Chapter 3

Cedric probably assumed I'd take that broken-down house and come crawling back home in tears, or return begging him when I had nowhere else to turn.

So when his assistant told him that house had already completed demolition procedures, he froze for a moment.

"Lucky for her."

Cedric's brow furrowed tightly.

This was completely different from the script he'd envisioned. The feeling of things spiraling out of his control made him very uncomfortable.

Just then, his first love Alice pushed the door open, carrying a bowl of elegant bird's nest soup.

"Cedric, still busy? I made you bird's nest soup—drink it while it's hot. You haven't rested properly these past few days dealing with your father's situation."

She spoke gently and considerately, naturally nestling beside him.

Cedric smelled her expensive perfume, but the irritation in his heart didn't dissipate—it only grew stronger.

His mind involuntarily flashed to images of Wesley.

She always carried a faint scent of soap. She never disturbed him while he worked, always quietly placing warmed soup by his side before silently leaving.

"What are you thinking about?"

Alice playfully pushed him.

"Nothing."

Cedric collected his thoughts and accepted the bird's nest soup.

"Alice, about my father—has the hospital found suitable bone marrow?"

At this mention, Alice's expression grew heavy too.

"Not yet... The hospital says the blood type is too rare. On top of that, finding suitable bone marrow with a successful match probability is almost negligible. The doctor told us to prepare ourselves mentally."

Cedric's heart sank bit by bit.

Anderson was the anchor of Cedric's family.

Once he fell, those circling vultures in the corporation would definitely seize the opportunity to strike.

His position as heir wasn't secure at all.

"Cedric, don't worry." Alice grasped his hand.

"I've already mobilized all my connections to search. There will be a way."

Cedric looked at her and forced out a smile.

He didn't know that his only real solution had already been pushed away by his own hands.

Meanwhile, after receiving the first demolition payment, I immediately rented a large flat in a quiet neighborhood downtown.

Next, I used this money to take over a ceramics studio near the west side of the city that was on the verge of closing.

In college, I'd studied sculpture. Opening my own ceramics studio was a dream I'd shelved for years.

I renovated the shop, added new pottery wheels and kilns, using half the space to sell pottery I made myself and the other half for pottery experiences.

I registered a social media account and shared daily pottery-making content and cute moments with Betty.

No sob stories, no complaints—just love for life.

The warm tones and healing content quickly attracted my first batch of followers.

Late at night, I'd sit by the window watching the city lights in the distance.

I no longer had to watch anyone's face, no longer had to hear those harsh comments about bearing sons, no longer had to face a husband who never came home.

This freedom made me feel richer than that twelve million dollars.