Chapter 2

After leaving the teacher's office, I walked to the parking lot to drive Leo home.

But I found the road blocked.

I leaned out to look and saw a group of people gathered in the middle of the road, completely obstructing traffic.

I got out of the car and walked closer. It turned out to be a few flamboyantly dressed parents chatting animatedly around Bianca.

I walked up and said,

"Excuse me, could you please move aside?"

The group of parents immediately turned their heads, giving me a disdainful look.

A plump woman wearing a gold chain rudely said, "We're talking to Ms. Bianca here. Who the hell do you think you are to interrupt?"

Bianca noticed me then. She glanced at me, then at my car, and scoffed,

"Oh, a pauper dares to act all high and mighty here?"

The other parents chimed in:

"Exactly! Doesn't even know her place, daring to lecture Ms. Bianca?"

"Ms. Bianca is Mr. Andrew Maxwell's wife, the CEO of Maxwell Group! She's worth hundreds of millions! What gives a broke person like you, driving a junk car, the right to shout here?"

"If you know what's good for you, get lost and stop being an eyesore!"

Ten years ago, for my husband and son, I chose to step back, dedicating all my love to them.

Maxwell Group? That was just a little company I casually bought to keep my husband happy back then.

But now, this little toy I used to amuse my husband had become an object of worship for these people.

I looked at Bianca, then at the familiar luxury car behind her – the very car I'd given Andrew for his birthday last year.

Bianca noticed my gaze, thinking I was admiring her car. She patted the car door even more proudly. "See this? Never seen one, huh? This is a global limited edition, you can't buy it even if you have the money!"

I spoke calmly, "Indeed, I haven't seen one."

"Of course not!" Bianca said, her face full of superiority. "This level of car isn't something people like you can even come close to."

I continued, "I just haven't seen anyone dare to drive *my* car."

The air suddenly went silent for a second.

Bianca froze. "What did you say?"

"I said, I bought this car," my voice was calm. "The last digits of the license plate are Andrew's birthday."

Bianca first froze, then burst into laughter. "Hahaha! Did you hear that? This pauper says this car is hers!"

The surrounding parents joined in the laughter:

"Is this person crazy?"

"Ms. Bianca, don't mind a delusional patient like her!"

"Seriously, people these days, shamelessly trying to take credit for something that isn't yours!"

Bianca wiped away tears from laughing. "Sweetie, do you know how much this car costs? Three million! Look at that junk car you're driving, it's not even worth thirty thousand secondhand! And you dare say this Maserati is yours?"

"And you just said the license plate ends with Andrew's birthday? Bianca grew even more smug. My husband's birthday can be found on any public website if you bother to look. You think you can fool me with such a pathetic trick?"

Bianca pulled out her phone, triumphantly saying, "Come on, let this hick see what real high society life looks like!"

She opened her photo gallery, and the screen showed a picture of her and Andrew together. In the photo, Andrew was wearing a custom suit I'd bought him, worth hundreds of thousands, his arm around Bianca's, leaning intimately together.

"This one, this is our photo under the Eiffel Tower in Paris."

I looked at the photos on the screen, my heart felt like it had been hit by a lightning bolt.

During that time, Andrew had told me he was going on an important business trip for a week.

"And this!" Bianca opened a video. "This is our daily life at home last weekend."

In the video, Andrew was busy in the kitchen, wearing an apron, meticulously chopping vegetables and stir-frying. Bianca hugged him from behind, and they interacted sweetly.

I was stunned.

Andrew never cooked.

In our ten years of marriage, he always said he couldn't cook, either ordering takeout or having the housekeeper prepare meals.

Even when I was sick and wanted a bowl of congee, he would say he was too busy and told me to order takeout myself.

But now, he was cooking for another woman, with a gentle smile I had never seen on his face.

Just then, a sharp voice cut through the crowd: "Mommy!"