I was at my mother’s funeral. Out of nowhere, the housekeeper rushed up to me.

“Miss Lucia, Mr. Grant’s mistress just gave birth!”

Steven Grant—my fiancé—didn’t deny it. He just said calmly, “You should focus on the funeral first.”

The next day, he didn’t show up to pay his respects. Instead, he called me, “I’ve been staying at the postnatal recovery center to help take care of Nel. I won’t make it to the funeral.”

When I didn’t respond, he sighed. “Look, it was just a mistake. Nel has no intention of coming between our families—she just wants to keep the baby. But I’m the father. I can’t pretend the child doesn’t exist. After we get married, I’ll spend Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at her place to help raise the baby. The rest of the week, I’ll be home with you.”

My hands curled into fists. I smiled through the sting in my eyes. “Steven, it’s over. The engagement is off.”

He scoffed. “Your mom just died. Don’t make a scene.”

I hung up without a word. Then I walked straight up to Steven’s biggest rival.

“Marry me. Let’s bring down the Grants. Are you in?”

——

Jaxon looked stunned for a moment.

A rare blush crept across his usually stoic face. He hesitated. “There’s a rule among the Browns, my family would only marry once. If you become my wife, you’ll be mine for life.”

I thought he was rejecting me. So I left while feeling disappointed. But he grabbed my hand, his usual sharp gaze suddenly filled with quiet intensity.

“Lucia, think your decision seriously. There’s no backing out of this marriage.”

I smiled and nodded. “I’m sure of my decision. I won’t back out.”

Jaxon Brown was actually the man my mother had originally chosen for me. He came from a good family, had integrity and compassionate. If I hadn’t fallen for Steven, I would have married him long ago.

The funeral was a whirlwind of arrangements and Jaxon was by my side every step of the way, helping with everything for over two exhausting weeks.

Meanwhile Steven, he didn't even call a single time.

For the past two weeks, every time I opened Instagram, there they were—Steven and Nellie. Smiling ear to ear, holding the baby, hands forming a heart.

Its caption read: [My whole world in one photo.]

I scoffed, bitterness tightening in my chest. Then, my phone rang.

Steven’s lazy voice came through, “The funeral’s over, right? Wanna come by the recovery center to see the baby?”

I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror—dark circles, red eyes. “Steven, we broke up.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then he just said, “Yeah. That’s probably for the best. Nel’s been kinda depressed since the birth. Seeing you might upset her.”

And just like that, two weeks’ worth of tears finally spilled over. I laughed through the ache in my throat. “Did you not hear me? I said we’re done.”

Another pause—then a low, mocking chuckle. “Lucia, you were with me for five years. I used you up. You think anyone else would still want you?”

“I told you, the baby was a mistake. Why can’t you just let it go?”

I didn’t respond.

Then I heard something crash on his end of the call.

Steven gave a sharp laugh. “Fine. Go. Leave. I’ll be here when you come crawling back.”

He hung up.

When I got home, I found the door code had been changed.

I tried calling him—straight to voicemail. With nowhere else to go, I checked into a cheap hotel for the night.

The next morning, my feed lit up with a livestream suggestion.

It was from the postnatal recovery center. Nellie was hosting the stream, smiling, chatting with followers. Steven sat beside her, gazing at her like she hung the moon.

The same look I used to think was meant for me.

The livestream had been going for nearly five hours.

The chat flooded the screen:

“So jealous—she’s staying in a $7,000-a-month postpartum recovery center and her husband’s right there with her.”

“Living the dream.”

“Manifesting a husband like that!”

Before Steven took over the Grant Family business, he served in the military. He hated being on camera. When I once asked for just a quick selfie, he shut me down cold with a look.

But here he was, smiling for the camera, streaming live with Nellie for all eyes to see.

Nellie beamed at the viewers. “He’s just really sweet and thoughtful~”

Thoughtful? A sharp ache stabbed at my chest as I wiped the corner of my eye, forcing a smile.

Steven was never that man with me.

I remember once begging him to go see a movie with me. It took ages to convince him. He finally said yes. But during that two-hour film? He slept through 90 minutes.

When he woke up, he rubbed his temples like I’d caused him physical pain. “Spending time with you feels like a waste of mine,” he muttered.

Clearly now, he could be patient, even loving—just not with me. With Nellie, he had all the time in the world.

Then my phone rang. Steven must’ve recognized my WeLiveID on the stream.

“You have 30 minutes,” he said. “Come pick up your mom’s things from the postnatal recovery center.”

By the time I arrived, the livestream had ended.

Nellie greeted me with a bright, fake smile. “Lucia! You came to see me?”

I ignored her. Walked straight to Steven and held out my hand. “Give me the box.”

The easy smile faded from his face, jaw tightening. “Nellie spoke to you. Are you deaf now?”

I gave him a thin smile, then turned to Nellie.

“Congrats, Ms. Owen. You bagged my fiancé, had his baby—what’s next? Climbing the ladder with a baby in your arms?”

Crash!

Steven slammed his teacup onto the floor, shards flying. “If you’ve got nothing decent to say, shut up.”

Suddenly, Nellie clutched her stomach, tears hitting the floor.

Steven tensed immediately. “Nel? What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”

She bit her lip, eyes turning red as she cried while looking at me. “Lucia… I never meant to come between you and Mr. Grant,” she said.

“It’s just—the doctors told me this might be my only chance to be a mother. I swear, once my recovery’s over, I’ll leave. I won’t cling to him, I promise.” Then she turned toward the bassinet and stared at the sleeping baby.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart… I brought you into this world without a real family. You’ll never have a father around. But Mommy didn’t do this on purpose… Please forgive me…” She broke down in sobs, shaking, like she was shattered to her core.

Steven turned to me, his eyes dark with fury—like I had personally crushed something fragile.

“You happy now? You made her cry. That make you feel good?”

I laughed bitterly. “Are you seriously buying this performance? That was pathetic. The only thing she’s good at is crying on cue.”

My words lit a fire in him. Without a word, Steven ripped off the pocket watch my mother had left me. My heart dropped.

“No—don’t! Please!”

But Steven didn’t stop. He threw it across the room with full force. The watch hit the ground, shattering into pieces.

I stumbled backward in shock, tripping on the sharp corner of the table. Pain exploded through my hip as I hit the floor, gasping in agony.

Steven let out a scoff, “That’s what you get for running your mouth. Get out. And don’t pull this stunt again—no one’s buying your victim act.”

Nellie rushed to play the saint, glancing at me with faux concern. “Lucia, come on… Mr. Grant might really think you faked that fall…”

I gritted my teeth and glared at her coldly.

Steven saw me glaring at Nellie and yanked me up off the floor.

“Nellie’s milk came in. She’s gone through a pile of dirty clothes. You’re going to wash them. By hand. Then you can leave.”

I jerked my arm free. “Why would I do that?”

He replied, “Because you just bullied her. You owe her an apology.”

I forced myself upright despite the searing pain in my foot. “Keep dreaming.”

His eyes iced over. Without another word, he shoved me into the bathroom.

Bang!

The door slammed behind me—and locked.

“Steven! Are you kidding me?! This is illegal—you're actually locking me in!” I twisted the handle, yanking it hard. “Let me out! Open the door!”

I slammed my palms against the wood. Silence outside. My hand stung from the impact. My foot throbbed with pain.

The room reeked—sour breast milk, dirty laundry and vomit. It was suffocating. I eventually slid to the floor, knees giving out, completely drained.

Then came Nellie’s voice—soft, sugary and fake—muffled through the door.

“Mr. Grant… are you sure this is okay? What if Lucia gets mad at you for this?”

Steven let out a cold laugh. “So what if she does? I’ll sweet-talk her later.”

“Honestly? This is her own fault. If she doesn’t drop that spoiled princess attitude, she won’t last a day married into the Grants.”

“Our family has served in the military for generations. If I weren’t the only heir to the Grant Enterprises, my mother never would’ve let me marry some pampered rich girl with no skills but spending money.”

Nellie’s voice was dripping with fake concern. “Mr. Grant… if you talk about Lucia like that, aren’t you afraid she’ll break off the engagement?”

A pause. Then Steven’s voice came slightly arrogant, “She won’t. She’s got no inheritance, no power, no better options. The Grants are the best she can do.”

He added, “Besides… she loves me like crazy. I bet if I told her to die for me, she’d actually do it.”

I clutched my chest tightly. Never had I imagine Steven would blurt out such words.

The Harts have been in business for generations—which means we’ve always had a target on our backs.

Six years ago, Mom and I were traveling abroad when we were ambushed. A group of armed men grabbed her, pressed a gun to her temple.

I screamed myself hoarse, thinking I was about to watch my mother die.

Then, a sharp crack cut through the air. One clean shot. The man dropped dead on the spot.

That’s when I saw him—Steven—gun still warm in his hand, uniform crisp, broad-shouldered and all sharp lines, moving with lethal precision. He didn’t just save us. He stole my heart that day.

Later, in the back of a military SUV, I saw his face clearly—angular jaw, high-bridged nose, impossibly handsome. I fell in love at first sight.

I chased him for a year before he finally gave in and agreed to date me.

We were together for five years. I hung on his every word. But all of my sincerity was met with betrayal.

It’s almost laughable.

The bathroom door creaked open.

Steven stepped in, saw me crouched on the floor—pale, trembling. His face twisted in annoyance. “It’s just laundry, Lucia. Stop acting pathetic. Who are you trying to guilt-trip?”

The sour burn of bile rose in my throat. I forced it down, swallowing the nausea. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

I started searching the floor—looking for the one thing that still mattered. My mother's pocket watch. It was torn to pieces. I picked them up, one by one.

Behind me, Steven’s voice cut through the silence. “When Nel finishes her recovery, we’re getting married. She’ll move in with us.”

Nellie turned to me, casting me her grateful look. “Lucia, thank you for accepting me and the baby. I’ll never forget your kindness—”

I cut her off, not even sparing her a glance. I turned to Steven, voice cold.

“No. We’re not living together. I’m taking my mother’s things. Text me the door code—I’ll have movers pick up the rest.”