Chapter 3

The moment I left the ballroom, my step-mom dragged me into a side room and slapped me across the face.

"Chloe Sterling, who are you trying to fool, playing all high and mighty?!"

"This opportunity, I spent months begging Uncle Arthur for!"

"And what do you do? You just hand it over to someone else?! Do you want me dead?!"

I sneered. "The Sterling family gives me ten million a year, and I give you seven million for your retirement. And you spent it all on plastic surgery!"

"What did Uncle Arthur even see in that worn-out face of yours?!"

Her face darkened. She gnashed her teeth and hissed, "If you don't marry Alexander, the Sterling family will cut you off! What about your sister?!"

I straightened my collar. "Didn't you insist on shoving me into the Sterling family? Fine. Let's try a different direction."

"Have Uncle Arthur arrange the next selection for me. Throw my name into the hat for Julian Sterling."

Her face changed. "Are you insane?! You'd dare mess with *that* man?"

"A Sterling is a Sterling. He throws around just as much cash as Alexander does."

I didn't bother to explain further.

She looked stunned.

Julian Sterling, a distant cousin of the Sterling family, nicknamed "The Wild Card."

Rumors said he was quite the player, dabbling in both circles, with whispers of past affairs with rising stars and influential figures across the city's elite.

But I knew better. The year my sister was sick, he'd visited her in the hospital once, bringing her a soft bunny toy – a small, quiet act of kindness that stood out. He wasn't inherently bad.

I stopped at my room door, pausing for a few seconds.

The lock had been changed, and a new plaque was affixed to the door—

[Ms. Vivian Thorne's Private Quarters]

This room was designed by Alexander Sterling himself, just for me.

He'd said, "With you sleeping here, I feel at peace."

Now, he was peaceful enough to give it to someone else.

Just as I turned to leave, a maid hurried after me, whispering, "Miss Chloe, Lord Sterling wishes you to move to the West Wing. He says it's quieter there."

The West Wing was an old guesthouse, damp and isolated, without even hot water.

I murmured "Mm-hm," saying nothing else. I picked up my bag and quietly went to pack my things.

At dinner, the moment I entered the dining hall, I saw Vivian.

Vivian was seated to Alexander's left, her entire being nestled against his side.

She said, "My appetite hasn't been good lately. I can only eat porridge."

He immediately rose, personally serving her a bowl, his voice gentle:

"The kitchen changed the rice. It's the texture you used to like."

I stared down at the plate in front of me, my stomach clenching.

I hesitated, then quietly signaled to a maid nearby. "Could I have a bowl of porridge too?"

My stomach had always been sensitive. It started when he was in a car accident years ago, and I stayed up for half a month, nursing him sleeplessly.

He knew that.

Before the maid could move, a cold voice spoke from nearby:

"Miss Chloe, that porridge is exclusively for Miss Thorne."

My spoon paused in mid-air.

A second later, I heard his icy voice:

"If you want to drink it, drink it. Then get out of here. Don't be an eyesore."

I looked up at him.

His eyes lingered on me for half a second. Something flickered in their depths.

But it quickly turned cold again.

I smiled, put down my spoon, and wiped my fingers.

"On second thought, I'll pass."

I stood up and walked towards the drinks bar, casually picking up a glass of red wine.

Just as I raised it to my lips, Vivian walked over, smiling. Her voice was soft. "Oh, sister, drinking alone? How pathetic."

I couldn't be bothered with her. I replied coolly, "Whether I drink or not, how is that any of your business?"

She suddenly swayed, directly bumping into me.

The red wine instantly splashed all over me, and the glass shattered into pieces on the floor.

I took a step back, my dress soaked.

But she dramatically stumbled to the ground, her arms and wrists reddening in splotches, a dense rash breaking out.

"Ah, it's so itchy... Did I have an alcohol allergy again...?"

Before I could even react, Alexander Sterling had rushed over, immediately scooping her into his arms.

Then, he glared at me, his voice a low, furious growl:

"Are you insane? You know she has an alcohol allergy, and you still threw wine on her?"

I opened my mouth, but before I could explain, he already issued an order:

"Someone, hold her down!"

"Make her kneel on these glass shards for half an hour, then have her clean the floor!"