As Alexander’s car passed through the gates of Royal Estate, he saw the towering flames.
Half the sky burned crimson.
His heart plummeted, a sense of foreboding washing over him.
The car screeched to a halt before the main house.
He shoved the door open and sprinted toward the inferno.
When he realized it was the Lily Garden–the one he’d painstakingly planted for her- engulfed in flames, Alexander froze.
Those pure white blossoms now twisted and writhed in the fire, turning to ash.
It was his heartfelt effort, yet she’d personally destroyed it all.
Utterly. Ruthlessly.
The stench of charred debris mixed with the dying sweetness of lilies hung thick in the air, sickening and unnatural.
Rage shattered Alexander’s control.
Did she hate him this much?
Enough to obliterate everything he’d given her?
“Sir!”
The butler rushed over.
“What happened?”
“A maid made a mistake, Madam took her away, probably to the police station.
And Memorial Pavilion… Madam also…”
Alexander’s voice was ice. “I’ll transfer this villa to her name. Let her do as she pleases.”
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The butler pressed, “Should we investigate what upset Madam? Perhaps assist her?”
“Unnecessary.”
With that, Alexander turned and walked away without looking back.
Her affairs no longer concerned him.
Punishing maids, burning gardens–none of it mattered.
If she could be this ruthless, so be it.
They could never go back.
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Deep in the night, Lisa finally left the police station, its harsh lights grating on her eyes.
Patricia was now in custody.
Her cooperation could expose Cynthia.
Cynthia wouldn’t escape this time.
Returning to the empty house, exhaustion crashed over Lisa like a tidal wave.
She curled up on the living room sofa, too weary to lift a finger.
Outside, a crescent moon hung in the ink–blue sky, its cold light spilling across the floor.
A film of moisture gathered on her lashes.
A chill seeped from her bones.
Her body ached. Her heart ached more.
Linette’s kind face flickered in her mind, then vanished.
She’d promised Grandma to nurture her marriage. To live well.
The unborn child remained an unhealed wound.
Twelve years of devotion had ended in this all–consuming fire.
The heat of the flames seemed to transcend time, licking at her skin once more.
Tears fell without warning, tracing her cheeks before soaking into the sofa’s soft fabric.
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288 Vouchers
She wept for lost family, for the child taken too soon, for… that man no longer worth her pain.
She didn’t know how long she cried.
Only that exhaustion finally pulled her under.
The next day, Grand Hotel.
Vivian had booked the grandest ballroom for her thousand–fan appreciation event.
Officially thanking supporters, but really campaigning for votes for her new drama.
The city’s media outlets had practically all arrived.
The future first lady of the wealthiest man, the movie queen Vivian–such titles commanded respect, and no one dared slight her.
The banquet hall entrance teemed with people, buzzing with excitement.
Vivian’s fans waved glow sticks, clutching gifts or autograph books.
“Vivian, I love you!”
“Vivian, we’ll always support you!”
Chants rose and fell, their fervor threatening to lift the roof off, louder than any concert.
Security and staff remained vigilant, thoroughly checking every entering fan to prevent incidents.
Inside the dressing room, silence reigned, cut off from the outside clamor.
Vivian sat before the mirror as her makeup artist applied final touches.
Her makeup was exquisite: multicolored eyeshadow, curled lashes–every detail crafted perfection.
An assistant bustled in, arms wrapped around a half–person–sized plush bear and handmade gifts, ex- claiming excitedly,
“Ms. Campbell, the hall’s packed! Over a thousand people–a sea of heads! Many fans couldn’t even get in. We should’ve booked a stadium!”
“Ms. Campbell, should I leave these fan gifts here?”
Vivian glanced over, her face instantly twisting with disgust.
“Get that space–wasting junk out of here,” she snapped, her sweet on–camera tone gone.
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“Don’t let it clutter my sight.”
The assistant didn’t dare argue, scurrying out with the bear.
Vivian smoothed her gown and walked toward the side door leading to the stage.
Spotlights converged; music swelled.
Stepping center stage, she flashed a perfect smile.
The crowd erupted into even more frenzied screams.
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“Hello everyone, I’m Vivian. Thank you all for coming today,” she cooed, her voice honeyed with just the right joy.
“Seeing so many familiar faces truly, truly makes me happy.
Thank you for your unwavering support all these years.
“This appreciation event is for you. Without you, I wouldn’t be where I am today.”
“So, I love you all!
Thank you!”
Vivian radiated star power, then bowed deeply.
That “I love you” triggered deafening shrieks, igniting the atmosphere to its peak.
Next, she signaled staff to display the campaign screen: current online polls showed Roy leading at 53%, her trailing at 47%-just slightly behind.
“Would you like to see me become your Spring Blossom?”
