Chapter 4

Sylvia was staring blankly at the news on her phone when the shrill ring of a call tore through the quiet.

It was an unfamiliar number.

A knot tightened in her stomach, but she still swiped to answer.

Andrew's furious voice exploded in her ear. "Sylvia, you damn bitch! Was it you who spilled everything about me and Rosa online?!"

Sylvia held the phone away until the noise subsided, then replied coolly, "I'm not that bored."

"Liar!" Andrew's rage was barely contained. "Who else could it be? Listen to me, Sylvia—don't be stupid! You think these little tricks will force my hand? I'm telling you, they won't work!"

She didn't bother arguing and was about to hang up.

His tone turned even more domineering. "I'm ordering you to get back to the Brooks Mansion within thirty minutes and apologize to Rosa. We'll forget this ever happened. Otherwise…"

"Andrew," Sylvia's voice was suddenly as cold as ice. "Otherwise what?"

"I said—"

"Fuck you!" Sylvia's pent-up fury ignited. She shouted into the receiver, "Who the hell do you think you are, barking orders at me? If you're sick, get help—don't dump your insanity on me!"

She hung up without hesitation, tossed the phone onto the couch, and stood there, chest rising and falling with anger.

Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath. When she opened them again, she froze.

Henry was standing in the doorway, holding several bags, watching her in silence.

Morning light streamed through the window behind him, casting a soft halo around his shoulders.

When had he come in? Had he heard everything?

Heat rushed to her cheeks. The image of her screaming into the phone had been laid bare before him. She'd always cared about her composure, but now she didn't know where to put her hands or feet.

"I… uh…" She opened her mouth to explain, but the words felt pointless.

Henry didn't acknowledge her embarrassment. He crossed the room and set the bags down on the small coffee table.

One held steaming breakfast; the others contained fresh toiletries and clean clothes.

"Breakfast," he said, nodding toward the table.

His calmness only deepened her discomfort.

He glanced at her, his eyes lingering on the flush at her ear before shifting away.

Pushing the breakfast toward her, his tone carried a faint, teasing warmth. "So… you're not eating?"

Sylvia blinked and looked up.

Henry wore a simple jacket, his features sharp yet gentle, his presence clean and unpretentious.

In her eyes, he was a man who had struggled at the bottom yet still held onto kindness and dignity.

The debt she owed him felt heavy.

"Sir," she said earnestly, "I really appreciate what you've done for me. I may not have much to offer right now, but you've helped me more than once. If you ever need anything, just ask—here in City A, I can still make things happen."

It was a promise.

Even fallen, a Brooks Family socialite still carried her connections and pride.

A flicker of something unreadable passed through Henry's eyes. He nodded and took out his phone. "Alright."

They exchanged numbers. Watching him save her contact, Sylvia felt an unexpected sense of steadiness.

"What's your plan now?" Henry asked, raising a brow. "A man like Andrew won't let this go easily."

Sylvia lifted her glass of milk, gaze drifting to the gray sky outside. "I'll play it by ear. I'm not going back to marry him and let them pull my strings."

Henry regarded her in silence for a moment, then spoke with a teasing lilt, "If you don't want to marry him… why not marry someone else?"

Sylvia's head snapped toward him.

"For example"—his eyes locked on hers, a faint curve tugging at his lips while his gaze stayed steady—"me."

Her heart skipped a beat.

His voice was low and smooth, carrying a quiet gravity that tugged at her.

In the sunlight, his refined features seemed sharper still, and those deep-set eyes held a pull she could feel in her bones.

For a heartbeat, she drifted.

Then reason snapped her back. Heat rose to her ears as she tore her gaze away.

She lifted her glass of milk, using the motion to mask her fluster, and forced a tight smile. "You really do have a sense of humor, sir. I'm not about to repay kindness with something as old-fashioned as marriage."

She let it sound like a joke—partly to defuse the moment, partly to remind herself they belonged to different worlds.

Henry didn't press, though the amusement in his eyes deepened.

The silence stretched between them until Sylvia's phone rang, the sharp tone cleaving the air.

She glanced at the caller ID, her expression cooling. After a beat, she picked up.

"Hello."

"Sylvia, my dear daughter!" Gary's voice was uncharacteristically warm, even ingratiating. "Where are you? Are you doing alright? I've been worried sick."

The false concern made her stomach churn. She said nothing, listening in silence.

Gary rambled on for a while, then, realizing she wasn't responding, finally cut to the chase. "Sylvia, you've seen the news, haven't you? Now even our Brooks Family business projects are being affected…"

He lowered his voice, slipping into a wheedling tone. "Sylvia, I need you to do me a favor. Go online and post a statement. Say… say that the person with Andrew that night was you."

Sylvia's grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles whitened.

Gary kept talking. "You're his fiancée—people understand when young couples get carried away. But Rosa… she's unmarried. She can't be labeled as someone who seduced her brother-in-law. Sylvia, just help your sister, help your father, help the Brooks Family… alright?"

For Rosa's reputation, for the family's interests, they wanted her to stomach the humiliation and take the blame?

Absurd. Disgusting.

Sylvia trembled with fury, a cold, mirthless laugh escaped her lips.