Chapter 7

Andre's eyes lit up the moment he heard Nevaeh's voice.

"Nevaeh! Nevaeh!" he shouted excitedly, then huffed in annoyance.

"Dad, you liar! You promised me but didn't keep your word! I'm not talking to you anymore! Nevaeh, Dad lied to me!"

By the end, he was practically tattling to Nevaeh.

On the other end, Nevaeh took the phone and gently soothed Andre. She playfully scolded Lucian a little before promising to take Andre out on the weekend and play games with him. Only then did Andre finally cheer up.

Nevaeh always knew how to handle him. In the past, whenever Lucian scolded him or upset him, going to Marisol never helped. His dad never listened to her anyway.

After a while, Andre reluctantly hung up. But as soon as the call ended, he suddenly remembered what Lucian had just said—his mom was supposedly back from her business trip.

Did that mean she was coming home tonight?

No way! If she came back, she'd start nagging him again and restricting his gaming time. That woman was annoying!

Even his dad didn't like being around his mom, so why should he have to put up with her? Lucian was so mean! There was just no way he was going to obey.

He should go to his grandma's house instead. That way, even if Marisol came back, he wouldn't have to stay with her.

Andre immediately scrambled out of bed. He clumsily pulled on his clothes, grabbed his gaming console, and stomped downstairs to bang on Wanda's door.

Groggy from being woken up, Wanda had no idea what the spoiled young heir was throwing a tantrum about this time. Suppressing her exhaustion, she called for Simon.

They then accompanied him to the Muller family residence in the middle of the night.

…

Marisol remained unaware of the late-night drama at the Crimson Oaks Estate. Even if she had known, it wouldn't have affected her anymore. Year after year of disappointment had nearly filled her quota.

After all, she'd already decided on divorce. She even gave up custody rights.

The next morning, Marisol woke early out of habit. She began by watching the latest fashion week videos on her computer. Then, she grabbed breakfast near her office building on the way to work.

As she no longer needed to prepare nutritious breakfasts for her husband and son, and as she was living temporarily in this apartment, she'd been eating out recently. The extra time allowed her to focus more on her own affairs.

Her entire day was spent interviewing new hires while organizing work materials and tasks for the impending handover. Still, she left the office right on time.

With Emilia returning at the month's end, Marisol needed to prepare her portfolio and recent fashion designs beforehand. This was her true focus now, and time was running short.

Between 6:00 and 7:00 pm, right in the heart of Everton's rush hour, Marisol drove for over two hours before reaching a somewhat desolate villa community called Verdant Woods in the suburban outskirts.

Passing through a tree-lined avenue, she parked before a two-story villa with "Moira" engraved on the nameplate beside the door.

This was the villa she'd purchased with her savings from years of salary and private custom designs for high society clients. It was currently her personal studio.

Though she'd prioritized family and pursued computer science in recent years, Marisol had never truly abandoned artistic design.

Lucian had always despised her public presence. His refusal to let her join Muller Group stemmed not just from dislike but from wanting to confine her to domestic life as nothing more than a decorative "Mrs. Muller".

Even so, Marisol wasn't the type to accept defeat quietly.

She chose instead to pursue computer science, which Lucian favored. She spent seven years meticulously caring for and trying to please him. Even after all that, she still failed to reach his heart.

Now, she faced the prospect of losing everything in the divorce. It was fortunate she had her own convictions.

Since Lucian disliked her public presence, she secretly worked under the name "Moira", taking private commissions through connections from close friends.

Her exclusive service offered complete discretion, impeccable reputation, and designs that blended unique luxury with classical mystique.

What truly set her apart was her mastery of rare, intangible cultural heritage hand-embroidery techniques, which was a dying art in modern times. Over the years, she'd built considerable prestige among elite clientele.

However, having limited time meant she couldn't participate in major international showcases. Currently, her private custom pieces commanded prices ranging from hundreds of thousands of dollars, with only a few exceptional works breaking the million-dollar mark.

But now, with her focus fully returning to artistic design, her career would undoubtedly accelerate.

The villa door unlocked to reveal a spacious, high-ceilinged foyer. The walls were covered with oil paintings and ink wash pieces—mostly portraits—alongside numerous half-finished garment sketches pinned haphazardly between them.

The floor was crammed with clothing racks draped with fabrics, partially completed outfits, dress forms, and various other design materials scattered about. With the entire weekend ahead, she could devote herself completely to this space.

The second floor housed finished pieces, valuables, and portfolio collections. Marisol headed upstairs without a second thought.

Pushing open a door, she froze at the sight of cloth-draped mannequins.

This outfit…

She lifted the dust cover to reveal a sleek black evening suit with intricate embroidery. The cuffs featured her signature motif—clouds embroidered in gold and silver thread using a rare double-faced stitching technique that created different patterns on each side. It was the distinctive hallmark of Moira Studio.

But what commanded attention was the silver-threaded phoenix with wings spread across the shoulders. Its beak clutched a brilliant ruby positioned precisely over the heart, the gem catching the light with every subtle movement. The effect was breathtaking—an understated elegance that whispered luxury rather than shouted it.

The sight of this suit pierced Marisol's heart like a thorn.

She had made it for Lucian—staying up late after work to sketch the designs, carefully selecting and cutting each piece of fabric, and stitching every embroidery thread by hand.

That rare ruby had come from a specialty gem dealer. The entire process took over three months.

She had planned to gift it to him on their eighth wedding anniversary. Instead, she received betrayal from both her husband and son.

Now, staring at the suit and remembering how she'd been publicly humiliated the previous night, Marisol suddenly wanted to tear it to shreds. She picked up a pair of scissors. But just as she was about to cut into the fabric, she hesitated.

She knew this suit would never reach Lucian. She didn't even want to give it to him anymore. Yet she couldn't bring herself to destroy it—not when it held months of her heart and labor.

In the end, Marisol left the suit untouched, draping the cloth back over it. She'd just find a way to deal with it later.

A private custom piece like this was meant to be one-of-a-kind—tailored specifically to one person's measurements, never to be replicated.

But finding a new buyer wouldn't be hard. Not when the designer's name carried weight.

...

It was nightfall at Crimson Oaks Estate. Lucian finished work and drove home, only to find Marisol wasn't waiting to greet him as usual.

He casually asked Wanda, "Where's Mrs. Muller?"

Wanda, who was confused by the question, replied, "Sir, didn't Mrs. Muller leave on a business trip days ago? She hasn't returned."

A business trip? Hadn't she already come back? He'd seen her just last night.

But he didn't dwell on it. After all, Marisol had nowhere else to go.

He remembered how she'd severed ties with her family before their marriage. She'd never reached out to them all these years.

Plus, she only knew a handful of friends in Everton and had no real connections. She couldn't possibly be anywhere else.

This was the only home she could return to. Where else would she go?

Then, after learning that Andre was at the Muller family residence, Lucian left again. He'd only come back to pick up Andre as he'd promised to take him out with Nevaeh over the weekend.