Chapter 3

My phone buzzed with a message from Lucian.

I couldn't be bothered to explain anything to the crowd before me. After all, the hotel they were in belonged to me.

Morgan was taken aback, his brows furrowing. "Honestly, look at you. You've got so many opportunities right in front of you, yet you don't even try to seize them and just want to leave? After all these years away from me, have you really lost all your ambition?"

Freya interjected softly, trying to defuse the situation. "Don't say that. Perhaps Ms. Smith is simply busy and needs to go for another business meeting. Though, if you need any help, you can always ask us, Ms. Smith. After all, you took care of Morgan for me in the past. I owe you a favor."

Harvey gave me another once-over, curling his lips in disdain. "Still, Ms. Smith, your outfit is rather… plain. Why don't I have my housekeeper lend you one of her dresses? At least it would be more presentable than what you're wearing now."

A wave of laughter erupted around us.

I glanced down at my clothes. They were indeed simple and plain, but Lucian had made them himself.

Despite his overwhelming schedule, he had taken the time to learn how to make them. He had stayed up countless nights just to make me a gift, leaving himself utterly exhausted. I didn't consider it shabby at all.

So I responded calmly, "No, thank you. I don't need it."

Even if I were wearing nothing but a sack, there would still be people clamoring to secure a partnership with me. But to Morgan, my refusal was just stubborn pride.

He frowned and placed a check in front of me. "Fine. Considering we were once married, I'll help you one last time. I wouldn't want people to think my judgment was always so poor."

I looked at the check in his hand and frowned.

It was only 200 thousand dollars. What did he take me for? A beggar?

I pushed the check back toward him and said flatly, "That won't be necessary. You should keep that money for someone who truly needs it. We agreed to go our separate ways long ago. It's best if we have no entanglements whatsoever."

Morgan stood frozen, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "Valencia, must you draw such a stark line between us?"

I looked at him, at a loss for words. How strange. That was clearly what we had agreed upon back then.

In my previous life, after our marriage, I had been immersed in the joy of finally being his wife. Yet, on our very first night, he had refused to share a bed with me, claiming that he was feeling unwell.

Seeing his somewhat flustered expression now, I found it almost amusing. He was the one who wanted to draw a line between us in the first place, but now, he was blaming me for drawing it too clearly.

I had no patience for this idle chatter and was about to leave when my phone rang again.

This time, Lucian gave me a call. "Hey, honey, where are you? Theo and I are in the back garden of the hotel. He says he wants to see the fountain."

Without me even realizing it, my tone softened. "I'll be right there. Just give me a minute."

After hanging up, I realized Morgan was staring at me with a complex look in his eyes. Then, he suddenly asked in a probing tone, "Was that your new boyfriend?"

Before I could answer, Freya let out a soft laugh. "It seems Ms. Smith has a date waiting. No wonder she's in such a hurry to leave."

Morgan's expression soured at once.

Suddenly, a voice rose from the crowd. "Hey! I just got word that Ms. Smith's husband and son are also at this hotel! Ms. Smith might actually show up here!"

Hearing this, a buzz of excitement began to spread. "Wait, Ms. Smith? You mean the one whose wealth rivals entire nations? Goodness! She's always been so mysterious. Will we actually get the chance to see her today?"

Someone scoffed. "She's the founder of Smith Corporation. This hotel is just something she bought for fun! And her husband, Lucian Coltrane, is every bit her match, if not more!"

"Well, at least that much is true," I thought.

"Look! Someone managed to capture a side profile of Ms. Smith's son! He looks so adorable!"

I frowned. Just as I was about to inquire further, a soft, childish voice called out from not too far away. "Mommy!"

A little boy of about three or four came toddling over and threw his arms around my legs. He was dressed in a finely tailored suit, his hair neatly combed, and his cheeks flushed.

I bent down and scooped him up, gently pinching his cheek. "What are you doing here, sweetheart? Weren't you waiting in the garden with Daddy?"

"Daddy got tired of waiting."

My son, Theo Coltrane, pouted. "He sent me to see why you're still here talking to irrelevant people instead of coming home with us, Mommy."

The scene rendered everyone present utterly speechless.