Chapter 1

What was even more humiliating than discovering her fiancé’s affair was hearing him claim he’d lost interest in her, and that he had gotten another woman pregnant.

In the world of adults, it’s never about right or wrong—only about leverage.

Heather Jenner couldn’t afford to lose the status she was so close to achieving as a wealthy wife. Let him have his fun, she thought. If he could stray, why shouldn’t she find another man to father her child?

And so, she set her sights on his younger brother—the one who outshone him in every way.

Chapter 1

Heather Jenner glanced at the ovulation test strip in her hand. The result was clear—a bold red line.

Today was the day. Her body was about to release a mature egg. It would be her best chance to conceive.

Without hesitation, she tossed the strip aside and stepped out of the bathroom.

In the expansive, minimalist living room, a man lay sprawled across the sofa, drunk. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the smooth, pale skin beneath. The gentle rise and fall of his throat with each breath was tantalizing.

Heather straddled his waist, her lips brushing against his Adam's apple as her fingers worked to undo his belt.

Just as her hand slid lower, the man suddenly grabbed her wrist.

Jason Vander's eyes snapped open. Without a shred of mercy, he shoved her off. "Don't be shameless, Heather. You just got engaged to my brother."

Her face, a perfect blend of innocence and desire, was marred by the tears hanging at the corners of her eyes, giving her a fragile, broken look. "Jason, your brother got another woman pregnant. He's going to dump me."

Jason regarded her coldly. "That has nothing to do with me. Get out of my house."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she lunged toward him, clinging desperately. "Jason, we grew up together. Please, help me, just this once. If I get pregnant, your brother won't be able to break off the engagement and abandon me!"

She burrowed against his chest, forcing his hand to her body. "Since that car accident left me injured, your brother hasn't touched me in a long time..."

Her pleas, her tears, the way she pressed against him—it all made Jason's breathing quicken. But in the very next moment, he gripped her shoulders and threw her back onto the sofa.

"What makes you think I would want something my brother has already discarded?" His voice was icy. "Don't dirty my home. Get out."

Heather glanced down at his reaction. A moment ago, pressed against him, she had felt the unmistakable stir of his desire.

But Jason stood in the shadows now, his emotions unreadable. Before she could see more clearly, he turned and walked away.

He had resisted. Heather couldn't believe it. Disappointment flooded through her.

As she left, she defiantly removed her bra and stuffed it into the crack of his sofa.

After returning home, Heather took a shower and then lay down on the bed, holding a small mirror in her hand.

She spread her legs, gazing down at the reflection in the mirror.

It was clean, soft, and pink, with a small berry tattoo on one side that carried a mix of sensuality and innocence.

She touched it gently. Beneath the tattoo, the scar tissue was unmistakable.

Visually, the mark was hidden, but anyone who touched it would know she had been injured there.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed when the door suddenly swung open.

Brett Vander, back from an evening of socializing, hadn't drunk much. But when he saw where her hand rested, a surge of heat rushed through him.

He tossed his jacket aside and pushed his way onto the bed. "So desperate you're doing it yourself?" he teased.

Heather instinctively reached for the blanket to cover herself, but Brett's hand was already on the berry tattoo.

Her body went weak, and she let out a soft moan, her voice hoarse.

Just as she wrapped her arms around his neck, ready to surrender, she caught a whiff of something—a scent on his collar that wasn't hers.

To her, the scent was both foreign and familiar. She smelled it on him after he returned home more than once.

Whatever desire had been building inside her vanished in an instant. Revulsion took its place.

At the same moment, Brett's face suddenly changed. He stopped his advances and quickly got up, running to the bathroom.

Heather listened calmly to the sound of him retching.

This wasn't the first time. It wouldn't wound her pride anymore.

Half a year ago, Brett had taken her on a motorcycle ride. They had been in an accident on the road.

He had skillfully escaped unharmed, but the heavy bike had crushed her beneath it.

It had crushed her "down there."

At that time, she had screamed in agony as the pain hit her. Brett had yanked down her pants to check the injury.

There was a deep gash on one side where the bike had struck her, and blood was pouring out.

Brett had always been squeamish at the sight of blood. The moment he saw it, he had vomited.

Even after her wounds healed, the incident left a lasting scar on his mind.

Every time he touched her, Brett would remember that blood-soaked wound, and any spark of desire vanished instantly.

At first, Heather thought he had developed a general aversion to women. But then she realized—it was just her.

When strange women she didn't know sent her videos of themselves in bed with him, she finally understood. A different woman could still ignite his passion, making him burn hot and wild.

The Vanders were wealthy and powerful, so she had planned to turn a blind eye to it all.

But then one of those women sent a picture of a positive pregnancy test, and Heather could no longer sit idly by.

She had spent her best years on Brett, from school uniforms to wedding gowns, giving him the prime of her youth.

There was no way she would let go of the wealth and status that was almost within her grasp.

Grabbing her phone, Heather took a photo of the berry tattoo and sent it to Jason.

She had grown up with the Vander brothers, but because Brett had been named the heir, her relationship with Jason had always been distant and ambiguous.

But it didn't matter that Jason wasn't the family's chosen successor. As long as she got pregnant with a Vander child, that was all she needed.

Chapter 2

The next day, Heather made a visit to Montax University.

Jason taught there.

Unlike his brother, Brett, who was bold and shrewd, Jason was reserved but brilliant.

On the podium, he wore a crisp white shirt, glasses perched on his nose, and he spoke with eloquence, lecturing about the history of Western oil paintings.

Heather sat in the last row, then pulled out her phone to send him a message.

"Professor, that nude painting you just talked about—don't you think her body isn't as good as mine?"

Jason glanced over the students, spotting Heather. Without a hint of reaction, he turned back to continue his lecture.

Heather rested her chin on her hand. Art wasn't something she understood, but watching Jason roll up his sleeves as he spoke passionately about his subject was undeniably attractive.

She sent another message, "Professor, did you see my tattoo? Care to give it an artist's critique?"

Though Jason's expression didn't change, his rhythm faltered. His movements as he flipped through his notes grew hurried.

Smiling, Heather typed again, "Professor, how about trying it in the classroom with me?"

At that moment, the book in Jason's hand slipped from his grasp and fell to the desk. Heather's grin widened mischievously.

After class, she found his car and climbed inside right after him.

Jason shot her a cold look. "Get out. Heather, if you keep acting this shameless, I'll send all your messages to my brother."

Heather appeared unfazed. She pulled out her phone and showed him a video.

As soon as the video started, the sound of frantic, breathless moans filled the car, and Jason instinctively turned his face away.

Heather laughed. "Professor, don't you think those two people look familiar?"

Jason finally looked back at the screen, where the video had paused on a clear shot of the man's face.

It was Brett.

The woman in the video had her back to the camera, but there was no mistaking the red birthmark on her waist.

Heather watched Jason in silence, noticing his dazed expression. Feeling generous, she leaned in and whispered, "The woman your brother got pregnant—it's your girlfriend, Chrishell."

Jason, however, wasn't as rattled as she'd expected. He pulled his gaze away, cold and unaffected. "I don't need you to tell me that. Get out of the car."

Heather moved closer, her lips brushing his ear. "Jason, let's get back at them, right here in the car."

Startled as if by an electric shock, Jason recoiled. "Heather, get out!"

She slid onto his lap, positioning herself deliberately. "Your brother stole your woman. Isn't it only fair you steal his?" she teased, her voice soft but wicked.

Jason remained unmoved, his hands firm on her shoulders, holding her at bay.

But Heather could feel the subtle shift in him. Smiling, she moved against him, her hips teasing with a slow rhythm. "You say no, but, Professor, what's this I feel?"

The vein in Jason's temple pulsed visibly. "Get off!" he growled.

He reached for the door, ready to throw her out with force, but before he could act, Heather cupped his face and pressed her lips hard against his, capturing the coolness of his thin, soft lips in a fierce kiss.

It was just like the video of Chrishell kissing Brett, full of passion and intensity.

What surprised Heather most was how good Jason tasted—clean, fresh, and warm, his lips both soft and heated. And to her satisfaction, he unconsciously responded, just a little, but enough to make her feel the spark.

Heat rose within her.

After being ignored and neglected by Brett for so long, Heather needed compensation. She needed the touch of another man to erase the cold indifference she'd endured.

Just as her mind spun with excitement, a loud horn blared from the car beside them, shattering the moment.

Before Heather could react, Jason quickly pulled her into his arms, pressing her against his chest.

From outside, a playful voice called out, "Jason, you've got some wild moves, don't you?"

It was Brett.

Pressed against Jason's chest, Heather could hear his calm, steady heartbeat as he replied, "Brett, what are you doing here?"

"Just handling some business," Brett said, leaning casually against the car door. He squinted, trying to peer through the narrow crack of the window, eager to see who Jason was embracing.

But Jason kept her tightly shielded, not even allowing a glimpse of the back of her head.

All Brett could make out was her shapely figure and a sliver of pale skin exposed at the waist, smooth and slender under her clothes.

Knowing Brett was just inches away, the thrill of revenge surged through Heather. Her hand slipped down, grazing Jason's waist.

She heard him take a sharp breath, just as her fingers found his zipper and pulled it down in one swift motion.

Chapter 3

Heather's soft, warm hand sent a shiver down Jason's spine, causing his breathing to grow heavy.

Outside, Brett caught the subtle flush in his brother's face, noticing the telltale signs of desire. He couldn't help but tease, "Don't forget you're still on the university grounds, keep it in check."

Then, with a mocking grin, he added, "Didn't expect this from you, Jason. Always playing the gentleman, and here you are sneaking around behind your girlfriend's back in broad daylight."

But Jason remained calm as he held Heather in his arms. His expression steady, he countered, "Brett, what makes you so sure she isn't my girlfriend?"

Brett paused, caught off guard by the question. Before he could respond, Jason rolled the window up completely, shutting him out.

At that moment, the woman in Jason's lap tried to lift her head. Without missing a beat, Jason sharply smacked her on the hip, keeping her in place.

A muffled sound escaped her lips, and Brett suddenly felt a flicker of familiarity in that voice.

Brett leaned forward, a sense of recognition stirring. He wanted to walk around to the front of the car and see just who Jason was holding so protectively, but before he could move, Jason removed his jacket and draped it over the woman, then swiftly placed her into the passenger seat. In seconds, he drove off.

Once they were out of sight, Heather tossed the jacket aside, grinning as her eyes trailed downwards. "You're still hard, Professor. Shall we find a hotel?"

Jason slapped her hand away with a cold expression. "Get out at the next stop."

Heather's smile didn't falter. "Your girlfriend's about to become your sister-in-law. Don't you want to do something about it?"

He pulled over, his voice even colder. "Get out."

Leaning in, she whispered, "Jason, if you get me pregnant, your brother will have to marry me to fulfill the terms of our engagement."

Her voice turned coaxing, her eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "And your girlfriend's little scheme will amount to nothing. We can both get revenge. Isn't that the perfect outcome?"

Jason didn't even spare her a glance. "Get out."

In the end, he forced her out of the car. Heather, cursing him for being so dull, headed off to the mall to pass the time.

While browsing through clothes, her phone buzzed. It was Chrishell, inviting her to a birthday party.

She probably thought Heather's lack of response to her provocations meant she'd won, but now she was getting impatient.

Without hesitation, Heather typed a quick reply: "Sure."

After finishing her shopping, Heather returned home to find Brett already back.

He looked her up and down, his gaze cool but curious. "Where have you been?"

Heather had changed into a new outfit and styled her hair differently. She spun around in front of him with a playful smile. "Shopping, of course. There's a lot to buy now that we're getting married."

Brett noticed the difference in her appearance from the woman he had seen in Jason's car earlier. Whatever lingering suspicions he had were quickly dispelled.

Without much interest, he glanced away and settled onto the sofa. "You take care of it."

Heather headed upstairs to put her things away. When she came back down, she spotted Brett sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone, a relaxed smile tugging at his lips.

Quietly, she sneaked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Who are you chatting with?"

Startled, Brett nearly jumped out of his seat. Realizing his overreaction, he hurriedly pocketed his phone. "Nothing, just some work."

Heather pretended not to notice the bright red kiss emoji that had flashed on his screen a moment earlier. She smiled and asked, "Do you have time tonight? Come with me somewhere."

Brett immediately declined. "I have a video conference tonight."

Heather pouted slightly, then said, "It's Jason's girlfriend's birthday. I thought it'd be nice if you came with me to the party."

He paused, the mention of the party catching him off guard. His attitude softened quickly. "If you really want to go, I can accompany you."

Heather took his arm and said, "Are you sure it won't interfere with your work?"

"It's not that important," Brett replied, already making his way upstairs. "I should get changed. Can't be underdressed for an occasion like this."

Watching him eagerly head off to prepare, Heather reached for the new perfume she had just bought. She sprayed a little on her wrists and behind her ears, the sultry fragrance enveloping her.

As the scent lingered, she found herself replaying the intimate moment in the car with Jason earlier that day. A thrill ran through her, and she couldn't help but anticipate their next encounter.

Chapter 4

As Heather pulled Brett into the private room, Chrishell and Jason were being cheered on to drink from the same cup.

Chrishell, with her delicate and seductive appearance, had an air of innocence on the surface, but Heather knew she was far more uninhibited at heart. The sounds she had made in that video could easily drive a man to the brink.

Seeing Brett arrive, Chrishell greeted him sweetly, "Brett, Heather, you're here."

Her soft and gentle voice greeting him seemed to send Brett into a daze.

Most of the people in the room were Jason's friends, who naturally knew that Brett was his older brother.

In recent years, the Vanders had risen rapidly, with Brett at the helm as the new generation's leader, his influence undeniable. The crowd around him was eager to ingratiate themselves, and even Chrishell couldn't hide the admiration in her eyes.

Heather, pretending nothing was amiss, casually sat down across from Jason.

She noticed a painting on the table — a portrait of Chrishell. The skill in the artwork was impressive, undoubtedly Jason's work. He had a notable talent for art and had already secured a position as an instructor at an art academy, with his works fetching high prices on the market.

It was almost laughable to Heather that Jason, aware of his girlfriend's infidelity, could still calmly celebrate her birthday like this.

Glancing past the coffee table and the other guests, Heather leaned forward and asked, "Professor, would you be willing to paint something for me as well? My birthday is coming up soon."

Jason's cold gaze locked on her, silently warning her not to stir up trouble in front of so many people.

When he ignored her, Heather turned her head dramatically and spoke up to Chrishell, "Chrishell, would you ask Jason to paint a portrait for me too? He listens to you the most, doesn't he?"

Chrishell, distracted as she flirted with Brett, absentmindedly replied, "Jason, go ahead and paint one for Heather."

Faced with Chrishell's request, Jason couldn't refuse. Sipping his drink, he didn't protest further.

Heather, undeterred, sent him a message on her phone: "Professor, I want a nude portrait."

Jason casually turned off his phone without even acknowledging it.

Heather extended her leg beneath the table, teasingly kicking his calf through the gap.

Another message followed: "Professor, your brother and your girlfriend just went to the bathroom together."

Jason glanced up briefly, noting the absence of both Brett and Chrishell, but remained unfazed, as if the message hadn't affected him at all.

Such self-control, Heather thought as she smirked. She nudged her foot higher, slipping it under his pant leg, tracing the tense muscles of his calf with her toes.

Finally, no longer able to bear the disruption, Jason stood up and left his seat.

Around them, the crowd was too engrossed in drinking and singing to notice anything amiss in the corner.

Heather watched as Jason walked out of the room, and she followed him closely.

He found an empty private room and sat down, the dim lighting casting shadows over his face. He lowered his head slightly as he lit a cigarette, his eyes narrowing as the smoke curled around him.

The collar of his shirt was unbuttoned just enough to hint at something more beneath his refined appearance. When he smoked, there was a dark, seductive quality about him that always drew her in.

In terms of looks, Heather had always felt that Jason far outshone Brett.

When he glanced up and saw her following him again, a flash of irritation crossed his face, and he made a move to leave.

Heather blocked his way, pulling out her phone. "Want to know what your brother and your girlfriend are up to?"

She opened an app on her phone. "I planted a bug on your brother that can transmit real-time audio. Listen."

From the phone's speaker came Chrishell's breathless voice, broken and pleading, "Brett... I can't take it anymore…"

Brett's heavy breathing followed, his voice rough and taunting. "Scream louder, let my dear little brother hear you too."

Heather listened, utterly entertained. "Do you really think she's pregnant? I wonder if they'd even manage to make a baby like this."

Jason remained silent, but Heather could guess what was on his mind. She knew it was all part of the manipulative games women like Chrishell played. Yet with Brett so thoroughly taken in, it wouldn't be surprising if there really was a child one day — perhaps even an illegitimate one.

The sound of Chrishell's shrill moans filled the room, and Jason suddenly snatched the phone out of Heather's hand, swiftly shutting off the app. Coldly, he tossed the phone back to her.

"Heather, what are you trying to accomplish?" His voice was low and icy, thick with contempt.

Heather rose onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Didn't I already tell you? I want you to help me get pregnant. Your genes are so similar to your brother's; he'll never know the difference. I'll use this child to claim my share of his fortune."

Jason pushed her away with disgust. "Minx."

Heather's laughter rippled through the room as she leaned in closer, her body pressing against his arm. "How did you know the perfume I'm wearing today is called 'Minx's Embrace'? Do you like it?"

The enticing scent enveloped them both, as if the very air around her was steeped in seduction — a baited hook waiting for its catch.

But Jason's expression remained unmoved. He turned on his heel, intending to leave. Just as he reached for the door, the sharp sound of glass shattering echoed behind him, followed by a woman's pained cry.

He turned to find Heather collapsed over the coffee table, motionless. Without thinking, he rushed over and pulled her up by the arm.

In an instant, Heather coiled around him like a vine, her arms tightening around his neck as she giggled and pressed her lips against his cheek. "Jason, you're so worried about me."

Chapter 5

Jason struggled to free himself from Heather's tight grip, but she clung to him with all her strength, her arms and legs wrapped around him like a vine.

"Jason, I know you and your brother have different mothers," she whispered seductively. "He acts like a good brother on the surface, but behind your back, he's always plotting against you, keeping you at arm's length."

Her voice softened, full of temptation. "If I get pregnant with your child and marry him, everything in the Vanders will belong to us. No matter how hard he schemes, in the end, he'll be working for you. Doesn't that sound satisfying?"

Jason's gaze lowered to her, his expression cold and unreadable.

Heather leaned closer, her breath tickling his ear. "Are you really not interested in your brother's money? Or his woman?" Her lips brushed against his nose, trailing down to his Adam's apple.

She sank to her knees on the carpet, lifting her tearful eyes to look up at him, her red lips parted slightly — as if she were a faerie, drawing him deeper into her web.

Just then, a group of people approached the door outside, led by a server. They were laughing and chatting, ready to enter the room. As the door handle turned, Jason's fingers tightened in her hair, yanking her back abruptly.

The noise outside seemed to fade, and the footsteps grew distant again.

Breathing heavily, Heather reclined on the sofa, her lips glistening with moisture as she watched him, silently inviting him with a sly smile.

But Jason remained emotionless as he methodically adjusted his disheveled clothes.

Heather sat up, her eyes gleaming with provocation as she hooked her arm around him. "Jason, come on. It's my ovulation period, the best time to conceive a boy. Don't you want to seize this chance?"

Jason straightened, his usual air of dignity returning as he looked down at her with disdain. "A woman like you doesn't deserve to carry my child."

Heather watched in disbelief as he headed for the door. Infuriated, she chased after him. "Jason, are you even a man?"

He glanced back at her, his gaze lingering on her bold, red lips. "Didn't you already find out if I'm a man just now?"

Heather's fury surged. "Is that it? Are you impotent or something?"

He didn't bother to respond, just walked away without looking back.

Fuming, Heather shouted after him, her anger spilling over. "You deserve to be a cuckold! Chrishell and your brother are making a fool of you, and you don't even dare lay a finger on me!"

But Jason paid no attention to her taunts, leaving her behind without a second glance.

Heather returned to the private room, her heart ablaze with frustration, only to find Jason absent while Brett and Chrishell were already back.

Chrishell sat at one side, her face glowing with affection as she sang a love song, her eyes filled with longing. Brett listened, utterly entranced.

Suddenly, Heather felt the atmosphere suffocating and dull. She rose abruptly, leaving the room in search of air.

After a short drive, she arrived at the Jenner family home, where a servant was trying to feed her mother dinner. However, her mother was being uncooperative, splattering soup all over herself.

The servant, irritated, raised a hand to strike her but quickly recoiled upon seeing Heather approach.

Heather stepped in, took the bowl of soup, and sat down next to her mother. She looked at her mother, whose figure seemed to sag, a shadow of her former self.

Six months ago, her mother had discovered that her father not only had a mistress but also a secret illegitimate son. In a fit of rage, she had jumped from the second floor, landing hard.

Her father felt no remorse; instead, he continued to flaunt his affair, bringing his mistress and their child out in public. Since then, her mother had become a shell of herself, existing as a vegetable with no hope left in her life.

Heather gazed at her mother's burnt-red lips and sighed. "Mom, you're being foolish. Why punish yourself for someone else's mistakes?" She scooped up a steaming spoonful of soup. "If anyone should suffer, it should be the one who erred!"

In a sudden outburst, she flipped the hot bowl of soup onto the servant. The woman screamed in pain but dared not retaliate, only stammering apologies, claiming she hadn't taken proper care of Heather's mother.

Heather returned to her chair, wiping the soup stains off her mother's clothes.

The servant's fear of her wasn't just because she was the eldest daughter of the Jenner family, but because she was on the brink of becoming Brett Vander's wife. If she lost that status, she and her mother would have nowhere left to stand.

Determined, Heather made a vow in her heart: she would do everything in her power to hold onto this marriage.

Chapter 6

Not long after, it was time for Brett and Jason's father's birthday celebration, and the family banquet was lively, filled with the buzz of laughter and conversation.

Brett, in his role as heir, orchestrated the entire event. He was basking in the attention, exuding pride with every movement.

Heather was at his side, smiling politely, playing the perfect companion.

Every familiar face they encountered would inevitably ask the same question, "You've been together for years now, haven't you? When's the wedding?"

Brett brushed it off each time with the same vague response. "Soon."

But he avoided the topic, and Heather couldn't help but notice how uninterested he seemed in the idea of marriage.

His evasiveness triggered a sudden thought—Marriage needs a certain spark of impulsiveness. The longer a couple stays together, the harder it is to take the leap.

That evening, Brett drank a lot, flushed with excitement after his father officially announced his plans to retire. It meant that soon, Brett would hold the reins of power.

After the party, Heather guided him back to their room.

As she started to help him undress, he stared at her neckline, his eyes dark and intense. Without warning, he grabbed the fabric and tore her gown open with a roughness she hadn't seen in him for a long time.

It had been a while since he'd been this passionate, and Heather responded, half-resisting, half-leaning into his desire.

Both of them were swept up in the moment, but just as they reached the brink, Brett faltered.

Breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his face, he muttered, "It's no use. I still can't do it."

Heather lay there, staring at the ceiling. "Didn't you say you'd see a therapist?"

There was a long silence, thick with the unspoken. Finally, slurring slightly from the alcohol, Brett admitted, "It's not me... it's us. We've been together too long. There's nothing exciting anymore."

He stood, pulling his trousers back on. "Let's think about the wedding later. I'm going to be really busy for the next year or two."

Without another word, he left the room, leaving Heather staring up at the ceiling, her mind spinning. There was a sting in her chest, a sharpness that made her throat tighten, but no tears came.

Lying there, she heard the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway.

She sat up, glancing toward the half-open door. It was Jason.

His eyes swept over her, noticing the disheveled state of her clothing. He averted his gaze, his voice detached. "Dad wants Brett to go see him."

Heather's gaze locked onto Jason, her mind racing.

Earlier, Brett and Jason's father had made a subtle but clear point, mentioning that once he retired, he'd have more free time. It was his not-so-veiled way of hinting that she and Brett should hurry up and give him a grandchild.

She knew that Brett's father approved of her, and with his influence still intact, if she got pregnant, the wedding would be a certainty. Now was the time to act.

She softened her voice, letting it tremble slightly as she spoke, "Your brother's gone out."

Jason took a step forward as if to leave, but she called out to him, "Jason, won't you come in?"

He paused, but didn't turn to face her. "We're in the Vanders' home," he reminded her.

Heather sniffed, a pitiful sound escaping her lips as she pleaded, "I'm so cold. Please, come in and hold me."

He stood still, his posture rigid, his silhouette sharp against the dim light, a picture of untouchable elegance.

Barefoot, Heather slipped off the bed, her thin gown barely clinging to her body as she approached him.

There was something both desperate and seductive about her movements, like a ghost haunting her target. Her voice dripped with temptation as she whispered, "Jason, you've liked me ever since we were kids, haven't you? Back when we were still in school, you always waited until the last minute to head home, just so we could walk together. Isn't that true?"

Jason's face was expressionless, showing no sign that her words affected him.

Heather wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing herself against him. "Jason, it was Brett who proposed to me first. If you had told me back then that you liked me, I wouldn't have chosen him. You know that, don't you?"

Her lips brushed against his pristine white shirt, leaving faint traces of lipstick. "Jason, Jason… I've missed you so much while you were away all those years…"

Rising on her toes, she kissed him, then pulled him toward the room.

Jason watched her as she tried, with all her might, to please him, but his gaze remained as cold as ever.

Heather was relentless, clinging to him, pulling him further into the room, convinced she was on the verge of success.

But in an instant, his hand grabbed her and pinned her against the doorframe. His voice was icy, sharp with disdain. "Miss me? Or just trying to use me?"

Her hand fumbled for his belt. "Jason, I truly love you…"

His grip tightened around her wrist, stopping her. "Love? Do you even know what that means?" His eyes darkened with contempt. Her hand was just serving his brother, and now she was using it to undress him, all while telling him she loved him.

He looked her over with pure disgust. "Heather, stay away from me. You're filthy."

The words hit her like a slap. And the look in his eyes mirrored the same disdain Brett had shown her just moments earlier.

Filthy.

They both looked at her with the same disdain. What gave them the right?!

A wave of humiliation and fury crashed over her, and she felt herself being consumed by a deep, overwhelming sense of bitterness and defeat.

Ripping her arm from his grasp, her passion evaporated, replaced by cold resolve. "You're right," she said, "I was trying to use you."

She stepped away, walking toward the door, and with a frigid calm, she shut it behind him. "But now, you're not even worth using."

Chapter 7

Heather had made up her mind to cross Jason off her list of candidates for "borrowing sperm." Since that day, she hadn't bothered with him again.

Today, she was out for business, meeting someone to discuss a deal for her family. But once she arrived, she found herself roped into a card game.

She wasn't a great player and had been losing round after round. The others teased her, one of them laughing, "Lost it all, huh? Better call Brett to come bail you out. We'll be keeping his wife as collateral."

Heather blushed, playing along coyly. "Who's his wife? We're not married yet."

The group erupted in laughter. "Isn't it as good as done? You becoming Mrs. Vander is already set in stone. If you ask us, you should hurry up and start helping him at Vander Inc.. The Jenner family will go to your brother sooner or later, and here you are, working yourself to the bone…"

Her smile faltered, the laughter around the table tapering off with it.

Her "brother," still in school, was cherished by their father like a precious gem. It was no secret he was being groomed to take over the family business one day.

As for Heather, the daughter born to the legitimate wife? To her father, she was nothing more than water spilled from a cup—gone, forgotten.

If it weren't for her engagement to a Vander, keeping her in a position of some influence, her father would have likely brought his mistress and illegitimate son home long ago, making them the legitimate family.

The smile that remained on her face had turned cold, devoid of warmth, as she tossed out a card, indifferent to the game.

A voice behind her interrupted. "I wouldn't go with that if I were you."

A man leaned over, gently guiding her hand to take the card back and replace it with another.

She turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of the man—it was Brett's cousin, Tyler Richie.

Tyler, a notorious playboy with a trail of romantic entanglements, settled lazily into the seat behind her.

The group, always ready to tease, couldn't resist. "Rescuing the damsel in distress, are you, Tyler?"

Tyler leaned in closer, his voice casual but suggestive. "Isn't it natural for a guy to look out for his cousin's wife?" His breath brushed against her ear as he spoke. "You don't know how to play, do you? Let me help you with a few hands."

Heather's eyes met his, and she could clearly see the glint of something darker—an unmistakable, primal hunger in his gaze.

She looked at him, this younger man who, to some degree, resembled Brett.

As Tyler "helped" her with her cards, his fingers brushed hers more than once—lingering touches that were far from accidental.

Heather kept her silence, a playful smile gracing her lips as she continued to play cards. Whenever she lost a hand, she'd elbow Tyler's chest, pretending to scold him for his poor advice.

He only chuckled in response, his grin widening, his body drawing closer to hers. His hand, now with increasing boldness, found its way to her slender waist, lingering under the pretense of casual assistance.

As she played, her mind drifted, calculating. This man—Tyler—he might just work.

Tyler was a relative of the Vanders, close enough by blood that if she were to "borrow" from him to conceive a child, it wouldn't be too far off from her original plan.

The cards became an afterthought as her thoughts raced, and soon, she excused herself to the restroom.

When she emerged, she cast a knowing glance in Tyler's direction, a subtle invitation. As she expected, he followed her immediately.

They walked one behind the other, heading toward the upstairs guest rooms. Heather swayed her hips ever so slightly, feeling the weight of his gaze latch onto her like a hook.

She still had it—the power to wrap men around her finger with a mere flicker of her charms.

Except, of course, for the two Vander brothers—those two were blind as bats.

As she walked toward the elevator, her resolve grew stronger with every step. She deliberately slowed her pace, allowing him to catch up.

His voice was low, laced with mischief as he murmured behind her, "Heather, I've got a suite upstairs. How about I give you a proper lesson in cards?"

Heather smiled coyly, her lips curving in a delicate, seductive arch. She was just about to step into the elevator with him when she felt Tyler freeze beside her, his hand suddenly retracting from her waist as if burned.

She followed his gaze, and her own smile faded.

Across the lobby, standing under the bright lights, was a tall figure, his posture rigid, his eyes filled with cold fury.

It was Jason.

Tyler, ever the sycophant, scurried over to greet Jason with an overly eager smile. "Jason!" he called out, his voice dripping with forced enthusiasm.

But Jason didn't spare him a glance. His piercing gaze remained locked on Heather from across the room.

For a fleeting moment, the scene felt surreal, almost like a twisted fable. She was the seductive enchantress, moments away from ensnaring Tyler with her beguiling charms, when Jason, the righteous priest, appeared from the heavens to thwart her wicked plans.

Heather glanced at Tyler, his pitiful cowardice on full display. She knew immediately that the night wasn't going to go as planned.

Annoyance flared in her chest as she shot a venomous glare at Jason. That damned ghost, she thought bitterly, always hovering around, ruining things at the worst possible moment.

Turning on her heel, she stormed off toward the restroom, her frustration barely contained.

Inside, she washed her hands slowly, letting the cool water run over her fingers as she lathered the soap into bubbles. She sensed someone behind her, and without even turning, she caught his reflection in the mirror.

There he was, Jason. Impeccably dressed, his face a picture of cool, aristocratic composure.

The glasses he wore concealed the sharp intensity of his eyes, but she knew those same eyes were watching her closely, judging her with every passing second. He appeared as serene as ever, as if untouched by any worldly desire.

Heather let out a derisive snort. "What's the matter?" she drawled, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Seeing me with another man making you jealous?"

Chapter 8

Jason frowned as he looked at her, his face hard, his voice sharp. "Don't be such a cheap woman, Heather."

Heather shook the water from her hands, her lips curling into a mocking sneer. "What does it matter to you? Even if I'm a cheap woman, it's none of your business. Even if you begged for it, I wouldn't be interested anymore."

She turned to leave, but his voice followed her, cold and steady. "Don't even think about it. I won't let you shame the Vanders."

"Are you crazy?" she spat, turning on him, anger flashing in her eyes. "Your girlfriend cheats on you, and you don't care. But when it's about me and your brother, you lose your mind? Who the hell do you think you are?"

Jason didn't flinch, his eyes hard as steel. "Stay away from Tyler. Everything he has comes from the Vanders. He won't dare defy us."

She laughed bitterly, throwing him a contemptuous look. "What about you? You've been in my bed more times than I can count."

Her eyes narrowed in defiance. "And I will chase after Tyler. What are you going to do about it?" She raised her chin, taunting him. "Your cousin has a reputation. Strong where it counts. Not like you or your brother..."

She wasn't finished. The words, sharp and biting, were still on her tongue when Jason moved. His hand shot out, fingers clamping around her throat, pressing her back against the wall.

He wasn't gentle. His grip tightened, his eyes dark, a dangerous shadow flickering in them. "Heather, this is the last time I'll warn you. Don't disgrace the Vanders, or I won't forgive you."

Pinned against the wall, Heather saw the cold fury in his eyes, a ruthless edge she hadn't expected. For a moment, fear gripped her, but it was quickly replaced by a crushing sadness. Tears welled up, spilling over, falling onto his hand.

"Kill me, then," she choked, her voice thick with emotion. "Go on, kill me! Everyone bullies me, and now you're doing it too!"

The tears seemed to startle him. His grip loosened as he stepped back, disgust flickering in his expression as if her tears had dirtied his skin. His brow furrowed, and he retreated, giving her space.

Heather clutched her throat, sobbing uncontrollably. "You men, you let Chrishell toy with both of you, and none of you care. But with me, it's all threats and violence!"

As Jason withdrew, she moved closer, desperation lacing her words. "Go ahead, kill me! Jason, kill me! I've been with your brother for years. If the marriage is called off, the whole world will laugh at me. I'd be better off dead!"

Jason shoved her away coldly, his voice laced with irritation. "So you can't live without him? Is not marrying him the end of the world?"

Heather sobbed, her voice desperate. "Everyone out there knows I'm the future Mrs. Vander! If I don't marry your brother, who else would want me?"

He turned his face away, but the indifference in his expression only fueled her anger.

She stormed over, fists pounding against him in frustration. "It's all your fault! Why did you bring Chrishell back? Your brother is obsessed with her. What am I supposed to do? Jason, you ruined my wedding, you took away my title as Mrs. Vander! Give them back to me"

His patience frayed, Jason grabbed her arm, his grip firm and unyielding. "Pathetic. You think Brett is the only man in the world?"

Heather cried out, defiant. "And what if he is? You're a man too, aren't you? If I don't marry your brother, will you take me? Will you marry me?"

It was as if she had struck a nerve. Jason recoiled, jerking his hand back as though he had touched something repulsive. His voice was ice. "Dream on."

Before she could catch his expression, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, rubbing her neck where his hand had been moments earlier.

Damn him. He actually used force. And for what? She hadn't betrayed him.

She wiped the tears from her face, bitter thoughts flooding her mind. Chrishell and Brett were practically inseparable, yet Jason never seemed to want to do anything about it. Why was it different with Heather?

Turning to the mirror, Heather touched up her makeup, her face still alluring, her body flawless. She might not be able to easily snare those two obtuse Vander brothers, but men like Tyler—he was in a whole different league, and she could toy with him whenever she pleased.

Pulling out her phone, she sent a voice message to Tyler, her tone delicate, with just the right amount of a tearful quiver. "Tyler, I hope I didn't cause you any trouble earlier."

His response came almost instantly. "No trouble at all, Heather. You dropped your hairpin. When are you free? I'll return it to you."

Heather smiled coyly at her reflection in the mirror.

See? It's that easy to reel them in.

Jason could rot for all she cared. What did she need with his cold, condescending attitude?

By the next day, she had all but forgotten his warnings. After carefully dressing up, she eagerly set off to meet Tyler, excited for their rendezvous.

Chapter 9

As soon as Heather got into the car, Tyler's hands started roaming freely. His hand slid onto her bare thigh, exposed by her short skirt. "Heather, why didn't you wear something warmer? Your legs are so cold, it's worrying me."

Heather pushed his hand away. "Stop it. Aren't you afraid Brett will find out?"

Tyler laughed. "Of course I'm scared. But what I'm more scared of is you being lonely, without anyone to care for you."

They bantered back and forth, but inwardly, Heather felt sick. What a disgusting man. The thought that she was considering him as the father of her child filled her with regret.

In truth, in terms of knowledge, looks, and character, it was Jason she truly favored.

His genes were nearly perfect, and she had approached him with that in mind—for the sake of her future child. But Jason wasn't willing.

Damn him, she cursed him again in her mind. He was such a fool.

Oh well, Tyler and her were both adults, with clear intentions. He had asked her out, she had agreed to meet him—what was bound to happen next should be pretty obvious.

Tyler drove straight to the hotel, the bag he had brought rustling as he squeezed it with excitement. His voice oozed impatience. "Heather, I promise today's card game will make you feel very, very good…"

Heather watched him, repulsed by the lewd look on his face. There wasn't an ounce of desire in her for him. In fact, he disgusted her. But what choice did she have now? Even with all the revulsion, she had to go through with it.

The car rolled into the underground parking lot. As soon as they stepped out, Tyler was on her, groping her from behind, his hands all over her.

Heather was half-held by Tyler, and the discomfort ran up her spine until her scalp tingled.

Turns out she wasn't as capable of throwing herself away as she thought. Not just with anyone.

Her steps slowed, hesitation creeping in, when suddenly, from the opposite direction, a car's headlights flared, cutting through the dim light.

Tyler squinted, irritated by the brightness, and cursed under his breath.

He looked up, and his voice suddenly shot up an octave. "What the hell? You've got to be kidding me!"

Heather's heart pounded hard and erratically, an unease gripping her. She lifted her eyes and saw, through the blinding headlights of the luxury car, a man sitting inside, staring at them coldly, his gaze sharp and ghostly.

Jason, once again, appeared as if from nowhere.

He opened the car door, stepping out with deliberate calm. His usual demeanor—reserved, unfathomable—carried a weight that made Tyler's legs go weak. Already guilty, he crumbled under the scrutiny.

"Heather, I—I gave you your stuff back, right? I, uh, I gotta go, I have something to take care of," Tyler stammered, panicking.

Without a second glance at Heather, he turned and hurried into his car, speeding off in retreat, leaving her standing there.

Heather didn't bother with him. She didn't feel the need to explain anything to Jason either.

She turned to leave when suddenly, Jason reached out behind her, his hand gripping the back of her neck.

The force in his grip made her spine crack slightly under the pressure.

She heard Jason's cold voice behind her. "Heather, you really must be tired of living."

Heather wanted to curse him for being nosy. It was her life, and even if she made a mess of it, it had nothing to do with him.

But Jason didn't give her a chance to speak. He hooked an arm around her, covering her mouth and nose with his hand.

Heather struggled to breathe as he dragged her toward his car. She kicked and squirmed, and then she heard a loud crash—her handbag had fallen to the ground.

It spilled open, revealing an array of items she had prepared for the evening's entertainment. They were of all shapes and sizes, scattered across the pavement like confetti.

An inexplicable wave of anxiety washed over her. She could hear Jason's low, mocking laugh in her ear.

His voice was tight with suppressed anger. "Heather, is this what you want? To be toyed with by men?"

There was a hatred in him that she couldn't comprehend. He yanked her into the car and bent her limbs, securing her tightly in the back seat.

With a heavy slam, he shut the door. The calm demeanor he usually wore was replaced by something feral, his expression twisted into a menacing snarl. "I'll give you exactly what you want."