Chapter 7

The assistant, Evan Cole, led a group of people inside in orderly succession, each carrying gifts of staggering value.

A rare pink Padparadscha sapphire necklace.

An antique master painting.

Even the deed to a private island.

The room exploded.

"These… these are from Master Wren?"

"I heard that at the auction, he placed an open-ended bid for Miss Vera. Now he’s personally sending gifts? Looks like Miss Vera is about to rise for real."

Whispers rippled through the crowd. More than a few people cast furtive glances at Rhea, their eyes filled with pity. She was clearly more beautiful, and her lineage was unquestionable. Yet now, everyone believed she had already lost.

Rhea set her glass down and turned toward the terrace.

The night breeze was cool. She had just taken a breath when Vera’s voice sounded behind her.

"Why are you out here all alone, Rhea?"

With no guests or father around, Vera finally dropped the act.

"Did you know?" she said sweetly, venom laced beneath every word. "Dad told me. You’re marrying that man in a coma."

She smiled, soft and cruel. "How pathetic. Back then, your mother couldn’t compete with mine. Now, neither can you."

Rhea spun around. "Say that again."

"I said…" Vera stepped closer, red lips forming poisonous words, "your mother deserved to die in childbirth. She—"

Smack.

A sharp slap rang out.

Rhea was not the one who struck. Vera had slapped herself.

The next second, tears poured out on cue. She staggered back several steps, collapsing perfectly into Wyatt’s arms as he rushed over.

"It’s not Rhea’s fault," Vera sobbed, clutching her cheek. "I made her angry…"

Moments later, Victor and the guests arrived as well. Accusatory looks shot toward Rhea like arrows.

"Rhea!" Victor barked. "Have you no sense of decency?"

The whispers from the guests cut even deeper.

"How vicious. Today is Miss Vera’s birthday, too…"

"No wonder. Her mother died early. She was raised without a mother. That’s why her heart is so cold."

Rhea looked at the carefully staged farce and suddenly laughed. She strode forward and, in full view of everyone, slapped Vera hard across the face.

Then she smashed her champagne glass to the ground. Shards reflected countless stunned faces.

"Look closely," she said coldly. "This is what it looks like when I actually hit someone."

As she turned to leave, she caught sight of Wyatt’s arm wrapped around Vera’s shoulders, his gaze colder than ice.

Rhea had barely reached the corner of the garden path when her wrist was seized violently. The force was so crushing that she felt as if her bones might shatter.

"Miss Vaughn." His voice was low, fury pressed tight beneath it.

"What?" She lifted her eyes in mockery. "I slapped her once. Are you going to return the favor with 99 slaps?"

Wyatt’s eyes narrowed.

What did she mean by that? Could it be that she knew about last time?

Impossible. He had been careful.

"Miss Vaughn," he loosened his grip slightly, his brows drawn tight, "you already have everything. Why do you still need to bully her?"

"I have everything?" Rhea laughed hoarsely, the sound tearing like a sob. "What do I have?

"The moment she arrived, she angered my mother into premature labor. One body, two lives destroyed. She moved in and took my room, my toys, my allowance, my father. Even my place to study abroad. Everything I had."

It was the first time Wyatt had ever heard her say so much.

Under the moonlight, Rhea's eyes that were usually sharp with mockery brimmed with tears, stubbornly refusing to fall.

"I heard," Wyatt said coldly, "that Vera is the one who had it worse."

Rhea flung his hand away and turned to leave. "Believe whatever you want."

Just before getting into the car, Wyatt spoke again. "Miss Vaughn, I would like to take a few days off."

"Do as you like." She shut the door without looking back.

After the black sedan drove a short distance, Rhea suddenly spoke to Thomas Reed, the driver, "Turn around."

They returned to the vicinity of the Vaughn estate. Sure enough, she saw Wyatt get into a Rolls-Royce. She instructed Thomas to follow at a distance.

The car finally stopped outside an upscale tattoo studio.

Through the glass window, she watched Wyatt unbutton his shirt, revealing his solid, sculpted chest.

The tattoo artist asked him something.

Wyatt pointed to his heart and said two words. From the shape of his lips, it was unmistakable.

"Vera."