Chapter 8

He didn't even bother to ask if I was available—he just decided for me.

Fine by me. This kind of pure, undisguised need for control was far less exhausting than Michael's fake tenderness.

I replied with one word: "Okay."

That evening, I deliberately chose a conservative but high-quality black dress and did my makeup—refined but understated.

When I came downstairs, Michael was sitting in the living room reading a financial magazine, apparently waiting to have dinner with me.

He saw me all dressed up and froze for a moment, then stood up, his brow furrowing slightly. "You're going out?"

"Yes, a friend's gathering," I replied coolly, offering no further explanation.

A flash of displeasure and suspicion crossed Michael's eyes. He was used to me centering everything around him—my sudden independence made him feel like he was losing control.

"What friend? How come I don't know about this?" he pressed. "Ophelia, we just made up, and you..."

I didn't feel like listening to his nonsense, so I cut him off. "Michael, I'm just going to a party, not having an affair. If you can't even give me that much trust, then there's no point in us being together."

My firmness left him speechless. He probably never expected that I, who used to be so obedient to him, would become so sharp-tongued.

I didn't bother looking at his sour expression and headed straight for the door. A black Bentley had already pulled up silently outside.

The car drove smoothly and eventually stopped in front of a heavily guarded private mansion. I thought it would be an intimate meeting, but the driver led me toward a brightly lit, bustling banquet hall.

Perfume and jewels, wine and conversation.

The hall was filled with prominent figures from Emerald City's financial world and underground circles.

I immediately understood—this wasn't some friend's gathering, but the Wilson family's private dinner party.

Benjamin was testing me.

As my mind raced, Benjamin emerged from the crowd and walked straight toward me.

He wore a black velvet suit today, making him look even more imposing and adding a touch of dangerous elegance.

He naturally reached out and wrapped his arm around my waist—the gesture intimate but without any hint of desire, more like a declaration of ownership.

"I was worried you'd be late," he said softly near my ear, his warm breath brushing my earlobe.

I didn't pull away. Instead, I took his arm and put on a proper smile, my tone calm. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Wilson."

My composure brought a glint of approval to his eyes.

He led me into the center of the banquet hall.

Everywhere we went, the previously noisy crowd fell silent, countless eyes—scrutinizing, curious, amazed—landing on me.

"Everyone," Benjamin's voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly throughout the hall, "let me introduce my fiancée, Ophelia White."

It was like dropping a stone into still water.

I could feel the shock hidden beneath the guests' calm surfaces. Especially several older family elders—they looked at me like they were assessing the value of merchandise.

I showed no fear, just straightened my back, wearing a warm but distant smile, and gracefully raised my glass to everyone.

Years of White family upbringing made me perfectly at ease in such settings.

I didn't need to please anyone—I just needed to let them know I was worthy of standing beside Benjamin.

Benjamin was satisfied with my performance, and his arm around me tightened.

After exchanging pleasantries with several core family members, I excused myself to the restroom and temporarily slipped away. Just as I reached a quiet corner in the hallway, a slightly surprised voice called out to me.

"Ms. White?"

I turned around to see a well-maintained middle-aged man. His name was Ryan Martin, Michael's business rival.

Rumor had it that Michael had once used underhanded tactics to steal a major deal from him, and the two had been enemies ever since.

"Mr. Martin." I smiled and nodded in greeting.

His face showed barely concealed shock, his gaze sweeping between me and the banquet hall. "I really didn't expect to see you here. I thought..."

He thought I was still Michael's wife.

"No need to dwell on the past." I gently swirled my champagne glass, looking directly at him, getting straight to the point. "I'm guessing your hatred for Michael is no less than mine?"

Ryan froze, then his eyes lit up with shrewd interest. "What do you mean by that, Ms. White?"

"I mean," I stepped closer and lowered my voice, "Michael's business empire is built on quicksand, and I happen to have what it takes to make that quicksand completely collapse. I wonder if Mr. Martin would be interested in working together to carve up his business empire?"

The shock in Ryan's eyes was overwhelming. He never expected that I, a seemingly delicate woman, would have such audacity and cunning.

He fell silent for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. Finally, greed won over caution.

"It would be my honor." He raised his glass to me. "My assistant will contact you tomorrow."

"Looking forward to working together." I smiled back and drained my glass.

By the time the party ended, it was late at night.

Benjamin personally drove me back. Inside the enclosed car space, his crisp woody scent enveloped me completely.

"You did very well today," he suddenly spoke, breaking the silence.

"I was just fulfilling my part of our cooperation agreement," I replied calmly.

"No," Benjamin turned his head, his eyes remarkably bright in the dim light, "you understand better than I expected how to use your advantages. Like with Ryan."

My heart tightened—he knew.

The car slowly stopped outside the Johnson Villa, but he didn't unlock the door.

Benjamin suddenly leaned toward me, his overwhelming presence instantly surrounding me.

He braced one hand on the seat back beside me, trapping me between him and the car door.

"You're a poisoned blade, Ophelia." His voice was low and husky, carrying a fatal attraction. "Beautiful, sharp, and you know exactly whose vital points to strike."

I forced myself to meet his gaze calmly, but my heart was racing out of control.

This man was too dangerous.

He raised his other hand, his fingertip lightly brushing across my lips—the cool touch made me shiver.

"I'm more and more excited about our partnership."

His face drew closer and closer, his nose almost touching mine. I could clearly see my own face, pretending to be composed, reflected in his eyes.

Just when I thought he was going to kiss me, he stopped right next to my lips, his hot breath falling on my skin.

"You're an asset worth investing in, more than I imagined." He chuckled softly, then sat back up, as if that ambiguous moment had been my imagination.

The car door unlocked.

"Good night, my fiancée."

I didn't look back at him, pushed open the door, and quickly walked into that hypocritical cage.

It wasn't until I closed the villa door and leaned against the cold door panel that I realized my palms were covered in a thin layer of sweat, and my heart was still racing.