1: 1

Two months before the wedding, Fred Gilbert caused another disaster.

He drowned the beloved dog a key client had brought along, and his reason was that Angela Simmons was allergic to dog hair.

I moved to fix it the moment it happened, and I was busy with it for two solid months.

Gifts, concessions, and a purebred of the same breed bought at a steep price.

In the end, I even knelt in front of the client.

Only then, barely, did I hold on to a project we'd worked with for years.

All the while, Angela used the excuse of clearing her head and flew around the world with Fred.

They saw the northern lights, they saw volcanoes, they went deep-sea diving.

Every place I'd ever wanted to go, they set foot in.

They didn't drift back until the day before the wedding.

"I know there wasn't time, so Fred and I already shot the wedding photos in Bali. You just paste your face in later and they'll work."

Angela handed me a stack of photos and said with a smile, "Oh, and I took the pendant out of the safe. Fred says he wants to use it."

A vein throbbed at my temple. My voice shook as I asked her,

"Do you know what that pendant means?"

"That's the symbol of the Simmons family. It's the inheritance. Grandfather put it in my hand himself!"

"Why did you take it without asking me?"

Impatience flickered in Angela's eyes.

"Fred isn't trying to fight you for power. He just likes to have fun."

"He'll bring it back in a few days. What are you so worked up about?"

The last of my hope finally died.

All this time I'd believed that if I just endured, it would pass.

From a clueless orphan, I'd endured all the way to today.

Twenty-five years of enduring.

But in that moment, I didn't want to endure anymore.

"In that case, I won't be attending the wedding tomorrow."

1

At my words, Angela froze for a second.

Then she knitted her brows and said I was throwing another one of my fits.

Was marriage something to be played with?

I said nothing.

She was the one who'd treated it like a game first, and now she was turning it around and blaming me.

Truly laughable.

That was when Fred spoke.

He sighed first, walked over, patted my shoulder, and his tone was as gentle as if he were soothing a sulking child.

"Miles Dickerson, don't be like this."

"Angie's waited so many years for you. The wedding's tomorrow. The invitations have gone out, and now you say you won't come?"

"How is Angie supposed to face all the relatives and friends?"

"And can you really look Rodney in the eye after his dying wish?"

He paused, his gaze carrying just the right amount of concern. "I know you've been under a lot of pressure lately, running around for two months over that project, feeling low."

"But you really can't blame Angie for this. She didn't even want to go at first."

"I was the one who said we should relax one last time before the wedding. I dragged her into it, and only then did she agree."

He smiled and turned to glance at Angela, his eyes soft. "If you want to blame someone, blame me. Don't hold it against Angie."

Hearing him, Angela's face went colder still.

"Look at Fred, then look at yourself."

"All he does is think of other people. And you? All you do is keep score!"

I didn't speak.

Fred edged a step closer and lowered his voice. "Miles, take my advice. Stop making a scene."

"You know how Angie is. The harder you push, the less she'll back down."

"You soften up a little and this all blows over. The wedding goes ahead tomorrow. Listen to me, you won't go wrong."

His voice was soft, so sincere, as if he really were looking out for me.

But I could hear it, every line pouring fuel on Angela's temper.

He knew her too well.

He knew she'd bend to a soft hand but never to a hard one, knew nothing set her off like my "fits."

And sure enough, Angela came straight over and pulled Fred back behind her.

"Don't waste all these kind words on him. He won't appreciate them."

Her eyes were nothing but impatience. "Let me ask you. Tomorrow's wedding, are we having it or not?"

I still said nothing.

Fred leaned half his body out from behind her, and at some point a pendant had appeared in his hand.

Deep green and clear all the way through, it was the very one Grandfather had once placed in my hand.

He held it up and gave it a little shake. "Miles, I know this is what you're upset about, right?"

"Fine, I'll give it back to you right now."

"Don't let a piece of stone ruin things between us. Honestly, I don't even care for it."

He extended it a step forward, a big, sweeping motion.

But he had no real intention of putting it into my hand.

Angela clamped a hand over his and turned to sneer at me. "Give it back for what? He isn't a Simmons. Handing this pendant to him would just be a waste."

2: 2

2

The words landed, and my ears rang.

Twenty-five years ago, the first time I came to the Simmons house, it was winter.

Rodney Simmons led me by the hand through the front door, and a wall of warm air hit me. My frozen fingers began to prickle.

Angela, her hair in two little pigtails, jumped down from the couch and ran over, looking up at me.

Her eyes were bright, and every other word out of her mouth was "big brother Miles."

She pressed her own hand-warmer into my palm and pulled me off to see her toy room.

That afternoon she lined up all her dolls in a row and introduced them to me one by one.

At dinner she insisted on sitting beside me, and she picked the chicken drumstick out of her own bowl and put it in mine.

"Big brother Miles is too skinny. Eat more meat."

Rodney sat at the head of the table, smiling at the two of us.

Fred arrived the next day, but Angela only circled around me.

When he tried to come over and join in, she pouted and pushed him away, saying, "I want to play with big brother Miles."

The old man's reason for taking us in was simple.

The Simmons line had passed down through three generations with a single heir each time, and by Rodney's generation there was a daughter born late in his life and no son.

He was afraid that once he was gone there would be no one to hold the family up, so he went to an orphanage and picked out two boys.

Fred was clever, good with people, sweet-tongued.

But he was restless, the kind who couldn't sit still through the hard, thankless work.

I was steady, hardworking.

I studied hard and wasn't afraid of hardship.

The old man never said it outright, but I only worked it out slowly, later.

From the start he'd never meant to raise both of us as his heir.

He was choosing.

Choosing the one who could carry the Simmons family.

Choosing the one who deserved Angela.

The year I turned twenty, his illness worsened and he was admitted to the hospital.

Once when I went to see him, he was propped up in the bed, already very weak.

But he held my hand and talked for a long time.

He said Angela was a stubborn girl, but her heart wasn't bad, and I should bear with her.

He said that once we grew up, we should be married, so that when he went down below he'd have something to answer to her mother with.

The pendant had been handed down through the Simmons ancestors, and only the head of the family had the right to wear it.

By giving it to me, his meaning was already clear.

"Miles, look after this family. Look after Angie."

"As for Fred... give a little more ground to him. He's a child with no father and no mother too. There's bitterness in his heart."

I said yes, with tears running down my face.

The night the old man passed, Angela cried all night long.

I stood guard outside her door, listening to the broken sobbing inside, and it tore at me.

I wanted to push the door open and go in, but I was afraid I didn't know how to comfort anyone and would only make her worse.

Later Fred went in.

I don't know what he said, but Angela's crying slowly quieted.

From then on, she changed.

At first she just didn't talk to me much, and at the table she'd only sit on Fred's side.

Every time Fred caused trouble, I was the one who had to clean it up.

She never once said thank you. Instead she'd turn it around and blame me, saying I was too hard on Fred.

He was just a little fond of fun, so did I have to wear a long face all day?

Then she stopped touching company matters entirely and dumped all of it on me.

Yet from time to time she'd take Fred along to all kinds of events.

In the years after the old man died, I ran Simmons Group as if my life depended on it.

From what started as a mid-sized construction company into one of the top enterprises in Riverton.

We moved into real estate, finance, and tourism, growing from a few dozen employees to over a thousand, and now we were about to go public.

Every day I was the first into the office and the last to leave, and I spent my weekends there too.

When a project went wrong, I took it on. When cash flow got tight, I covered it. When someone tried to poach our people, I held things steady.

At business dinners people plied me with drinks until my stomach bled and I landed in the hospital, and the next day I pulled out the IV and went straight back into meetings.

Angela never once asked whether I was tired.

She only came to me when Fred had gotten into trouble again, saying, Miles, help him out, just this once.

Every single time it was "just this once."

Two months ago, Fred drowned Mr. Finch's beloved dog.

It was a purebred border collie Mr. Finch had raised for eight years, flown in from overseas, one that had cost over a million.

The reason was simple. Angela had sneezed twice when she saw the dog.

When he found out, Mr. Finch was so furious he flipped the table on the spot.

I was still away on a business trip overseas, and I flew back through the night. First I apologized, then I got people to track down the same breed abroad.

That dog wasn't easy to find. I pulled three or four layers of connections and spent nearly two million to get one.

But Mr. Finch wouldn't take it at all.

I made six or seven trips to his company, gave up profit margins on three projects, and signed away our priority partnership rights for the next two years.

The last time, I sat with Mr. Finch in his office for four hours, and no matter what I said he wouldn't give.

My knees went weak, and I knelt down.

Mr. Finch was stunned. In the end he sighed.

He said, Miles, you haven't had it easy either.

The project was saved.

I never told Angela about it.

Those two months, she was flying all over the world with Fred, posting a dozen updates a day.

The northern lights in Iceland, the volcanoes of Italy, the Great Barrier Reef in Australia.

Every one of those locations was a spot pinned on the map in my study.

Over the years I'd built up a thick stack of travel plans.

I'd thought that once the company went public and things settled down, I'd take her to all of them.

There was no need for that now.

Because Fred had already taken her to every one.

3: 3

3

The wedding is tomorrow.

The wedding planner called two days ago to confirm the schedule. I told them everything stood as arranged.

The gown was ordered half a year ago. Angela went for the fitting. I didn't go with her. She said there was no need, Fred would take her.

I didn't think much of it at the time.

Looking back now, the signs were there all along.

She'd already shot the wedding photos with Fred.

The last thing she said to me tonight was, "I took the pendant."

Telling me. Not asking me.

And now I stand here watching Angela reach out and take the pendant from Fred's hand, close her fingers tight around it.

Then she lifts her eyes to me, brows knit, looking at me like some stranger making trouble for no reason.

The last thing left inside me finally broke.

"I won't be there tomorrow. I'll organize all of Simmons Group's files tonight and send them to your email. The company seal and the corporate seal are on the second shelf of the safe. The code is your birthday."

"The IPO is already squared away with the underwriters. From here on you just follow up."

Angela froze for a second, finally realizing I wasn't saying it in anger.

"Miles, what's that supposed to mean?"

Behind her, Fred tugged her gently by the arm and murmured, "Angie, Miles is upset right now. Don't take him seriously."

He looked at me with that not-quite-a-smile in his eyes, though his mouth still wore the face of the good little brother.

"Miles, cool off. Tomorrow's your big day. Calling it off at the last minute will only make you a joke."

I gave him one cold look and turned for the door.

Angela shouted after me, "Miles! You stop right there!"

"Let me tell you, this wedding is not being canceled. The Simmons family can't afford that kind of embarrassment!"

"If you don't show up tomorrow, I'll marry Fred!"

"Don't come crying later!"

I didn't stop.

By the time I got back to the old Simmons residence, the sky was fully dark.

The osmanthus tree in the yard was one the old man had planted with his own hands, filling the whole courtyard with sweetness every autumn.

The plaque above the gate had been passed down through generations of the Simmons family.

Four words carved there: A House of Good Deeds. Every year at New Year's, the old man watched with his own eyes as I wiped it clean.

I had packed my things and was about to leave when a white Porsche pulled in.

Angela pushed the door open and got out, that same cold look still on her face.

Fred came around from the passenger side and walked quickly up to me.

"Miles!" He reached for my suitcase. "Don't do this. Where are you going, dragging a suitcase around in the middle of the night?"

I didn't let go.

He paused, then drew his hand back.

He sighed, his tone gentle. "I know you're feeling low. But things are already what they are. Are you really going to push it this far?"

"What Angie said just now was only temper. Why hold it against her? You know what she's like."

Angela leaned against the car door, arms folded across her chest, watching me coldly.

"Fred, why are you even bothering to talk to him?"

"He's the one who wants to leave."

Fred glanced back at her, then turned to me and lowered his voice. "Miles, listen to me. Put the suitcase back. The wedding goes ahead tomorrow as planned."

"If you don't want that set of wedding photos, we can reshoot. I'll get the photographer to rush the prints tonight. There should still be time."

I looked at him.

Under the streetlight his eyes looked especially sincere, brows drawn slightly together, mouth set with just the right amount of worry.

But his mouth was smiling.

Faint. Almost impossible to see.

But I grew up with him.

Twenty-five years. I knew that expression too well.

Every time he made a mess and I cleaned it up for him.

He'd stand off to the side, wearing exactly this expression.

"Move," I said.

Fred blanked for a moment, then gave a wry smile. "Miles, why won't you just listen?"

Angela walked over, her heels clicking hard against the gravel.

"Miles, you just walk out like that. Did you ever think about how I'm supposed to explain it to our relatives and friends?"

"Everyone shows up first thing tomorrow, and the groom's gone. Where does that leave the Simmons family's face?"

"But I've got it figured out now." She let out a cold laugh. "You want to go? Then go. The Simmons family won't miss one of you."

"All these years, you thought you were so important? You think the company can't run without you?"

"Let me tell you, tomorrow I'll put Fred on the board. He's every bit as good as you."