Having moved out of the Argent family’s estate just two months ago into this rental apartment, she didn’t have much to pack. Despite her plaster-casted injured ankle, she finished gathering her belongings in under thirty minutes.
After packing, Alarieka washed her hands, leaning on crutches, before settling back on the bed.
She glanced at her phone screen – dozens of missed calls. Half were unknown numbers, half all from Kieran.
The ringing had persisted while she packed. Finding it grating, she’d muted it.
Alarieka frowned slightly.
This wasn’t the first time Kieran bombarded her with calls. The last occasion… was in her past life.
Back then too, it was because of Rose that he’d called.
A flicker of mockery passed through her eyes at the memory.
At that time, her relationship with Kieran and the Argent family had frozen into mutual avoidance. The Argents had blacklisted her everywhere – no employer would hire her, not even for washing dishes or waiting tables. Without income, she survived solely on dwindling savings.
Slowly, Shen Ping’an turned three – kindergarten age.
Initially naive, she’d believed the Argents wouldn’t harm their own blood, Kieran’s biological daughter.
After multiple kindergartens rejected them, a teacher finally revealed the truth: the Argent family had warned every preschool in the city against admitting Shen Ping’an.
The revelation struck like lightning.
The Argents – Kieran – were so heartless they’d even deny Shen Ping’an an education.
For her daughter, Alarieka baked pastries and went to Kieran’s office.
He refused to see her. Everyone in the building avoided her, contempt practically carved on their foreheads, eyes dripping with disgust.
Her reputation had already rotted beyond repair. No one would help her. No one would go near her.
Except one…
Rose.
After Roschelle Whitaker’s insincere inquiry, the desperate woman grasped at straws, thrusting the pastries into Roschelle’s arms. She begged Roschelle to deliver them to Kieran Argent and put in a good word for her, pleading for Kieran to spare Shen Ping’an.
Roschelle initially listened with amusement to her entreaties.
But upon hearing Shen Ping’an’s name, Roschelle’s eyes darkened slightly. A cryptic smile played on her lips as she clutched the pastries, agreeing to the request.
At that moment, the woman failed to discern the hidden meaning behind Roschelle’s smile, merely thanking her profusely.
Later came the news: Roschelle’s son had been hospitalized with acute gastroenteritis after eating those pastries. That very night, Kieran bombarded her phone with calls.
Having gone to bed early, she missed the messages. By morning, Kieran’s men had dragged her to the hospital, forcing her to kneel beside the boy’s bed in repentance.
She could never forget the look in Kieran’s eyes that day.
Pure, unadulterated revulsion – not a shred of pity or kindness, only visceral disgust toward her.
Kneeling before the hospital bed, she watched Kieran standing distantly, unwilling to take even one step closer.
Roschelle clung to Kieran, choked with sobs: “Alarieka, I only wanted to help! Why would you harm me? Why hurt Kieran’s child?”
“If anything happens to my baby, I’d rather die!”
As Alarieka trembled out a denial, Roschelle’s weeping grew uncontrollable. The disgust in Kieran’s eyes intensified.
Smack!
The sharp slap didn’t come from Roschelle or Kieran – it came from their son.
This small boy, around Shen Ping’an’s age, struck with startling force.
Alarieka’s head snapped sideways, crimson fingerprints blooming across her pale cheek.
“Evil woman! She’s the evil one! Mom, Dad, I don’t want to see her! Make her leave! Please!”
Immediately, like a discarded rag, she was seized by Kieran’s bodyguards and hurled from the room. They ordered her to kneel outside the door, repenting for her sins.
Recalling the past, Alarieka felt like a lifetime had passed.