The day my mother brought her childhood sweetheart back to the villa, my father—who had already quit smoking—stood on the balcony and smoked through the entire night.

Back then, his colleagues at the research institute all envied him for having a wife who was a CEO. They said he should have stayed home and enjoyed life—why work so hard outside when all he needed to do was keep a firm grip on the household finances?

But my father never agreed.

"Those things are all external," he would say. "As long as the feelings are still there, we'll be fine whether we're rich or poor. And if one day she no longer loves me, I'll leave with nothing and walk away alone."

He never expected his words to become prophecy. My mother truly did stop loving him.

Later, when she appeared before the media, arm in arm with that man, my father didn't look back. He boarded a flight overseas and disappeared from our lives.

And as I stared at the photo in my social feed—my fiancée's hand entwined with someone else's—I knew it was time for me to leave too, just like my father had.

On the second day after my mother moved Julian Hardman into our home, she called my father and me together for a family meeting.

She placed a divorce agreement in front of my dad.

"Carter, Julian is going through a difficult time right now. You know we're really close, so I have to help him," she said calmly. "The three of us living under the same roof—it wouldn't sound good if word got out.

"I promise you, this divorce is just a formality. We'll divorce but not separate. It's only to silence outsiders. Don't overthink it."

I stared at her in shock and asked in disbelief, "Why should we? If he's in trouble, you can rent him a place—or even buy one. You can afford it. Why does he have to live with us?"

My father reached out and grabbed my arm, then shook his head at me.

Without hesitation, he picked up the pen and signed the agreement.

A smile instantly spread across my mother's face.

"Honey, believe me. You'll always be the one I love most in this lifetime. Once he gets through this rough patch, we'll remarry."

With that, she skipped out the door, divorce papers in hand.

Not long after, online media outlets released a statement: [Female entrepreneur Samantha officially announces her divorce.]

My father and I sat quietly in the living room, staring at the news on the screen, sorrow written all over our faces.

"Dad, why did you agree?" I asked. "And who exactly is Julian?"

He took a hard drag from his cigarette and spoke slowly.

"He's your mother's first love."

"What kind of trouble would make Mom help him like this?"

"They have a son," he said. "He's one year older than you. It doesn't surprise me that she would want to help him."

Everything I learned that day was enough to shatter the worldview I had built over twenty-four years.

So many people had once envied my parents, calling them a perfect, fairy-tale couple. I never imagined there was such a melodramatic past hiding beneath the surface.

"Dad… do you think Mom still loves him?"

My father stayed silent as he lit another cigarette.

"I don't know," he said at last. "But she probably doesn't love me anymore."

I nodded, a wave of sadness rising in my chest.

"Son," he said softly, "I'm leaving. If you can, you should move out too. This house won't carry our name for much longer."

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, my eyes burning red.

The next day, my father and I went to work at the research institute together.

When we arrived, Karla Jameson from HR greeted us warmly. She was my fiancée Sophie's mother.

"Karla," I asked casually, "I asked Sophie out for dinner last night, but she said she wasn't feeling well. How is she now? Is she better?"

Her expression stiffened slightly, and she hesitated before replying, "Oh, she's young and strong. It's nothing serious. She just needed a good night's sleep."

I didn't press the issue. I went straight into the lab and got to work.

A fellow intern from my year soon sidled over, phone in hand, his face lit up with gossip.

"Nick, not bad. I heard your family's rich, but I didn't realize you were this rich. That bracelet you gave Sophie must've cost close to twenty thousand, huh?"

I froze. Following his gaze, I saw Sophie's social feed on his screen—a photo of two hands tightly intertwined.

They were wearing matching couple bracelets.

Lately, she had been acting strange. I'd asked her out ten times; nine times she said she was busy.

Now, the answer was right in front of me.

I couldn't see any of these posts on my own feed, so I took my colleague's phone and kept scrolling.

An amusement park.

A Michelin three-star restaurant.

Night drives in a sports car…

And the man's face bore an uncanny resemblance to my mother's.

So this was what she had meant by "something important."

We'd been college classmates. I'd fallen for her at first sight. Later, by coincidence, I learned that her mother worked with my father. It was my dad who had personally set up a dinner to bring us together.

After that meal, he told me to walk her home. She took the initiative and laced her fingers through mine.

"Nick," she'd said, "I actually like you too—from the moment I first saw you."

That night, we held each other tightly beneath the streetlights.

Looking back now, it seemed both my father and I had misjudged people.

This engagement needed to be called off.

…

That evening after work, my dad stayed late at the institute.

I bought some fruit and went straight to Sophie's place.

Karla opened the door. She glanced at the fruit in my hands, then blocked the doorway.

"Nick, Sophie isn't home. You should head back."

I stood there awkwardly. Ever since Sophie and I started dating, this was the first time Karla had turned me away.

"Well, in that case, please take the fruit," I said. "She's not feeling well. It'd be good for her to eat some."

She still refused. "There's too much fruit at home. We can't finish it—it'll just go bad. Take it back for your dad to eat. Goodbye, Nick."

With that, she shut the door.

Through the old wooden panel, I faintly heard her voice, thick with disdain.

"He's so rich, and yet so stingy. After all these years, he hasn't bought Sophie a single decent thing."

Defeated, I walked down the stairs.

Just as I reached the building entrance, a red sports car pulled up in front of me.

Sophie stepped out with the man from her social feed, the two of them clearly intimate.

"Will your parents like the truffles I bought?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied. "My mom knows you're coming for dinner. She's prepared a whole table of dishes."

In that instant, everything clicked.

Karla hadn't turned me away by accident. She simply didn't want me ruining their evening.

Plain fruit, after all, couldn't compare to his truffles.

"Sophie!"

I stepped forward and called out to her.

She saw me and instinctively withdrew the hand hooked around his arm, her face paling.

"Nick? Why are you here?"

I didn't answer. I just stared at her. "Who is he?"

She waved her hands in a panic. "Don't misunderstand—it's not what you think."

"Didn't your mom tell you?" she rushed on. "This is your older brother, Bruce. He just came to Orbor City, so your mom asked me to show him around these past few days."

I turned and looked him up and down.

My gaze landed on the matching couple bracelets on their wrists.

Sophie hurriedly hid her hand behind her back.

The very next second, Bruce Hardman reached over and pulled it out again, brazenly holding it up in front of me.

"Couple bracelets. I bought them," he said with a smirk. "What—got a problem with that, little brother? You're so damn stingy. Am I not even allowed to give her a gift?"

The blatant provocation set my anger ablaze. I swung and punched him square in the face.

He wasn't weak either. He struck back immediately, his strength even greater than mine, knocking me flat to the ground with a single blow.

Seeing this, Sophie rushed over to help me up. "You're brothers. Don't do this, okay? My mom made dinner—come upstairs and eat with us."

I shoved her away.

"Your mom wouldn't even let me through the front door. Eat what—air? Sophie, why did you hide this from me?" I demanded. "Do we not even have the most basic honesty between us anymore? If you don't want to marry me, just say it. I won't hold you back."

With that, I got up, covered in dirt, and ran home.

…

The moment I walked through the door, I saw my mother and Julian seated at the dining table, enjoying a candlelit dinner.

"Nick, this is Julian," my mother said. "I didn't get a chance to introduce him to you yesterday."

I looked up at him with open hostility and sneered, "Oh? Looks like the son really takes after the father—both dressed decently, yet only good at seducing other men's women."

My mother's face darkened. She raised her hand and struck me hard.

"How dare you speak to an elder like that? Since when did you become so ill-mannered?"

I let out a cold laugh. "Ill-mannered? I must've learned it from you. You sent my fiancée to cater to his son—shouldn't that be called having no manners?"

Her eyes red, she slapped me across the face.

"He's my son too!" she shouted. "You're brothers. What's wrong with letting your fiancée keep him company? Why are you so petty? Am I really that filthy and despicable in your eyes?"

Tears streamed down her face as she leaned against Julian's shoulder, sobbing.

Julian patted her gently and spoke in a soft voice. "Nick, this is all my fault. Don't let Bruce and I come between you and your mother. I'm to blame."

My mother quickly covered his mouth. "No, Julian. This has nothing to do with you. I simply failed to raise Nick properly."

At that moment, the villa doors flew open. Bruce rushed straight to my mother's side, concern written all over his face.

"Mom, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

She looked up and immediately noticed the injury at the corner of his mouth. "Bruce, you're hurt! Did you get into a fight? Does it hurt?"

Bruce shot me a wounded glance.

"Mom, Nick hates me. He's had your love for more than twenty years already. I'm really jealous. I want a mother's love too. I'm not greedy—couldn't you just give me a little?"

My mother's tears fell even faster. She straightened up and shoved me hard.

"Is this how you act as a younger brother? I carried Bruce for ten months too. How can you be so intolerant of him?"

I let out a bitter laugh and raised my hand, pointing at the blood still trickling from the corner of my own mouth.

"Mom, I'm hurt worse than he is, and you didn't even notice. Right now, all you see is them. So what are Dad and I supposed to be to you?"

She froze, then finally looked at my injury.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I just didn't notice…"