1

“Queena, if you come back now, I’ll still want you.” Queena Ross stood there holding an umbrella, staring blankly at Spencer Russell, who had suddenly appeared in Melbourne. She didn’t snap out of it for a long time. Four years had passed, and she never thought she’d see him again. After all, she had left without a word and never expected to see him again. After a moment, Queena snapped out of her shock at the unexpected reunion and spoke softly, “Spencer, I already have a fiancé.” As soon as she finished speaking, a low chuckle echoed through the silent night. Spencer held a cigarette between his fingers, his tone casual. “The man you’re talking about getting married to—is it him?” He raised his phone and showed Queena a photo. In the photo, a woman wore a fishtail white gown, holding a bouquet of pink and white hydrangeas, smiling as she turned her head to look at the man beside her, dressed in a suit. The man had his arm around her shoulder, his lips slightly curled, his handsome features still carrying a hint of youthfulness, lacking the composure and maturity that comes with age and experience. It was Will, the younger version of Will. Queena lowered her head, staring intently at that face, as if she were in a dream. The voice beside her ear completely shattered her dream. “His name is Jerome Powell, the billionaire heir of the Powell Group. Four years ago, he went abroad for business and was kidnapped by rivals, disappearing without a trace. Over the years, the Powell Family has publicly claimed that Jerome is recovering abroad, but they’ve been secretly searching for him all along. Just recently..." Spencer spoke with a faint smile: “The Powell Family's young master has recovered and returned home, announcing that he will hold a grand wedding for Ms. Powell in the middle of next month.” “Jerome and Ms. Powell have already obtained their marriage certificate and have a five-year-old child. To be honest, you're the one who came later.” Spencer stepped closer, reaching out to grab her wrist, but she reflexively pulled away. Her dark eyes suddenly grew cold: “Still not giving up? Then let me see how long your love for him can last.” Spencer wanted to show her Will's true colors, whether she agreed or not, and forcibly brought her back to the country. He then took her to a birthday ball hosted by the Powell Family. She knew today was Will's birthday. In previous years, they had always celebrated it together. She had even prepared a birthday gift a month ago. But now, she could only hide in the shadows, staring intently at the man who claimed to be on a business trip in New Zealand. She saw him quickly tap his phone a few times. At the same time, Queena's phone received a message. “Honey, there's a bit of a problem with the project at the last minute, and I'm afraid I won't be able to make it back. I'll work overtime tonight and try to fly back tomorrow morning. Go to bed early and don't wait up for me. We can celebrate the birthday anytime.” Queena stared blankly at the message until her eyes grew sore. The lights in the hall suddenly dimmed, leaving only a single candle illuminating the family of three on the stage. Jerome held a pink, delicate little girl in his arms, who was impatiently urging him to cut the cake. “What’s the rush?” Sandra’s voice carried a smile as she looked up at Jerome. “Let Dad make a wish first.” “It’s okay.” Jerome chuckled softly, “The wish has already been made.” He looked down at the little girl's sparkling eyes, then turned to Sandra's curved eyebrows, “It's all here.” The Old Mr. and Mrs. Powell watched the family of three before them with satisfaction, their faces lit with smiles. In the shadows of the corner, Queena clenched her fingers tightly, her nails digging into her palms until they hurt. Sandra lowered her eyes and smiled, then raised them again, her gaze locking with Queena’s in the corner. Her smile froze for a moment, then she turned her head nonchalantly, straightening Jerome’s tie with a gentle voice: “Jerome, since you’ve been back, little Sheila has really become much more cheerful. It truly proves the saying that blood is thicker than water.” As if sensing something, Jerome instinctively followed her gaze. When he saw Queena's face, his smiling expression suddenly darkened, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Old Mr. Powell and Mrs. Powell noticed his change in mood and turned to look. Their eyes swept over Queena like they were gliding over a thin layer of ice. He then turned his head and instructed his trusted lieutenants beside him, “Is the Powell Family's banquet open to just anyone? Have someone escort her out, but make sure not to disturb the guests.” Soon, two waiters arrived, one on each side, and lifted Queena up. Her arms were gripped so tightly that it hurt. Queena instinctively struggled a few times, but was held even tighter. Jerome bent down to put the little girl in his arms down, just as he was about to approach, Sandra gently pulled on his sleeve, her eyes pleading, “Jerome, don't make a scene. Don't embarrass me, okay?” Jerome pursed his lips and remained where he was. Queena watched his movements and smiled bitterly. She clutched the brown paper bag tightly and about to leave obediently, when the chubby, delicate young girl suddenly appeared in front of her and spat in her face. “Get out of here, you wicked woman. Stop clinging to my father.” Caught off guard, Queena was pushed hard and stumbled, unable to steady herself. Her heel caught on the long skirt, and she heard the sound of the straps snapping. Before she could react, most of her chest was exposed. The crowd gasped in shock, followed by mocking laughter: “What does this mean? Is this Young Mr. Powell's mistress from abroad?” " “She has come right in front of the main character. Is she trying to force the first wife to give up her position? Another overconfident fool.” “It's just something that can't be put on the table.. As long as she's bold, energetic, and shameless, it's enough.” “But to be fair, Young Mr. Powell is quite devoted. Even when seeking entertainment, he still has to find someone who looks like Ms. Powell.” Queena ignored the pain from her side colliding with the table corner and the humiliating insults, wrapping her arms tightly around her chest. The next moment, the towering champagne tower collapsed with a crash, yellow liquid mixed with shattered glass pouring down on her. Queena fell to the floor, her hairpin loose, strands of hair stuck to her wet cheeks with the wine. The room fell silent, dozens of eyes fixed on her like spotlights. Queena hurriedly tried to push herself up, but her palm sank into a pool of sticky champagne. Sharp glass shards cut her palm, causing blood to seep out. She awkwardly pulled her hand back. The champagne stains on her evening gown trickled down the folds, leaving dark and light marks on the smooth floor. Jerome suddenly pushed his wife Sandra Sanders aside and took a step forward. A dry retch suddenly broke the silence. Sandra covered her mouth with both hands, crouched on the ground, her face pale. Whispers erupted around them. “Ms. Powell, could she be pregnant again?” Jerome froze for a moment, then turned without hesitation, picked up Sandra from the ground, and hurried toward the restroom. Queena clutched her aching heart, scrambling to her feet in a panic. As she turned, tears finally overflowed. It was pouring rain outside, but she didn't care and plunged into it. She didn't have an umbrella and didn't run; she just walked slowly. Someone with an umbrella hurried past her, muttering, “Why isn't that girl taking shelter?” But she didn't hear anything, only the sound of the rain pouring in her ears, like someone crying, or someone laughing. In the puddles at her feet, her disheveled reflection was visible, her hair messy and stuck to her forehead, her eyes red and swollen. She kicked a small pebble by the roadside, and it splashed a circle of water, which was quickly filled again by new rain, like the emptiness in her heart, which could never be filled. After an unknown amount of time, Queena entered a convenience store, borrowed a phone from the clerk, and dialed her best friend’s number. “I want you to help me stage a car accident where I fall into the sea. This time, I want to make the identity of Queena disappear from the world completely. I want everyone to be unable to find me.”