Grandfather, visibly excited, stood at the door, gazing at his granddaughter. She bore a striking resemblance to his daughter. Tears streamed down his face.

"Grandpa," she said, "I came back to see you. Why are you crying?"

Layne wiped away his tears and said sharply, "You haven't been back in three years. And you never bring good news. Did your husband bully you?"

He continued, his voice rising, "I told you before, your personalities clash. The Lawrence and Foley families are worlds apart; a suitable marriage requires compatible backgrounds. Your mother was deceived by that scoundrel, George, leading to her tragic end."

Thinking of his daughter renewed Layne's sadness. Though his granddaughter, Cheyenne, was exceptional, she was too much like her mother. It wasn't fair. Years ago, Cheyenne had been determined to marry Kelvin, despite knowing he didn't love her. She pursued him relentlessly.

They'd been married three years, yet he remained cold. Even the care of a pet requires emotional connection, but to Kelvin, she was less valuable.

"Grandpa, you're overreacting," Cheyenne said with a sweet smile, trying to reassure him. "It's not like that. I'm fine; I just miss you."

"Don't try to fool me," Grandpa retorted bluntly. "I know you're lying."

"Ahem Grandpa, you're an educated man. Watch your language!"

Realizing his mistake, Grandfather nodded apologetically. "You're right. I should mind my manners."

"Okay, then! Look what I brought—cotton candy! Let's go inside; my feet are killing me." Cheyenne helped Layne inside, cotton candy clutched in one hand.

The house blended traditional courtyard design with modern appliances and stylish décor—simple yet luxurious.

Cheyenne sat opposite her grandfather as he removed the stick from his cotton candy and devoured it in one go, surprising Cheyenne.

"It's sweet, but too small," Layne commented after sipping his tea.

Cheyenne was speechless.

"Did you get divorced?"

"Mm-hmm."

The old man smiled, then frowned. "Cheyenne, what are your plans for the future?"

"I don't know." Cheyenne idly spun her teacup.

"You married too young. You were only eighteen, right after starting college. I think you should go back to school," he said.

Study? Cheyenne thought. She was twenty-one. Most people her age were in their third year of college or doing internships. The thought of returning to school gave her a headache.

"But what about my age?"

"That doesn't matter. You're my granddaughter. If you want to continue your studies, it's easily arranged," the old man said confidently.

"Okay." Layne brightened, a new task for Cheyenne forming in his mind.

After spending the night, Cheyenne drove back to Akloit. She'd barely settled down when Kate Zamora called.

A high-pitched scream erupted from the phone. "Cheyenne, I heard you're divorced! Congratulations!"

Cheyenne raised an eyebrow. "You're congratulating me on my divorce?"

"Well, yeah! What's so great about that poker-faced man? You're beautiful and charming. My brother likes you a lot. You could be my sister-in-law!"

Kate Zamora, Cheyenne's best friend since elementary school, lived a naive, romantic life. Her brother, Eddie, was gentle and refined, but Cheyenne felt a relationship would be inappropriate given her status.

"I do mind having an airheaded sister-in-law," Cheyenne teased.

"Fake friendship confirmed," Kate replied, amused.

Cheyenne, knowing Kate wouldn't stay angry, didn't hang up. Kate whispered, "Cheyenne, I have a date tomorrow night with a handsome senior. Drinks at a bar. Want to come?"

"I'll pass. You've got a date. I'll be a third wheel." She had other plans.

"Alright, next time," Kate said sadly, then hung up.

At 7 PM the next day, the city lights blazed. Among them, the Crown Hotel's crown-shaped lamp shone brightly. It was Akloit's most luxurious hotel. On the top floor, a grand banquet was underway. One woman, in a striking red dress, stood out.

Her strapless gown revealed her beautiful back and skin. Her wavy hair was braided into buns. She looked stunning. A purple butterfly mask covered most of her face. Men stared. She sat lazily on a sofa, a slight smile playing on her lips.

A man, about thirty, approached. "Miss, may I join you?" His gaze lingered on her chest.

"Whatever."

Her voice was pleasant, he thought. He imagined it would sound even better later.

A waiter approached with drinks. The man gestured him to wait, ordering two glasses of red wine. He handed one to Cheyenne. "To thank you," he said.

As he did so, a pill slipped from his fingers and fell into her wine. He thought he was subtle. He was wrong.

Cheyenne chuckled softly, swirling the wine. "Rohypnol," she said. "It causes dizziness, hallucinations, and burning skin. Am I right?"

The man's face paled. "I I don't know what you're talking about."