Seeing Kenneth's dark expression, Melody tentatively asked, "Kenneth, did I say something wrong?"

He sighed. "No," he said, his eyes more determined when he looked at her again. "You didn't do anything wrong. I was wrong. From now on, I'll force myself to make a choice. I won't ignore you anymore, okay?"

Melody, a little puzzled, nodded obediently. "Whatever you say."

Kenneth gently rubbed her head. Since he'd promised to take good care of her and pursue her once his family agreed to cancel the marriage, he had to keep his word.

"Let's go," Kenneth said, standing. This time, he held her hand, never letting go. Melody walked beside him, smiling innocently. However, a flash of success and contempt in her eyes—gone in a blink—went unnoticed. It had been too easy to manipulate him.

For the next few days, Kenneth never denied their relationship. When asked, he introduced Melody as his girlfriend. He and Tiffany had reached a tacit understanding: neither would acknowledge the marriage, even if Romeo didn't agree. Tiffany was satisfied with this.

Zoe winked and joked, "Tiffany, got a crush? That man who saved you—he's handsome! Why not kidnap him home?" She was referring to Richard.

She recalled their first meeting—a kidnapping in an abandoned factory. Richard's kick had made a deep impression; he'd dented a thick metal door with a single blow. In the night's darkness, he'd appeared against the moonlight, his tall figure radiating nobility and coldness, inspiring both fear and awe.

After learning Richard's identity, Zoe believed only such a stunning figure deserved to be Tiffany's equal. Only these two dazzling individuals were worthy of standing together. Most importantly, if Tiffany were with Mr. Hampton, she'd become Kenneth's aunt—hilarious!

Tiffany rubbed her nose, uncomfortable. She wanted to correct Zoe: she didn't need to kidnap him; every night, the scheming man arrived on time, precisely climbing through her window. A dazzling smile curved her lips.

Zoe, curious, asked, "Tiffany, what's with the smile?"

Tiffany blushed. "Nothing. Let's eat."

That night, Tiffany emerged from the shower to find Richard lounging comfortably on her bed. His dark eyes, lit with a mischievous glint, swept over her. She calmly wiped her hair.

"Where's my love letter?" he asked.

Tiffany was stunned, quietly backing away. She couldn't write one; despite receiving many daily, writing one herself was too difficult and embarrassing—she was past that age. An idea struck her. She casually scribbled "Love Letter" on a piece of paper and handed it to him, slyly asking, "Is this okay?"

Richard half-smiled. "What do you think?"

Knowing she couldn't get away with it, Tiffany mumbled, "Wait. We'll talk when I have an idea" How long would she have to wait? Perhaps she could escape successfully if he forgot. She dried her hair while Richard lazily watched, his head propped up.

Her makeup-free face was captivating. Every expression was alluring. He was captivated; the sharpness in his handsome face softened, his lips curving into a smile, like ice melting into water. Tiffany blushed and turned away, starting to speak, then pausing. He was asleep, his breathing even.

She quietly approached, noticing his fatigue, and pulled a blanket over him. As she retreated, he grabbed her hand, pulling her into his embrace.

"Hey" she tried to push him away.

His hoarse voice reached her ears: "Be good. Let me lean on you for a while." Seeing the shadows under his eyes, her heart softened. Why bother coming every day when you're so busy? she thought, but served as his pillow.

When he seemed better, she asked, "Have you been very busy?"

"Yeah," he replied bluntly. "A recent project failed. A large investment, detailed plans, but a mistake in operation crippled the whole thing." It sounded casual, but clearly more complicated.

"Then rest," Tiffany said. "Don't come every day."

Richard smiled deeply. "That won't do. I'm happy to see you every day, even for a second."