her palm, causing blood to seep out.

She awkwardly pulled her hand back. The champagne stains on her evening gown trickled down the folds, leaving dark and light marks on the smooth floor.

Jerome suddenly pushed his wife Sandra Sanders aside and took a step forward.

A dry retch suddenly broke the silence.

Sandra covered her mouth with both hands, crouched on the ground, her face pale.

Whispers erupted around them.

“Ms. Powell, could she be pregnant again?”

Jerome froze for a moment, then turned without hesitation, picked up Sandra from the ground, and hurried toward the restroom.

Queena clutched her aching heart, scrambling to her feet in a panic.

As she turned, tears finally overflowed.

It was pouring rain outside, but she didn't care and plunged into it.

She didn't have an umbrella and didn't run; she just walked slowly.

Someone with an umbrella hurried past her, muttering, “Why isn't that girl taking shelter?” But she didn't hear anything, only the sound of the rain pouring in her ears, like someone crying, or someone laughing.

In the puddles at her feet, her disheveled reflection was visible, her hair messy and stuck to her forehead, her eyes red and swollen.

She kicked a small pebble by the roadside, and it splashed a circle of water, which was quickly filled again by new rain, like the emptiness in her heart, which could never be filled.

After an unknown amount of time, Queena entered a convenience store, borrowed a phone from the clerk, and dialed her best friend’s number.

“I want you to help me stage a car accident where I fall into the sea. This time, I want to make the identity of Queena disappear from the world completely. I want everyone to be unable to find me.”

There seemed to be a sigh from the other side.

“Queena, loving one and marrying another is nothing unusual in this circle. Whether it's Spencer or Jerome, as long as you're willing...”

“Trista,”

Queena interrupted her, “If love isn't pure, then I'll remain single. All I've ever wanted is absolute favoritism. Since they can't give it to me, then I don't want any of it.” ”

Trista curled her lips silently: “You haven’t changed. Since you’ve made up your mind, I’ll find a way to send you away. I’ll commission a fake death agency to sign a fake death agreement in your name, with the date set for...”

“Mid-next month,”

Queena calmly took over the conversation: “On Jerome’s wedding day.”

“Alright,” Trista’s voice carried a hint of mischievous excitement, “Then let’s go big this time.”

Queena didn’t know how she planned to do it, but as long as the goal was achieved, it was fine.

From now on, she only wanted to disappear completely from their world.

Queena calmly thanked him, returned the phone, and walked out of the convenience store.

“How about it, are you clear your mind yet?”

She turned to look at Spencer leaning against the convenience store entrance but didn't speak.

“Queena,”

Spencer bent down, wiped the water droplets from her face, and said, “I can forgive you for having been with another man. Come back to me. How about it?”

The familiar, crisp scent of pine wood filled her nostrils, instantly pulling Queena’s memories far away.

She had followed Spencer for ten years.

At first, she was just a poor student he had casually sponsored.

Later, after he had tempted her to taste the forbidden fruit, their relationship had changed.

From the age of eighteen, when he brought her back to that villa.

It was he who led her out of the impoverished mountain village and helped her break away from the bloodthirsty family that favored sons over daughters.

Over the years, he had poured money and resources into her, turning her into the image of a wealthy heiress.

She naively believed Spencer loved her.

Until she accidentally heard the news of Spencer's upcoming engagement, and some nosy friends asked him how he planned to handle her.

The man lazily swirled his wine glass, lowering his eyes with a smile: “A pet I picked up—why would I release it just because I'm getting married?”

“Aren't you afraid your pet will run away on its own?”

Spencer smiled, speaking clearly: “It's just a creature begging for scraps. Once accustomed to a life of luxury, why would it ever want to leave?”

He had already given the answer to their relationship.

She was just a pet; he could keep her by his side or discard her at any time.

He gave her a life of abundance to completely break her wings and trap her in the abyss.

But he didn't know that someone who had lived in darkness since childhood wasn't afraid of the dark.

So, with the help of her best friend Trista, she left without a word, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find her.

I just didn't expect that after all the twists and turns, everything would come back to square one.“I don’t have a thing for being someone’s mistress. I never did, and I never will.”

Queena took a deep breath: “What happens between him and me is our own business. You don’t need to worry about it. Even if I break up with him, I won’t be with you either. I stopped loving you long ago.”

Spencer sneered coldly: “Very well.”

She would rather be the mistress of the man who had deceived her than lower herself for him.

Queena looked into his icy gaze and instinctively took a step back, but he suddenly grabbed her and pulled her forward, kissing her lips with familiarity and force.

The taste of blood mixed with rainwater spread across her tongue.

Queena clenched her fists and struck his chest fiercely, but it felt as futile as hitting a metal plate.

Until Spencer's fingertips traced the sensitive spot on her earlobe, causing her body to tremble violently. She suddenly dropped to her knees and collided with his abdomen, then, as his grip loosened, she gathered all her strength and slapped him across the face.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she realized what she had done.

Spencer glared at her with a dark expression, but the corners of his lips curled into a faint, almost sickly smile. “Have you calmed down??”

“If you're calmer, come back. I've been searching for you until I'm about to go mad.”

As soon as the words left her mouth,

a powerful beam of light from a car swept toward them, harsh and forceful.

Queena squinted at the tall figure walking toward them against the light.

When her gaze met Jerome's, her face paled.

Spencer lowered his eyes, his tone tinged with arrogance: “Mr. Powell, I never thought you'd take over the woman I slept with. What a coincidence.”

Queena’s hands, hanging at her sides, curled unconsciously, a chill spreading from her heart to her fingertips.

Jerome ignored Spencer’s provocation, walking straight to Queena’s side. He took her cold hand as he always did, slipping it naturally into his pocket.

He looked at her quietly, his pupils as smooth as jade.

“Queena, let’s talk.”

Queena paused for two seconds, releasing her struggle.

But unexpectedly, the wrist of her other hand was suddenly gripped tightly by someone else, with anger, almost crushing her wrist bones.

Jerome gave Spencer a deep look, his tone indifferent: “Mr. Spencer, if you're so concerned about my wife, why not show more concern for Ms. Russell?”

As he finished speaking, Spencer looked down at his vibrating phone.

He clenched his teeth and actually let go of her wrist.

Jerome took Queena’s hand and led her to the car.

Before he could speak, Queena spoke first: “Wil… Mr. Powell, I only got into the car with you to clarify things. Since you have a family, I’ll step back voluntarily. Anyway, our marriage never counted in the first place.”

Jerome turned to her, his eyes darkening: “I won’t let you go.”

Queena's lips curved into a self-mocking arc: “Everyone has their limits. I can’t be a mistress, whether it was Spencer back then or you now.”

A sudden sharp brake cut off Queena’s words.

Her body leaned forward involuntarily, but the next moment, a pair of strong hands pressed her shoulders back into place.

“I won’t put you in that position, Queena.”

“I'll give up everything and go with you.”

His hot breath brushed against her lips.

“But I need to have a child with Sandra to leave an heir for the Powell Family.”

Jerome studied her expression, then suddenly released his hands from her shoulders and sat back down.

"Sandra needs a son to establish herself in the Powell Family, and she needs the title of Ms. Powell to support her. I promise, once she gives birth, we’ll leave immediately.”

It turned out that his so-called “not putting her in the position of a mistress” meant giving everything to another woman, including the right for the child in her womb to call him father.

Her heart still ached dully.

“I once truly loved her; I can’t just let her fend for herself in that ruthless circle.”

Jerome placed her hand over his heart, “But from now on, this place belongs to you alone. Could you be gracious and let her have her way?”

The heartbeat beneath her palm still beat, but she could no longer feel any warmth.

Queena slowly withdrew her hand and murmured, “Alright.”

Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to agree so readily, Jerome, like a startled youth caught off guard by a surprise, suddenly embraced Queena in his arms.

But he didn't notice her calm, unruffled expression.

Clearly afraid that Queena would resort to her old tricks again, Jerome insisted on keeping her by his side.

He wanted her to stay under his watchful eye at all times to feel at ease.

So every time he finished taking care of Sandra, no matter how late it was, Jerome would return to the second floor and hold Queena in his arms as he fell asleep.

Smelling the scent of Sandra’s perfume on the man’s body, Queena couldn’t stand it anymore. She pushed him away violently, rolled off the bed, and vomited.

Jerome didn’t even bother to put on his clothes; he hurriedly brought her some hot water and kept rubbing her back.

“What’s wrong, Queena? Where does it hurt? I’ll take you to the hospital.”

He grabbed the clothes nearby and hurriedly put them on, but his movements were halted by the figure standing at the door.

“What’s wrong, little Sheila?”

Little Sheila, holding a rabbit doll, spoke softly, “Daddy, Mommy’s stomach hurts...”

Jerome didn’t even finish listening to her words before rushing downstairs, completely forgetting that there was still someone standing in the bedroom.

Soon, the sound of an engine could be heard downstairs.

Queena couldn't help but smile wryly.

“Auntie, can you take me back to my room?”

Queena snapped back to reality at the sound. Little Sheila blinked her big eyes, studying her, but didn't approach to disturb her.

Perhaps because no one else was in the villa, she had lost the sharpness she had shown upon first meeting, instead exuding a timid, obedient demeanor.

Queena walked over and took her hand, but she suddenly placed her hand gently on Queena's stomach and asked innocently, “Auntie, your stomach is round, and you're also vomiting. Are you pregnant with a baby too?”

Queena unconsciously touched her lower abdomen, lowered her head, and was about to say something when a sudden force collided with her lower back!

She let out a scream, her body losing balance instantly. Her hands reached out desperately for the railing but only grasped at thin air.

“Thud—”

Intense pain spread from her spine to her abdomen. Queena curled up on the cold marble floor, her body convulsing uncontrollably. Warm liquid seeped out from beneath her, staining the light gray skirt hem red.

She opened her mouth but couldn't speak, staring fixedly in the direction of the balcony.

The little girl stood there, her face devoid of any trace of childhood innocence, replaced by a nearly cruel calmness.

She blinked her eyes, staring at the blood-soaked Queena, and smiled eerily: “Auntie, I don't like this little baby.”

“So, can you all just die?”

As her consciousness faded, she heard the sound of frantic footsteps and the little girl's terrified screams.

“Daddy, please save Auntie.”