Jerome ignored the short-haired woman's screams, his gaze fixed on Cheyenne's face. Her fair skin flushed with anger, adding vibrant red to her cheeks, making her appear even more alluring. She smiled sweetly, pulled a stack of bills from her bag, and pressed them into Jerome's hand. Her slender fingers caressed his shoulder slowly and seductively as she whispered, "How about I pay you $100,000 for one night? Your looks are far superior to those gigolos I've encountered."

Jerome bristled at the comparison, furrowing his brow. "They can't compare to me!"

"Is that so?" she challenged, raising an eyebrow.

"I can climax seven times a night. Want to try it? It's on me." He suddenly grabbed her hand, kissing the back of it as Cheyenne watched in shock.

"Smack!" A loud slap echoed, making everyone flinch, especially the short-haired woman, whose eyes widened in disbelief. "You… you dare!" Jerome's face bore a clear handprint. It was his first time being struck.

Lifting her head, he pressed his lips together, then chuckled. "Baby, your palms are so soft. That slap felt… surprisingly pleasant."

Cheyenne stared at him, aghast. "You're insane. No more talking."

Jerome watched as Cheyenne rushed to her car and sped away. He smiled. "Tom, get that license plate and find out who she is."

"Mr. Witt, are you seeking revenge?" Tom asked cautiously, already picturing the woman's suffering.

"What do you think? But don't hurt her," Jerome replied firmly. For the first time, a woman had slapped him, and he found himself strangely drawn to her fiery spirit. Of course, he might discard her once he got what he wanted. He thought angrily, You'll pay for this.

Because of the encounter, Cheyenne forgot to buy her grandfather a cake. An hour later, nearing his house, she remembered. She spotted a woman selling cotton candy and had an idea. "Ma'am, two cotton candies, please."

"Certainly."

Cheyenne parked under a tree, watching as the woman expertly spun the sugar into fluffy clouds. The cotton candy grew into large white balls, which Cheyenne received. Her eyes welled up, remembering her grandfather buying her cotton candy after school. It had been three years since she'd seen him, and she'd forgotten the taste of sweetness. Kelvin had only brought bitterness.

"Miss, your order's ready," the vendor said.

"Oh, okay." Cheyenne paid a hundred dollars, concealing her emotions, and silently left. The woman's roadside stall was a struggle; long hours and city regulations made it difficult. Cheyenne wanted to help, however she could.

In the distance, Chris saw a beautiful woman in a black dress, walking with cotton candy, under the trees. Sunlight touched her face, as white as pear blossoms; though her eyes were red-rimmed, she wore a wistful smile. He murmured, "Isn't that Mrs. Foley?"

Kelvin saw her approaching, licking the cotton candy like a child. He felt a moment of disorientation, then his brow furrowed. How was she here? Had she deliberately tracked him, knowing he'd be in Shedale? His face turned cold. If she continued to haunt him, he wouldn't be so lenient.

Unexpectedly, they passed without acknowledgment. Cheyenne's gaze remained steady ahead. The rhythmic click of her heels faded into the distance. She got in her car and drove off.

Huh? Ignoring me completely? Perfect. That's exactly what I wanted. She's finally stopped clinging to me.

"Mr. Foley… hello, can you hear me?" Chris whispered.

Kelvin's face darkened slightly as he nodded. "Yes. I believe there are some issues with the investment ratios…"

Chris sighed, uncomprehending of the CEO's marital troubles. Maybe it's because he's a confirmed bachelor. How could Cheyenne lack feelings for him? He was her first love. But her pride prevented vulnerability.

She angrily bit into the cotton candy, its sweetness soothing her turmoil. The car stopped before an old courtyard house, the Edwards family's ancestral home, damaged by war, then restored by her grandfather. Cheyenne smiled, hesitant before knocking three times.

"Who is it?"

A familiar voice. Cheyenne's nose tingled; tears threatened. She bit her lip.

"Grandpa… it's me."

"Clang!" The door opened; a breeze blew in. Leaves drifted to the old man's feet. He wore handmade shoes, a neat suit, reading glasses, and gray hair. He seemed ordinary, yet possessed a scholarly aura.

"Cheyenne, you finally came back," he said, his voice hoarse.

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