Chapter 4

“It’s riiight heeere…” Summer Knight grinned vacantly, deliberately drawing out her words, clearly savoring the tense anticipation on Charles Knight’s face—and everyone else’s. “Where?!” This time, all three of them blurted it out in unison, faces strained, eyes blazing with impatience. Charles Knight, Margaret Blake, and Isabella Knight were practically vibrating with greed. Sure, the Knights still clung to the fringes of City Q’s high society, but behind the scenes, they were drowning in debt. Their only lifelines were the massive inheritance Summer’s mother had left behind—and this shaky marriage alliance with the Barron family. Too bad the “prince” in question was Alexander Barron—the most neglected, least wanted heir in the entire Barron clan. Naturally, Charles had no intention of wasting his precious younger daughter, Isabella, on a lost cause. The only silver lining? Isabella was cunning enough to cook up this little plan—to have Summer, the family “idiot,” take her place. Under their feverish stares, Summer blinked her big, deceptively innocent eyes, then broke into a wide, silly grin. She clapped her hands together and suddenly burst into cheerful song: “In the land of blue little folks, where the mushrooms grow~ Behind a wooden door, in a mushroom house they know~” “Are you mocking me?! You want to die?!” Charles exploded. He grabbed a bowl from the table and hurled it straight at Summer’s face. Honestly, outbursts like this weren’t even surprising anymore—they happened all the time. The old Summer? She would’ve scrambled under the table, shaking like a leaf. And Isabella and Margaret would be right there, laughing at her misery. But this time, something different happened—Summer didn’t flinch. She sat still and let the bowl smash into her forehead. Hard. Hard enough to split the skin. Blood instantly streamed down her face. Charles froze, thrown completely off balance. His mind raced, irritation bubbling up. It made no sense. His ex-wife, Claire Ford, had been so graceful, so elegant—how did she give birth to someone this stupid? What he conveniently forgot, of course, was that Summer hadn’t been born this way. She became like this because of him—years ago, just to force Claire to sign the divorce papers, he locked a young Summer out in the freezing cold all night. She nearly died; the fever burned away her brightness and left her broken. Not that he felt even a flicker of guilt. If anything, he’d only grown crueler over the years. But Summer? She was counting seconds in her head, her eyes cold behind the veil of tears. Right on cue— “Sir, the Barron family’s steward is here!” a maid announced urgently from the doorway. As the servant stepped aside, the Barron steward entered, ready to deliver a message from Old Mr. Barron himself. Summer’s eyes glinted slyly.Perfect timing. She crumpled to the floor, clutching her bleeding forehead, and burst into theatrical sobs. “Owwieee! It huuurts! Daddy hit Summer! Daddy’s always mean! Summer hates Daddy!” “Charles Knight!” The steward’s face darkened like a thundercloud. Sure, he’d never had a high opinion of Summer—the infamous fool of the Knight family. But before he left, Old Mr. Barron had stressed it again and again: Summer was now Alexander’s chosen fiancée. She was to be treated with respect. No exceptions. He didn’t know what made the old man change his mind overnight—yesterday it was all about Isabella, today suddenly Summer. But now? Right in front of him? Charles had the nerve to raise a hand against the girl handpicked by Old Mr. Barron himself? Unacceptable. The steward strode over urgently, helped Summer up, and fixed Charles with an icy glare. Anger simmered in his voice.“Miss Summer is the future granddaughter-in-law chosen personally by Old Mr. Barron. Have you lost your mind, striking her? Call a doctor—now!” “Y-yes! Right away!” Charles Knight flinched, fear flashing in his eyes, and immediately waved for the maids to tend to Summer’s injury. The Barrons were the most powerful family in City Q, and this steward was no mere servant—he was Old Mr. Barron’s most trusted aide. Someone like Charles wouldn’t dare cross him. Summer knew when to fold. She didn’t say another word about the abuse. She wasn’t ready to flip the table just yet—first, she’d let them walk right into the trap she was laying. The steward cleared his throat and spoke coolly, “Charles Knight, Old Mr. Barron has instructed me to inform you: the engagement banquet for Miss Summer and Young Master Alexander will be held tonight at 7 p.m., at the JL Hotel.” “Of course! We’ll be there without fail!” Charles nodded eagerly, ambition gleaming in his eyes. Only then did the steward turn to leave. But just before stepping out, he shot one last look at Summer. Dressed simply, without a trace of makeup, she still looked strikingly beautiful—nothing like the ugly fool rumors made her out to be. And judging by Charles’s behavior… this wasn’t the first time he’d mistreated her. The steward made a mental note to report everything to Old Mr. Barron. Isabella followed the man’s gaze and finally really looked at Summer. Her expression shifted—something felt off. Since when did that idiot know how to dress herself? And that outfit… it actually suited her? After the steward left, Charles didn’t even glance Summer’s way. Sure, JL was the most luxurious hotel in the city, but Alexander Barron? He was the least favored son. What was the point? If it weren’t for the money, Charles wouldn’t even bother handing Summer over. “Do whatever. Just get her ready,” he tossed out coldly before heading upstairs to rest. Isabella and Margaret shot Summer looks full of resentment but still walked over to start prepping her. They weren’t happy, but they had no choice: make Summer presentable, convince Old Mr. Barron she was a suitable match, and marry her off to Alexander. That way, Isabella wouldn’t have to go through with it. But when they casually cleaned her up and Summer stood before them—wearing light makeup and a simple mid-range dress—the two were genuinely stunned. That fool looked like she’d stepped out of a classical painting. Hers was a beauty that couldn’t be hidden—elegant, bright features, a sharp nose, lips red like rose petals. She looked like she was carved by the gods themselves. Even with Isabella in full glamour, standing next to Summer made her look… plain. Realizing she’d been completely outshone, Isabella gritted her teeth, jealousy flaring. But she got over it quickly. After all, once that idiot married Alexander Barron—the cold, violent, terrifying eldest son—she’d probably be chewed up and spit out within a week. — Meanwhile, the man Isabella feared like a nightmare—Alexander Barron—had just stepped out of the Barron estate. Dressed in a impeccably tailored dark suit, he stood under the sunlight, every movement exuding quiet authority. Like some ancient king—aloof, untouchable, the kind whose presence alone made people instinctively lower their heads. “Sir, Mr. Frost said if you don’t feel like attending the engagement banquet tonight, you’re welcome to relax at his place,” Ethan Hart said as he approached. “Why wouldn’t I go?” Alexander’s lips curved into a faint smile—a rare softness in his usually cold expression. He knew perfectly well that tonight, at that banquet, someone was planning to make a move. And his little fool? He had to be there. He had to have her back. Just like always.