Chapter 1

It was drizzling when Laurelle Fletcher left prison.

Her bony figure was enveloped by a huge coat. When the icy winds swept over her, she trembled and wrapped her arms around herself.

Three years had passed. Laurelle hadn't thought she would leave prison alive.

She inched forward, holding the wall for support as she went. Her injured legs slowed her down significantly. It was as though knives were stabbing into the soles of her feet with every step she took. It was ironic that she'd once been a ballerina.

At that moment, a Cayenne screeched to a stop before her, blocking her path.

Upon seeing the plate number, Laurelle paled. Her eyes swirled with a mix of complicated emotions.

The window rolled down to reveal a man's stately face.

"Is that a limp I see?" Maverick scanned her legs. His tone carried no emotion.

Laurelle felt her eyes well up, although she couldn't put her finger on why.

This was her fiancé, whom she loved for seven years. He was also the one who'd sent her to jail.

Was he expressing his concern for her?

Yet, on her first day in jail, Laurelle had been beaten up by her cellmates. They'd said that he'd paid them to "show her a good time".

"Get in."

Maverick draped his arm over the window. His suit accentuated his poised figure. He looked classy and unapproachable.

If not for that person's instructions, he wouldn't have driven here to fetch her.

Laurelle could pick up on Maverick's impatience for her. He was just like her parents.

When Laurelle had been 14, her parents had found her and taken her back home. Initially, they'd felt guilty and wanted to make up for their mistakes. However, they'd eventually pulled away from Laurelle because Bianca, their adopted daughter, had sown seeds of discord between them.

On her 21st birthday, the emotions boiling under the surface had finally erupted.

"Yes, Bianca isn't our biological daughter, but what has she done wrong? After all, we've raised her for all these years. We've already brought you home. What more could you want?"

"Laurelle, how could you do this to Bianca? You bite the hand that feeds you. It's because you didn't grow up with us, isn't it? You're nothing in comparison to Bianca. She's obedient and mature."

What had Laurelle done? Why wouldn't her parents trust her, not even once?

"Get in!"

Maverick studied her legs with furrowed eyebrows. There was a horrendous scar snaking across the pale skin of her ankle. It looked like a disgusting centipede.

Maverick's secretary, Chester Anderson, got out of the driver's seat and said, "Ms. Fletcher, Mr. Gray has invited you into the car."

When she didn't move, Chester reached out to pull her in.

Laurelle reacted instinctively and knelt down with her arms over her head. She pleaded, "Don't … Please don't hit me…"

Chester was dumbfounded by her reaction. She'd changed so much. He'd nearly failed to recognize her.

She used to be naive, optimistic, and cheery. She'd been the woman of many men's dreams. But now…

The light in her eyes had been extinguished. She was timid and easily spooked.

She'd only been in jail for three years. She used to be the proud heiress of the Fletcher fortune. What had happened to make her like this?

Chester turned back to glance at Maverick. The latter seemed extremely calm. Chester couldn't read his expression.

"Laurelle, how long are you going to make me wait? Hasn't life in prison taught you anything?"

Laurelle stood up slowly and got in. She read the room and kept her distance from Maverick.

The heating was on in the car. She curled up in the corner. Perhaps because she'd been in the cold air, she felt as though her brain was mush.

She tried to hold her sneeze back but ultimately failed.

At the same time, the car went over a bump, and Laurelle was shaken out of her seat. She collapsed onto the mat of the car floor out of surprise.

Maverick had been resting with his eyes closed. When he heard the noise, his eyes snapped open.

He glared at her and commented, "Laurelle, you're in such a state."

A state?

Laurelle inhaled deeply. Hearing his remark, she felt as though her feet were on fire. She squirmed in her seat.

She curled up once more to take up less space. Then, she said softly, "I'm sorry. I'll clean the mat later—"

Before she could finish, Maverick interjected, "There's no need for that. I'll throw it away."

Was he going to dump the mat just because she'd touched it before?

Laurelle pursed her lips and frowned. Then, she turned to the window with red-rimmed eyes. In Maverick's eyes, everything she came into contact with was filthy, so they had to be thrown away.

"Bianca is the only person who's pure to you, isn't she?"

Maverick rarely got mad, but now his expression turned cold. He said, "You don't have the right to mention her. I'll give you one last chance. If you touch her again… I will hammer into you what jail has failed to teach you."

Chapter 2

The blood drained from Laurelle's face, and the light in her eyes faced.

Indeed. After those three torturous years, Laurelle should've gotten that into her head.

They drove into a tunnel. Maverick's face was alternatively illuminated and shrouded in darkness. He was just like he'd been back then—cold and distant.

Laurelle shoved her bitterness to the back of her head and asked insistently, "Mave … were you the one who hired them to beat me up?"

She'd suffered multiple mental breakdowns, and they'd driven her to the brink of death more than once.

However, she couldn't make herself let Maverick go. She'd even been afraid Maverick wouldn't get on well enough without her.

She refused to believe he had the heart to treat her like that.

However, when their eyes met, Maverick asked dispassionately, "What kind of answer do you want to hear?"

Laurelle froze. Then, her lips tugged upward in a bitter smile. Was that response an admission of what he'd done?

In his eyes, Laurelle had gotten jealous of Bianca and hired people to kidnap her, which had nearly resulted in her being gang raped.

Yet, the evidence had been water-tight. Laurelle couldn't prove her innocence.

If anything, the only person who could be blamed for this was Bianca. After all, she had been daring enough to put herself on the line. She had indeed won this gamble.

Ha! Laurelle felt like the love she'd harbored for Maverick over seven years was nothing more than a joke.

Her eyes were out of focus, and they remained this way until the car rolled to a stop before the house they would move into after getting married.

Laurelle had personally overseen the interior design of their home, from the material they used in the walls to the position of a flower pot. She'd spent weeks dreaming about their shared life together here.

Yet, Bianca's stuff was now strewn across their house.

Laurelle felt as though a thousand arrows had pierced through her heart. Her lips were chapped and pale. Way to hit a woman at her worst.

Maverick hadn't picked up on how Laurelle had been feeling. He said to the household staff member, "She's too dirty. Clean her up."

The household staff member nodded and led her to the bathroom.

Once they entered, she put her hands over her nose, unsure of how to proceed.

In the end, she couldn't stop herself from saying, "Ms. Fletcher, what was the last time you took a shower? You're a woman. Don't you have any concept of personal hygiene?"

Laurelle was only 24. Did they think she didn't want to be squeaky clean too?

Laurelle said nothing and asked the household staff member to leave. Then, she locked herself in the bathroom and took an hour-long shower.

She had wounds all over her after three years of "special treatment". Although those people had stopped beating her up in the last month, the old wounds wouldn't heal.

Beneath where others couldn't see, bruises spread in quiet layers, deepening one upon another.

Some of them were from scratches; others were from kicks. Some were even the result of weapons.

She couldn't gain access to medication in jail, so some of the wounds had become infected. Among them, the most serious one was the long scar down her left leg.

A year had passed. Yet, it still hurt when it rained. It had probably left a permanent mark on her.

It was fine. She could recover eventually. This was how she consoled herself whenever the pain became unbearable.

The household staff had prepared some clothes for her. She put them on numbly. Surprisingly, they fit her like a glove.

She hadn't expected to run into Maverick upon opening the door. He wrapped an arm around her waist on reflex.

Laurelle was stunned for a second. Then, her face was pressed flush against his chest.

The hug startled both parties.

The smell of nicotine clung to Maverick. His linen shirt was crumpled in her hands.

When she realized what had happened, she pulled away as her heart pounded. After getting to a safe distance, she said, "My apologies, Mr. Gray. I didn't do that on purpose."

She caught the cigarette in his hands out of the corner of her eye and assumed that he'd passed by while heading out to smoke.

"What did you call me?" His eyes flashed coldly while narrowing his eyes at her. He said, "Mr. Gray? Laurelle, what are you playing at?"

Laurelle pursed her lips and looked down as her eyes turned red.

Before someone who didn't love her, everything she did was wrong.

The tips of his fingers still tingled with her warmth. His eyes turned dark, and he put the cigarette between his lips, unwilling to admit that how she'd pulled away had left him feeling empty.

This feeling intensified when he noticed her red-rimmed eyes… An instinct stirred within him, compelling him to act.

Maverick lit the cigarette. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he shoved the desire down. He mocked, "Who would've thought? Your skills of seduction have improved after your three years in jail. Are you that desperate for it?"

Chapter 3

Laurelle felt like the breath had been knocked out of her lungs. She unconsciously dug her fingers into her palm.

Not loving her was one thing. Why did he have to humiliate her like that?

After a while, she regained her composure. She looked up and smiled at Maverick, saying, "Mave, you can't humiliate me as you wish just because I like you."

Maverick froze. His eyes couldn't help but linger on her. Perhaps it was because he hadn't seen her smile like that in too long.

However, Laurelle had lowered her head.

Maverick loosened his tie and snubbed his cigarette. Although he didn't want to admit it, Laurelle had changed. She no longer smiled as much as she used to. It was as though she was a wilting flower in a broken vase.

Although it didn't affect him in any way, it annoyed him.

What was he even annoyed about?

He suppressed his chaotic thoughts and reminded Laurelle, "It's Bianca's birthday. I'll be taking you back to the Fletcher residence. But remember to be obedient. Don't disturb her. Bianca isn't like you."

Laurelle felt like someone had driven a stake through her heart.

In Maverick's eyes, Bianca was a regal rose. Laurelle wouldn't even qualify to be a leaf on her stem.

…

An hour later, Laurelle was stuffed into a car by Chester.

There was a huge crowd in the hall at the Fletcher residence.

Although Bianca wasn't the real heiress to the Fletcher fortune, they threw a grand birthday party for her every year.

One of the reasons why they did so was to consolidate their position in high society. They also did so to show how they valued Bianca; it was a sign of support for her.

All the rich families in Juville had received an invitation.

A gaggle of housewives were chatting in one corner of the hall. It was nothing more than the usual gossip circulating within the echelons of higher society.

"Bianca isn't Mr. Fletcher's biological daughter, isn't she? Why do they spoil her rotten? There isn't a story behind this, is there?" someone voiced their confusion.

"She's a capable schemer and a talented girl. Aren't those the characteristics people in our position look up to? Whether she's related to them or not doesn't matter. What matters is whether she's able to benefit the family."

One of the other women nodded her agreement and added, "I've heard about that too. Bianca secured a few huge deals within six months of joining the company. William was overjoyed and promoted her to the position of assistant director. It seems like he's training her to take over the company from him in the future."

"Although that may be what they say, she's still unrelated to them at the end of the day. Aren't the Fletchers giving the company to someone else? Where are her biological parents? Why doesn't she go back to them?"

"She couldn't find them," someone continued, "It's a little weird. Theoretically, Patricia Longchamp, who adopted Laurelle, should've been Bianca's biological mother. However, they did a DNA test and found that they aren't related."

When Laurelle heard that, she balled her palms into fists. She still didn't understand how Patricia and Bianca weren't related.

She thought that her foster mom had exchanged her with Bianca to give her a better life. However, Bianca wasn't her daughter.

In the end, Patricia lost her daughter, Laurelle returned to the Fletchers, and no one knew of Bianca's real parentage.

Because they didn't know her parentage, she had stayed in the Fletcher family for over two decades.

Since they'd raised her from a young age, the Fletchers treated her like their biological daughter—perhaps even better than they treated their actual daughter.

As the women chatted, their eyes fell on Laurelle.

Noticing their gaze, she looked down and left the hall as quickly as possible.

The one who had started the conversation asked, "Don't you think that the person who passed us just now looks like Laurelle?"

They turned to her.

"Laurelle? No way. You know how gorgeous and amazing her figure is. How could that skinny woman be her? You must be joking."

Not only did Laurelle and the woman who just passed by carry themselves differently, but Laurelle was the type of woman one could pick out from a crowd. However, that woman was completely unremarkable…

Laurelle had already reached the second floor. She had no idea she'd become the topic of conversation.

She reached the room and was about to walk in. However, when she heard a conversation, she felt like she'd been plunged into an icy bath.

"Maverick, I heard that Laurelle was released from prison. Is that true?"

"Laurelle? The one who used to follow Maverick around? When was she imprisoned? When did she do?"

The Fletchers wanted to keep their reputation pristine, so no one outside the family knew about Laurelle going to prison. William had ensured no one had gotten wind of it. He had told others that she had gone to study abroad.

Maverick glared at his friend, Fabian Lambert, who realized that he'd said something wrong. He whacked a palm onto his forehead and intentionally gave Maverick a good card. "Look at this mouth of mine. It got the better of me. I meant to say that she's come back from her studies abroad. When did she come back?"

The other chewed on his cigarette and mocked, "Only you could mistake coming home from overseas as being released from jail. You must be daft."

He chuckled and shot back, "Get lost. My mind is as sharp as ever, thanks."

Tom Bately brought them back to their original topic. "With Laurelle back in the country, Maverick must now be surrounded by women, right? If I'm not mistaken, you two got engaged three years ago. When's the wedding, Maverick?"

Laurelle paused. She could tell that they were playing poker inside. Had her room become a poker room?

Fabian grinned weirdly. "Engaged? You must be joking. Getting married is just a matter of finding someone to boss you around. How boring. Don't you know what kind of man Maverick is? How could he be tied down by marriage?"

Chapter 4

Tom chuckled along. "Laurelle is gorgeous, though. With her face and body, you've got countless men infinitely jealous of you, Maverick. She would've been such a great decorative addition to our homes."

He glanced at Maverick and threw a card out. "If you aren't engaged, do you have it in you to let her marry someone else?"

Maverick had been silent all along. He suddenly interjected dismissively, "You like her? You can have her."

Tom froze. Feeling awkward, he could only force a laugh to play it off.

"Who here doesn't know that you're the only man Laurelle adores? She's been unwavering for the past few years, trailing after you. I'm not as lucky as you are."

Laurelle flinched. Then, bitterness marred her features.

Everyone knew that she liked Maverick. Yet, he'd promised her off to another man as though he was nothing more than an object.

Her eyes watered as her nails sank into her palm. She felt as though there was a hand around her throat, dunking her into water. She couldn't breathe.

As she flailed, she felt as though she'd gone back in time to when she'd been 14.

Back then, Laurelle had just come to the capital from a rural village. William had sent her to the best private school then.

Initially, she'd thought it was a whole new start to life. However, Bianca had sown seeds of animosity in the people around her and hindered Laurelle from being able to befriend her wealthy classmates. In the end, she'd been ostracized.

During a snowstorm once, Laurelle had been locked in an outdoor lavatory. She'd curled into a ball and trembled in the toilet. No one had saved her despite her desperate screams.

It had been Maverick who'd finally kicked the door down.

Laurelle could still recall the scene as though it had happened yesterday.

Maverick had stood on one of the steps as snowflakes had swirled behind him. His uniform had fluttered in the wind, while his hair had been wet against his forehead. It had been too dark, so Laurelle hadn't been able to see his expression. She'd only seen him take his scarf off and throw it to her.

He'd turned away and left while stating, "It's yours now."

In the eyes of 14-year-old Laurelle, 17-year-old Maverick had been akin to her knight in shining armor—the first beam of life to brighten up her dull life.

From that day onward, she'd been his little follower, trailing after faithfully him for seven long years.

However, her light had gone out. In Maverick's eyes, was she nothing more than a dispensable object?

Laurelle suppressed her pain and walked to the window. She dialed a number she hadn't called for a long time.

Before they picked up, someone called her from behind.

"Laurelle. You're back?"

Laurelle glanced at her phone. With no other option, she could only hang up and turn around.

Her mother, Leona Smith, was surprised to see her here. She walked over suspiciously while asking, "When did you get out?"

She'd remembered Bianca's birthday but had forgotten that her biological daughter was being released from jail on the same day.

"Why have you gotten so skinny?" Leona scanned her from head to toe. "A little hardship will do you good. It'll teach you to remember what to do. We're not going to hold what you did against you. Today is your sister's birthday. Change into an evening gown and come downstairs immediately."

Once she was done, she added as an afterthought, "Oh, right. We converted your room into a poker room during the three years you were gone. Change in Bianca's room for now. I'll ask someone to bring the clothes over."

With that, Laurelle was shoved into Bianca's room. The smell caused a wave of nausea to wash over her. She rushed to the toilet to vomit.

She heard noises from outside. The household staff had come over with the evening gown.

Laurelle leaned on the sink, tears glistening in her eyes. Once the nausea subsided, she washed her face and headed out.

"I'm not pregnant." Laurelle knew what they wanted to say. Her eyes were red as a result of her heaving. It made her look extremely weak. "Tell Bianca that there's no point in making a big deal out of this."

The household staff exchanged awkward smiles. "What are you going on about, Ms. Fletcher? Change into your evening gown and head downstairs as soon as possible. Mrs. Fletcher is waiting."

Laurelle said nothing. This birthday party was for Bianca; she was only an accessory.

Unwilling to put on an act of sisterly love with Bianca on an empty stomach, Laurelle headed to the kitchen to get some food.

She had barely gotten two bites in before someone knocked on the door.

It was a maid from just now. "Mrs. Fletcher is looking for you. She's got something to say to you. Please go downstairs as soon as possible!"

Laurelle swallowed the food in her mouth. Then, she met the maid's eyes and stated, "I'm not feeling well. I don't want to go downstairs."

The maid froze. Clearly, she hadn't expected Laurelle to turn her down. "Mrs. Fletcher said that today is Ms. Bianca's birthday, and yours as well. It would be inappropriate if you didn't show up, as it would seem as though you two don't get along."

"When have Bianca and I ever gotten along?"

The maid felt like she'd gotten slapped across the face. Thankfully, Laurelle had stood up and walked out.

In the hall, Bianca was surrounded by a crowd of wealthy girls. She had a glass of white wine in her hands and was about to lift it to her lips.

Suddenly, a voice rang out, "Ms. Bianca, you mustn't drink that. It has been laced with something!"

Chapter 5

"What?"

Bianca looked over in surprise and said, "What do you mean?"

The maid who'd spoken shot a sideways glance at Laurelle. "I saw Ms. Laurelle enter the kitchen and lace your drink with something. It must've been some kind of drug!"

When she finished speaking, everyone in the room paled.

All the Fletchers knew that Bianca's drink had been spiked three years ago when she'd been abducted. It was the reason why her kidnappers had been able to take her away without anyone realizing.

Upon hearing that her drink had been spiked once more, the color drained from Bianca's face. Her wine glass shattered into pieces on the floor.

Initially, they hadn't drawn much attention to themselves. However, when the sound of the shattering glass echoed through the room, everyone craned their necks to look at them.

Bianca stared at Leona with red-rimmed eyes. "Mom… I'm scared…"

Leona knew what was running through Bianca's head. She hurriedly patted Bianca's back and consoled her, saying, "Don't be scared. It's all in the past."

Then, she turned to Laurelle and asked, "You're incorrigible, aren't you?"

There were many people present. Wanting to preserve their family's reputation, Leona held back from elaborating.

Still, Laurelle knew what Leona meant. She suddenly felt a laugh bubbling up within her at the thought of what had happened.

She had never expected Bianca to make a fuss about the same issue twice. Was this an attempt to prod at Laurelle where it hurt the most?

"It wasn't me."

Laurelle studied the wine in the decanter. Bianca was a fan of white wine, and the cocktail had been specially concocted for her. Clearly, this was pre-planned.

"I was in the kitchen just now. But I only went there to get some food, not lace her drink."

The maid insisted, saying, "I saw Ms. Laurelle add something in with my own eyes. I swear on my life."

She sounded confident and assured, as though she were a courageous underdog vouching for justice.

The audience whispered among themselves.

Leona was worried that the situation would escalate to a point of no return. After all, this was a family affair. Behind closed doors, she had no qualms about how they handled this. However, it would be rather untoward if others were privy to this.

Bianca knew of Leona's concerns. She smiled and said warmly, "Mom, I think this is just a misunderstanding. Laurelle has spent three years in jail. She wouldn't make the same mistake twice. I believe she's innocent."

Everyone was floored by her words.

Had Laurelle been imprisoned for the last three years? Hadn't she gone abroad to pursue higher education?

Everyone present were rich housewives. The concept of jail couldn't be further from their minds.

However, they knew that jail could mar one's record immediately. Not only would they be banned from participating in any politics, but all their relatives would also be affected.

The room was alive with gossip.

As though she'd just realized she'd made a mistake, Bianca clapped a hand over her mouth. Then, she said guiltily, "I'm a little drunk. All I say is just nonsense. Please don't take it seriously. Why would Laurelle be imprisoned?"

After what had happened, Bianca's words seemed feeble in patching up her mistake. The guiltier she appeared, the more likely it seemed she'd been telling the truth earlier.

"Laurelle, have you gotten over your jet lag? After all, you've just returned from abroad. It's our birthday today. I prepared a special gift for you. Why don't I take you over to take a look?"

Bianca attempted to salvage the situation. Perhaps because they'd been too loud, Maverick heard about what had happened midway through his game of poker.

When he came downstairs with his friends in tow, all they saw was Bianca standing in the crowd looking pitiful and pale while apologizing to Laurelle.

Her eyes were red as she fidgeted with her fingers and tried to observe Laurelle's expression out of the corner of her eye.

Laurelle turned to look at her. Events like these had happened countless times, but Bianca always managed to present herself as an innocent victim every single time.

Laurelle pursed her lips. She could feel many eyes on her.

What had she done wrong? What crime had she committed that Bianca kept framing her for things she hadn't done? Was three years of jail time not enough? Hadn't Bianca announced Laurelle's imprisonment to a roomful of people to destroy her life?

Great! Just great. Then they would go down together!