Fireworks Fade, Lovers Depart

The next morning, Carolyn came downstairs, ready for the Research Institute.

Amanda was lounging in plain sight on the leather sofa, her fingers idly stroking Peter’s forearm, her voice a sickly-sweet chill. “Peter, that chandelier is giving me a headache. Have it replaced with a crystal one tomorrow, will you?”

Peter glanced up from his file and offered only a noncommittal hum.

Unsatisfied, Amanda hooked an arm around his neck, her crimson lips brushing his ear. “That movie we watched together—the one that made us both cry? They’re making a sequel! You have to come with me this time.”

They chatted about shared memories as if no one else existed, exchanging knowing smiles.

On the staircase landing, Carolyn froze. The only sound she could hear was the faint rustle of the medical report crumpling in her tightening grip.

She watched as Peter set the file aside, his long fingers gently pinching Amanda’s cheek, a trace of indulgence flickering in his eyes. “Whatever you want.”

Amanda smiled triumphantly, pressing herself against his thigh and winding her arms around his waist.

Peter didn’t push her away. Instead, he reached up and tenderly tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Amanda’s giggle slithered into Carolyn’s ears like a venomous snake. She turned to flee—and stumbled in her haste.

Her shoulder slammed into the banister. Pain shot through her; her grip loosened. The medical report slipped from her fingers and fluttered silently to the floor.

The conversation below stopped. After a whisper from Amanda, Peter released her.

The sharp click of heels ascended the stairs. The pointed toe of Amanda’s shoe came down, grinding into the words “terminal brain cancer” printed on the fallen page.

Bending to pick it up, Amanda laughed—a sound like breaking glass. “Miss Carolyn, so desperate for sympathy you’d fake a terminal illness?” She flung the paper back into Carolyn’s face. “If you’re going to die, don’t do it here. It’s bad luck!”

Carolyn trembled from head to toe, her throat feeling shredded. “Give that back…”

“Back?” Amanda sneered. “Peter is still cleaning up the mess your father left—a billion-dollar hole! Maybe he taught his daughter how to seduce men to ‘pay back’ the debt!”

She leaned in, her fingers digging into Carolyn’s chin. “Let me help you. I’ll send this to the press. Let the whole city see how pitiful the great Peter’s former mistress really is—”

*Crack!*

A sharp slap echoed through the hall. Carolyn’s eyes were bloodshot, her voice a raw, ragged scrape. “You can insult me. But you do *not* speak about my father!”

Amanda stumbled back, clutching her cheek, venom flashing in her eyes. She seized Carolyn’s wrist, nails biting deep. “You dare lay a hand on me?”

Before Carolyn could react, Amanda let out a sharp cry—yanking Carolyn’s hand, shoving it against her own shoulder, then throwing herself backwards.

“Amanda!” Peter’s footsteps pounded up the stairs.

Amanda lay crumpled on the floor and was immediately gathered into his arms. She pointed a trembling, tear-streaked finger at Carolyn. “Peter, I just didn’t want her fooling you with a fake illness… and she just snapped and pushed me!”

Cradling Amanda, Peter scanned the medical report she handed him before lifting his eyes to Carolyn. His gaze was ice. “How could you be so reckless? Faking something like this?”

Carolyn opened her mouth, but he was already looking down, checking Amanda over, his voice tight with a concern Carolyn had never heard directed at her. “We’re going to the hospital. Now.”

She took a few hurried steps after them, any explanation dying on her lips. Peter was in a rush—too much of a rush, striding out with Amanda in his arms without so much as a glance in her direction.

Alone, Carolyn found the first-aid kit, bandaged her scraped wrist, and rushed out to the Research Institute.

Late that night, returning from the institute, she finally called her mother.

“Mom… I regret it. I don’t want to love him anymore…”

Just then, the door to her room creaked open.