Chapter 3

Over at High Street Cafe, Melissa greeted Cynthia with a bright smile. "Cynthia, you're finally here. I've waited for ages." Three years had passed, and Melissa had only grown more striking—delicate and charming in a way that drew eyes effortlessly. "You can spill the beans now, can't you?" Cynthia said. Melissa lifted her cup of coffee, took a delicate sip, then raised her chin with arrogant poise. "It's just like you suspected. Oliver married you… for my sake." "No. You're lying." Cynthia denied it, but her eyes were already beginning to burn. "If you didn't doubt him, then why are you asking me?" Melissa's fingertip slid slowly around the rim of her cup, creating a sharp, grating sound that set Cynthia's teeth on edge. "Has Oliver been working late a lot lately?" Her eyes gleamed with mockery, her expression twisted with cruelty. "He's been working overtime with me. After all, I'm carrying the Carter family's heir." Cynthia's breath caught. Beneath the table, her fingernails dug deep into her palm. She forced her voice to stay even. "I've given you everything—clothes, food, anything you liked all these years. I even stepped aside. "Wasn't that enough for you? Oliver is the love of my life. And you still had to take him from me?" Melissa slammed her cup down. Her eyes were dark with hatred. "Take him? Why wouldn't I fight for him? This is what you owe me! You owed me the moment my mother died saving you!" A flash of that gentle, loving smile of Lily's appeared in Cynthia's mind, making her heart shudder. "We compensated your family." "Can you put a price on family relations? I lost the only person who truly loved me. I lost the warmth of a home. I was dragged into your Johnson family, clinging on, terrified every day that I'd make a mistake and be thrown out," Melissa exclaimed. "Do you understand that fear?" She continued, "Well, of course, you don't. You're the Johnson family's precious daughter—spoiled, adored, and raised on a pedestal. You could never understand the pain of people like me." Melissa gritted her teeth, unleashing years of resentment and bitterness in one furious breath. "You owe me everything. I'll take your father, your inheritance, and your man. Only when you've fallen from grace will you know what helplessness really feels like." Cynthia sat frozen, stunned by Melissa's venomous words. She had never imagined Melissa's hatred ran this deep. She had tried to make up for everything, thinking it had been enough. Just then, a cold voice cut through the air. "Melissa, why aren't you at work?" It was Oliver. His handsome face was taut with disapproval, his posture protective as he stood beside Cynthia. Melissa lowered her gaze to hide the flash of irritation in her eyes. "Oh, nothing. I just ran into Cynthia by chance and thought we'd chat for a bit." He glanced at her suspiciously before slipping his arm around Cynthia's waist. "Sweetheart, it's almost lunchtime. Aren't you heading home?" It was a familiar, affectionate gesture—but for the first time, it made Cynthia feel uncomfortable. "Yes. I'll leave now." "Good. I'll have the driver take you." However, unlike before, he didn't insist on driving her himself. That gave her the opportunity she needed. She slipped behind a row of potted plants, hiding in their shadow, eyes locked on the pair in front of her. "Melissa, you're about to be named as Johnson Corporation's successor. Why are you still provoking Cynthia? What if something goes wrong?" Melissa giggled, then cheekily placed his hand on her slightly rounded belly. "Sorry. I know I messed up. It really was a coincidence this time, don't be mad. Okay? You're scaring the baby." Oliver's gaze fell to her belly, overflowing with tenderness. "Has the little one been good today? Not kicking up a fuss?" "He's been quiet. A little too quiet, and it's making me nervous." "It's fine. He's probably just sleepy. A bit of movement, and he'll perk right up." "Ugh, you're such a tease." Melissa laughed coyly. Oliver's arm slid smoothly around her waist as the two walked toward the garage. Cynthia followed silently, watching as they climbed into Oliver's Bentley. Moments later, the car began to rock violently, the unmistakable rhythm of passion echoing through the underground parking lot. She collapsed at the corner, unable to breathe, her tears falling uncontrollably. With trembling fingers, she called Oliver, but he declined the call after barely two seconds. A message followed almost instantly. "Be good, sweetheart. I'm in an urgent meeting. I'll call you later." Meeting? What kind of meeting took place between a woman's thighs? Every word felt like a knife stab to her chest. If she had managed to deceive herself before, she could no longer deny the truth after witnessing it with her own eyes. She remembered how hard she fought to be with Oliver, how she had nearly driven Luke into a heart attack. Guilt surged through her like a tidal wave. With shaky hands, she dialed a number that had long been etched into her memory. "Dad… I'm sorry." The other end of the line was silent for a long time. Then, came his raspy, bitter voice, saying, "You ungrateful child. It's been three years. Not a single visit. Were you planning to wait until I was dead before coming over?"