There was a pause on the other end—long enough to tell Dionne Brixton was caught off guard.

Thinking she’d crossed a line, she offered a polite apology. “That was presumptuous of me. If you’re not interested, Mr. Hemsley, forget I said anything.”

His voice came through after a few seconds, low and hoarse. “What made you suddenly change your mind, Dionne? You turned me down just two weeks ago.”

She drew in a deep breath, her eyes drifting toward the bedroom on the second floor.

“I couldn’t tell the difference between a man and an asshole back then. Well, now I can.”

The sound of a lighter flicking was clearly audible from the phone, followed by a soft chuckle from Brixton.

“All right. I’ll pick you up in a week. Once you get the divorce certificate, we’ll get married.”

Dionne hummed in agreement, then added calmly, “I heard you own fifty percent of the Jablonski Holdings. I want that fifty percent stake.”

She had just opened her mouth to say she could offer something in return when the man agreed without hesitation.

“Deal. In fact, you can have not just fifty percent of that. I’ll give you full control over half of everything else I own.”

She hadn’t expected him to be so generous. Before she could even recover from the surprise, he had already hung up.

Around midnight, just as she had fallen asleep, Larkin came home.

The overpowering scent of perfume hit her before he did, making her stomach churn with nausea.

Frowning, she tried to push him away, but he only tightened his grip and softened his tone.

“Come on, don’t be mad anymore. I lost control earlier, that’s all.”

He paused then reasoned, “You know how it is. I’ve loved Farrah for years. We almost got married, remember? There’s just always something inexplicable between a man and his first love.”

“Yeah, I slept with her,” he admitted. Then, he coaxed her, “But you’re still my wife.”

Still, she wouldn’t look at him. When he spoke again, his voice was tightened with a hint of impatience.

“Come on, Dionne. You love me. You’ll understand. Won’t you?”

Dionne felt her heart freeze, inch by inch.

Her husband had slept with her own sister. And now he expected her to understand. Understand his affair?

She swallowed her disgust and pushed him away, her face devoid of emotion.

“I don’t mind.”

After all, she didn’t love him anymore. Nothing he did could hurt her now.

Those two words stunned Larkin.

He knew how absurd his excuse was and had already prepared several justifications.

But all of them were rendered useless by that one line—“I don’t mind.”

Facing Dionne’s indifferent gaze, Larkin quickly gave himself an answer.

‘She’s head over heels for me. No matter what I do, she will always forgive me.’

Relief softened his features. He smiled at her, and then he said, “I knew you were the most understanding one.”

As if remembering an errand, he added, “Oh, and tomorrow’s Farrah’s birthday. Make sure to come. Can’t have people talking.”

At that, Dionne gave a cold laugh, only on the inside.

She had been an orphan, her birthdate unknown, so the family had assigned her the same birthday as Farrah.

But in all these years, not once had she truly celebrated it.

She was ready to refuse, but seeing her open her lips, Larkin added, “It’s your dad’s request.”

The next day, at the birthday party, the entire villa was lit up like daylight. The guests in attendance were all elite figures in the business world.

With Jablonski Holdings now at its prime in Manchester, everyone raised their wine glass and greeted Larkin.

Having been his secretary for three years, Dionne had no choice but to stand by his side.

A wealthy oil magnate passed by toasting his glass with Larkin. “Congratulations, Mr. Jablonski. I heard about the good news—you’re marrying the Willoughbys’ daughter. But they have two daughters, so which one’s the lucky bride?”

Suddenly, Dionne’s heart leapt into her throat. ‘In all our years of marriage, he’s never once acknowledged me in public. Would he now?’

Everyone turned to look at Larkin, waiting.

Before Larkin could speak, Farrah stepped forward, linking her arm through his and smiling sweetly.

“Larkin and I grew up together. Some things don’t need to be spelled out, right?”

Larkin smiled and agreed, “Of course. Whatever Farrah says is right.”

He didn’t deny it.

A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd, with a few voices laced with mockery.

“Dang, the real daughter and the adopted one really are worlds apart. Look at Dionne—she worked for free as his secretary for three years, and she still doesn’t get to be his wife.”

“What do you expect? She’s just an adopted girl. If the Willoughbys hadn’t taken her in, who knows where she’d be—probably begging on the street!”

Every word cut into Dionne like ice, chilling her to the bone.

But maybe she’d heard it all too many times—she didn’t even feel sad anymore.

The guests surrounded Farrah, showering her with birthday gifts and attention, making her the star of the night.

Meanwhile, Dionne slipped away to the rooftop to get some air.

‘Just hang in there a little longer,’ she told herself. ‘Once everything is settled, I can leave for good.’

She was so lost in thought she didn’t hear the clunk of heels approaching from behind her.

“Dionne,” Farrah called sweetly, holding a gift box. “You haven’t gotten anything tonight, have you? Here. Let me give you something special.”

Dionne opened her mouth to refuse, but Farrah had already lifted the lid.

What lay inside made Dionne’s face go pale instantly.

It was a pair of lacy lingerie and a used box of condoms Farrah and Larkin had used from the night before.

“Try wearing my lingerie, girl. Maybe then Larkin will love you a little more.”

Farrah taunted Dionne with a smirk.

“Honestly, I do feel sorry for you. In this family, you’re just my stand-in. And to Larkin?”

She gave a cruel laugh. “You don’t really even count as that. If I were you, I would’ve left a long time ago.”

“Did you know?” She leaned in, as if to share a secret. “Larkin never runs out of energy when he’s with me. But—”

Dionne couldn’t take it anymore. Her hand shot out, knocking the gift box clean from Farrah’s hands.

“That’s enough. Know your place, Farrah. I’m still Larkin’s wife. And if you provoke me again,” she warned, “I’ll take that trash downstairs and show all those guests exactly what kind of woman you are—flirting with your sister’s husband!”

The words had barely left her lips when Farrah suddenly stumbled back, falling to the stairs and dramatically sobbing.

“I’m sorry, Dionne!” she wailed. “I won’t go near Larkin again! If you really hate me that much, I’ll buy a plane ticket right now and leave the states. I’ll never come back and bother you again!”

Footsteps pounded toward them. Larkin arrived first, barely sparing Dionne a glance before dropping to his knees and gathering Farrah into his arms.

Seconds later, Foster burst in. He didn’t ask a single question. The slap came fast and hard.

“Dionne!” he roared. “Farrah is my real daughter! You better remember your place! Touch her again, and I’ll pretend I never adopted you!”

Her ears were ringing from the blow. She turned to look at her father, and with trembling lips, she said, word by word, “She started it. She was the one who—”

“That’s enough,” Larkin interrupted with a frown. “We all know what kind of person Farrah is. She’d never pick a fight with you without a reason. You must’ve done something!”

“I know you’re upset because I didn’t acknowledge you publicly tonight,” he added. “But we agreed to a secret marriage from the start, so why are you making a scene now?”

He shook his head. “You’ve really disappointed me, Dionne.”

“You’re not going home tonight,” he said with finality. “Stay here. Reflect on your actions.”

With that, Larkin left the rooftop, still carrying Farrah in his arms.

Dionne clutched her chest tightly, fighting back tears. She rushed after them, desperate to explain. But just as she reached the door, it was slammed shut with a loud bang.

The edge caught her hand.

A white-hot flash of pain exploded through her body. The force dropped her to her knees.

Blood streamed freely from a deep gash across the back of her hand, pooling fast on the tiled floor. Her entire body trembled, her muscles seizing from the pain.

It was at that moment she realized—when pain reached its peak, a person couldn’t even scream.

She slumped against the wall, tears streaming down her face as she whispered over and over, “Larkin… This time, we’re really… done.”

Seeing the pool of blood, the housekeeper took Dionne to the hospital.

The doctor offered anesthesia before stitching her hand up, but she refused.

She needed to remember this pain—only then would she truly learn her lesson.

It took more than a dozen stitches to close the wound. The doctor warned her to rest or risk permanent scarring.

Since there was already a sign of infection, they advised her to stay overnight for observation.

At 11:55 that night, her phone rang.

It was Brixton.

“Hey, happy birthday.”

At once, her nose stung and her voice went hoarse.

“Thanks. You’re the only one who remembered to greet me.”

“You sound off. Were you crying?” Brixton asked, the concern evident in his tone. “Did someone hurt you? Tell me who.”

Hearing his words warmed Dionne’s heart. He was the only one who cared about her that night.

Forcing her emotions down, she replied, “No, I was just… watching a sad movie. Got emotional.”

There was a short silence on the line, like he didn’t quite believe her, but he didn’t press further.

“Alright. Try not to stay up watching stuff like that. It’s bad for your eyes.”

“I got you a birthday gift,” he added. “I’ll bring it when I come to pick you up.”

“And hey, remember, if someone’s hurting you, you don’t have to endure it. Tell me. I’ll get revenge for you,” he promised.

For a brief moment, she recalled how Larkin used to say the same thing to her.

But that was long forgotten now.

She forced a smile. “Alright. It’s getting late. You should get some rest.”

After the call ended, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

It was as if… the pain wasn’t so unbearable anymore.

The next morning, the first thing she did after waking up… was to find a lawyer to draft the divorce papers.

Dionne brought two documents with her to the company.

Larkin’s gaze dropped to her hand, gripped tight around her bag. His brows drew together.

“What happened to your hand?” He barely waited before letting out a scoff. “You hurt yourself? Just because I said a few words to you last night, you’re using self-harm to go against me?”

‘So he didn’t even know it’s his fault,’ Dionne realized. ‘Of course, it’s not surprising. As long as Farrah’s around, he’ll never pay me attention.’

Dionne didn’t want to explain. “It’s nothing. I just accidentally cut myself,” she said casually.

Larkin wasn’t stupid. How could such a deep wound be just an accident?

Before he could question her further, she pulled out two documents.

“There are two contracts. Please sign them, President Jablonski.”

His frown deepened.

When it was the only two of them, she never called him so formally like “President Jablonski.”

Annoyance flickered in his eyes as he reached for the papers, but before he could even read through the content, his phone lit up. It was Farrah.

He answered, exchanged a few words, then grabbed his coat and stood. “I’ve got something to do. We’ll talk about the contracts later.”

But Dionne wouldn’t let him go. She pressed a pen into his palm, insisting, “These are urgent. They need to be signed now.”

She flipped straight to the last page and laid them out in front of him.

When Farrah’s call came through again, Dionne’s fist clenched slightly. “Sign them, then you can leave.”

Larkin thought that Dionne was being a little unreasonable, but with a frown, he still signed his name. “Happy now?” he said sarcastically.

With both copies now signed by him, Dionne took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes.”

He turned to leave but paused at the doorway, announcing, “Farrah’s coming home for dinner. She’s very picky, so make sure you make a few of her favorite dishes.”

He didn’t look at her as he continued, “I talked to her about last night. She’s kind enough not to hold it against you anymore. Don’t keep dragging things out.”

“You’re the older sister, Dionne,” he reminded her. “Making a meal can count as an apology.”

With that, he walked out of the office without looking back.

Dionne lowered her eyes to her hand wrapped thickly in gauze and let out a self-mocking smile.

‘Even when the damage was staring him in the face,’ she thought, ‘he still expected me to compromise for Farrah’s sake.’

That evening, Larkin came home with Farrah.

As soon as they entered, he smelled something burning and rushed to the backyard, where he found Dionne setting things on fire.

“What are you burning?”

As he got closer, he recognized them—gifts he had given her over the years.

Dionne had treasured those things.

Once, a maid had damaged one by accident during cleaning, and she had thrown a huge fit about it.

Now, she was setting them all on fire.

His composure cracked. He kicked the firepit, his voice cold. “What is the meaning of this?”

Dionne calmly replied, “There’s no space left in the house anymore, so I’m burning a few things.”

“Did you forget?” she continued. “You called earlier, saying Farrah was moving in. You told me to clear out a room.”

All the accusations he was about to hurl got stuck in his throat.

The excuse sounded perfectly reasonable, but Larkin still felt stifled in his chest.

Farrah clung to his arm and said sweetly, “Larkin, I really do have a lot of stuff. It’s just some old clothes anyway. If they’re burned, they’re burned.”

Larkin’s eyes flickered. “Fine. Burned or not, they’re nothing important anyway.”

And with that, he turned and walked back inside the villa.

Dionne looked at the ashes of what used to be her memories and curled her lips into a faint smile.

‘Right. They weren’t anything important. If they’re gone, then they’re gone.’

In the dining room, Larkin frowned again when he saw no food on the table.

“Didn’t I tell you Farrah would be home for dinner? Why didn’t you make anything?”

Dionne met his gaze, then slowly raised her hand wrapped in thick gauze. “I can’t,” she said flatly.

For a brief second, Larkin actually felt a flicker of guilt.

He had forgotten that she was injured.

Before that guilt could settle, Farrah tugged on his arm and suggested, “Larkin, since my sister didn’t make anything, why don’t we eat out instead?”

Dionne didn’t want to see them flaunting their intimacy in front of her any longer; she turned and went upstairs.

After a shower, she got a call from Brixton.

He was planning ahead—finalizing wedding arrangements—and wanted to know what kind of venue she preferred.

After spending three years with Larkin being the wife nobody knew about, she had never dared to even dream of a wedding.

She had always thought she wasn’t worthy of one.

But Brixton so easily gave her the sense of security she’d longed for.

Dionne paused, contemplating. After a moment, she answered, “By the beach. I want a beach wedding.”

Just then, Larkin happened to pass by her door. He barged straight in.

“What wedding?”