### Chapter 1: Agreeing to the Marriage Alliance

[Your account was charged 198,888 dollars at The Zenthian Hotel.]

When Vivian Grant saw the charge notification on her phone, she first froze, then a wave of indescribable sweetness washed over her.

Today was her third wedding anniversary with Quentin Lowell.

That man. He always said they were an old married couple and didn't need all those flashy formalities, but behind her back, he had prepared such a huge surprise for her.

Vivian Grant's heart skipped a beat, and a smile she couldn't hide spread across her face.

She immediately dropped her phone and rushed into the walk-in closet. After a flurry of activity getting ready, she flung the door open, grabbed her bag, and joyfully hurried off to embrace this belated romance.

The car pulled up to the magnificent, glittering entrance of The Zenthian Hotel. Vivian Grant, holding up the hem of her dress, was about to walk inside in her high heels.

"Stop!"

Two uniformed security guards extended their arms, blocking her way.

"Miss, President Lowell has booked the entire hotel today to celebrate his third anniversary with his wife. We are not admitting any outside guests."

Vivian Grant smiled gently. "I am Mrs. Lowell."

At her words, the guard reacted as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world. His eyes scanned Vivian Grant rudely from head to toe.

"You?"

"Listen, lady, there's a time and place for daydreaming. This isn't where you belong."

"We've already seen President Lowell's wife. She's the eldest daughter of the Jennings family. How could it possibly be someone as shabby-looking as you?"

The color drained from Vivian Grant's face, and her heart sank.

'The eldest daughter of the Jennings family?'

'Evelyn Jennings? The childhood sweetheart Quentin Lowell grew up with?'

A powerful sense of unease gripped her heart, but she forced herself to remain calm.

She took the small, red booklet she had treasured for three years from her bag and handed it over.

"It's written here as clear as day. My name is Vivian Grant, and my husband is Quentin Lowell."

"We registered our marriage three years ago. I am the real Mrs. Lowell!"

The guard took the marriage certificate suspiciously and opened it.

The next second, as if he had seen something utterly ridiculous, he burst into an earth-shattering roar of laughter.

"HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

He laughed so hard he was doubled over, pointing at the marriage certificate with tears welling in his eyes.

"I'm telling you, if you're going to fake a document, at least make it look real!"

"It doesn't even have an official seal! You dare to show up with a piece of scrap paper and pretend to be Mrs. Lowell?"

"Are you out of your mind?!"

'An official seal?'

Vivian Grant's mind went completely blank with a loud BUZZ.

She snatched her marriage certificate back, her trembling fingers tracing the blank space below the photo.

The spot where the official seal should have been was perfectly smooth. There was nothing there.

'How could there be no seal?'

"Get lost! Get the hell out of here!"

The guard shoved her impatiently. "If you don't leave now, I'm calling the police!"

Vivian Grant staggered from the push, twisting her ankle in her high heel and falling in a miserable heap onto the cold steps.

All around her, there was hushed pointing and mocking laughter.

'There must be some kind of misunderstanding!'

'I have to find Quentin Lowell and get to the bottom of this!'

She went around to the back of the hotel, slipping inside with a food delivery truck and sneaking through the greasy back kitchen.

The magnificent, glittering banquet hall was right in front of her.

Just as she reached out to push the door open, a peal of laughter from within stopped her.

Vivian Grant hesitated before pulling her hand back. Through the crack in the door, she saw a dazzling crystal chandelier and heard the strains of elegant music.

The long dining table was filled with people.

And at the head of the table sat her husband, Quentin Lowell.

He was wearing a perfectly tailored, custom-made suit today, which made him look even more handsome and dashing.

But his eyes, usually so gentle and full of smiles, were now focused intently on the woman in his arms.

That woman, dressed in a fiery red gown, was stunningly beautiful.

It was Evelyn Jennings.

"Poor Quentin. Having to lower himself to be with some pauper for five years, all for a piece of research!"

"More than just 'be with her.' He tricked her with a fake marriage license and played the part of a loving husband for three years!"

Quentin Lowell raised his glass. "What do you guys know? Vivian Grant holds the most advanced anti-cancer technology. Once it's ready for market, the company's stock value will multiply several times over!"

"It's just been hard on Evelyn." One of his buddies shot Quentin a knowing look. "You'd better make it up to her tonight, Quentin, or you'll be in the doghouse!"

Evelyn Jennings, the center of attention, gave the person next to her a gentle push, a bashful smile on her face.

"Oh, stop it, you guys."

She looked up, her gaze fixed on Quentin Lowell's perfect jawline.

"Quentin, the five years are almost up. When are you finally going to tell Vivian Grant that this whole thing has been a lie?"

Outside the door, the blood in Vivian Grant's veins seemed to freeze solid.

'A lie?'

She clamped a hand over her mouth, terrified of making a sound and alerting the people inside.

She watched as a flicker of silence crossed Quentin Lowell's handsome face at Evelyn Jennings's words. He swirled the wine in his glass before speaking. "Let's wait a little longer."

That momentary silence was enough to set Evelyn Jennings off. She shot upright, pulling away from his embrace, her beautiful eyes filled with suspicion and accusation.

"Wait? Why wait?"

"Quentin Lowell, tell me the truth. Have you fallen in love with her?"

A complex emotion, too quick to be identified, flashed through Quentin Lowell's deep-set eyes.

He spoke quickly, his voice low and cold.

"No. I just thought that if we're going to end the game, it would be more interesting to do it on a special day, wouldn't it? Next week is the first anniversary of our child's death."

"On that day, I will tell her everything."

'Child...'

Even the rowdy friend who had been joking earlier was stunned for a second. Then he clicked his tongue. "Fuck, Quentin Lowell, you're a ruthless one!"

"Personally arranging a car crash to get rid of your own child, and now you're going to tell his mother on the first anniversary of his death that his father never loved her?"

"Tsk, tsk. It's not enough to kill, you have to crush their spirit too. Man, I'm not even in the same league as you."

BOOM—

Vivian Grant felt as though a bolt of heavenly lightning had crashed down upon her, leaving her utterly shattered.

A year ago, she had ecstatically shown Quentin Lowell the positive pregnancy test, telling him he was going to be a father. She remembered how he had been as happy as a child, spinning her around in his arms.

But not two days later, she was in a car accident on her way home from work.

She lost the baby. Lying in the hospital, she cried until she was heartbroken.

Quentin Lowell had held her, his eyes red, looking completely grief-stricken—as if he were in even more pain than she was.

'So it had all been his design.'

'It was all fake.'

Inside the banquet hall, a satisfied smile finally spread across Evelyn Jennings's face after hearing Quentin Lowell's plan.

She snuggled back into Quentin Lowell's arms, her voice sickeningly sweet.

"Now, that's more like it."

"Once you come clean to that cheap wife of yours, we can start trying for a baby. I want to have your baby, too."

Vivian Grant couldn't hear the rest. Her world was spinning, and a sharp ringing was the only thing she could hear.

'Five years together, a three-year marriage... all an elaborate, meticulously planned lie.'

'The child she had lost was just a 'prop' he had personally eliminated.'

Leaning on the wall for support, Vivian Grant stumbled away.

The cold wind sliced at her face like a knife.

She stood at the hotel entrance, watching the endless stream of cars, and took out her phone.

Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through her contacts to a number she thought she would never call again.

The call connected.

"Dad, I agree."

"I agree to come back. I'll do the marriage alliance."

...

###Chapter 2: Asking for Money

On the other end of the line, a steady voice spoke.

"Have you thought it through?"

"Are you done sticking with that poor kid and suffering for your so-called love?"

Vivian Grant lowered her gaze, her long lashes casting a desolate shadow beneath her eyes.

"I've thought it through."

The person on the other end fell silent for a moment, as if trying to discern the truth in her words.

Finally, the voice delivered its verdict, heavy and final.

"Good."

"I'll give you one month to sort out all your messy affairs."

"After one month, I'll send someone to pick you up."

"BEEP—"

The call was disconnected abruptly. Vivian Grant clutched her cold phone, her eyes falling on the lock screen wallpaper.

It was a photo of her and Quentin Lowell in the snow from last winter.

In the picture, he had wrapped her in his overcoat, a doting smile on his face, while she looked up at him, the love in her eyes nearly overflowing.

Vivian Grant's fingertips gently brushed across Quentin Lowell's handsome face on the screen.

Didn't Quentin Lowell say he was going to give her a "surprise" on the anniversary of their child's death?

The corners of Vivian Grant's lips slowly curved into a bone-chilling arc.

'Fine, then.'

'I'll prepare a huge surprise for you two as well.'

In the eyes of Quentin Lowell and his band of brothers, Vivian Grant was just some poor student who had clawed her way out of the backwoods—powerless, helpless, and with nothing to her name but a pretty face.

And indeed, that was Vivian Grant's publicly known identity.

But what they didn't know was that Vivian Grant was the only daughter of Theodore Grant, the richest man in Kaiserin.

The sole, designated heir to the Grant Family—a family that could make the entire business world tremble with a stomp of their foot.

Years ago, to temper her character, her father had hidden her identity, allowing her to enroll in university as a poverty-stricken student to experience the hardships of life.

And she had lived up to his expectations, winning the highest scholarships every year.

Until she met Quentin Lowell. For his sake, Vivian Grant had a falling out with her family, even threatening to sever all ties to cancel a pre-arranged business alliance marriage.

Her father didn't oppose her forcefully. Instead, he gave her a deadline.

"I'll give you five years."

"If you're still together after five years, I'll acknowledge him as my son-in-law."

'Thinking back on it now, Father already foresaw everything.'

The five-year deadline was almost up.

'Unfortunately, he failed the test.'

'And I... I lost everything.'

Vivian Grant stood up and brushed the dust from her dress. Her eyes, once washed with tears, now held nothing but a dead silence.

She walked back to the apartment she once considered "home."

When she opened the door, the living room lights were on. Quentin Lowell was already back.

He was sitting on the sofa as if waiting for her. Hearing the door open, he immediately stood up, his face wearing its usual gentle smile.

"Vivi, you're back? Why are you so late today?"

He spoke as he opened his arms, about to give her a hug as he usually did.

The cloying scent of an unfamiliar, sweet perfume wafted over her.

Vivian Grant didn't need to guess. It was definitely Evelyn Jennings's scent.

'So filthy.'

A wave of nauseating disgust churned in Vivian Grant's stomach.

She nonchalantly turned to the side, avoiding his hypocritical embrace.

"I'm a little tired."

Quentin Lowell's arms froze in mid-air, a flicker of imperceptible shock crossing his handsome face.

But he quickly recovered, nonchalantly taking the backpack from her and maintaining his gentle tone.

"If you're tired, you should rest early. Has work been too busy with that project at the company?"

Vivian Grant didn't answer him.

She changed her shoes, walked to the center of the living room, and fixed her calm gaze on him.

"Today at The Zenthian Hotel. One hundred ninety-eight thousand, eight hundred and eighty-eight."

"What was that all about?"

Quentin Lowell's eyes darted away for a second before he chuckled, his tone flawlessly natural.

"Oh, that."

"It was for one of my buddies. It's his one-year anniversary with his girlfriend, and he was a little short on cash, so I booked it for him."

"You know how Felix is. He always has to keep up appearances."

If this had been a few hours ago, she would have believed him.

But now, she only found it incredibly ironic.

Vivian Grant watched him quietly. "Is that so?"

Her voice was soft. "But Quentin, do you remember what day it is?"

The smile on Quentin Lowell's face stiffened for a moment.

"Today is our third wedding anniversary."

"It's also the fifth anniversary of the day we got together."

"Do you still remember? The promise we made on our first anniversary."

During her sophomore year of college, Quentin Lowell had fallen in love with her at first sight and pursued her with an almost frenzied passion.

He would wait for her outside her classroom, take off his jacket to shield her from the rain, and stand in line for three hours just to buy a limited-edition cake from a shop she liked.

She had been moved by his sincere and ardent affection.

On their first anniversary, Quentin Lowell held Vivian Grant in his arms.

"Vivi, from now on, for every anniversary we have, we have to eat cake together."

They had kept that promise for four years.

But today, on the fifth year,

he had spent it with another woman.

Quentin Lowell's expression completely froze, a trace of panic flashing through his eyes.

After a long moment, he finally found his voice.

"I'm sorry, Vivi."

"Things have been so hectic at the company lately, I honestly forgot."

He stepped forward, trying to take her hand as he always did, but Vivian Grant evaded his touch again.

His patience seemed to be wearing thin.

"Alright, stop throwing a tantrum."

"It was my fault, okay?"

He pulled a bank card from his wallet, held it out to her, and said in a tone as if giving alms:

"Here's some money. Buy whatever you want as compensation, alright?"

'Money.'

'Always money.'

'In all of their eyes, the only reason a poor student like her would cling to Quentin Lowell for five years was for his money, right?'

'So, as long as they gave her money, everything could be smoothed over.'

The old Vivian Grant had hated it when he used money to measure their love; she had never once accepted it.

But this time...

Vivian Grant looked at the black card and suddenly smiled.

She looked up, her smile exceptionally sweet.

"Alright,"

she replied cheerfully, taking the card as her fingertips brushed lightly against his palm.

"How much are you planning to give me?"

...

###Chapter 3: Let the Show Begin

Quentin Lowell was slightly taken aback. He never thought that Vivian Grant, who had always scorned money, would actually accept his card.

He certainly didn't expect her to ask such a question.

A playful, faintly contemptuous smile appeared on his handsome face.

"Oh?"

"How much do you want?"

He watched her with a leisurely air, as if observing a clown finally revealing its greedy nature.

The smile on Vivian Grant's face grew sickly sweet. Her red lips parted, and she uttered two words.

"Fifty million."

The smile on Quentin Lowell's face froze.

'Fifty million?'

'She really has some nerve.'

'He'd thought she would ask for a few hundred thousand at most to buy some bags and jewelry. He could just placate her a little, and that would be the end of it.'

He stared at her, trying to find even the slightest hint of a joke in her beautiful eyes.

There was none.

Her eyes were as serene as a bottomless lake, containing nothing but ice.

A strange, nameless anger flared in Quentin Lowell's heart.

Quentin Lowell sneered as if he'd seen through it all.

"Fifty million? You've got a lot of nerve. My buddies told me you were only with me for my money, and I didn't believe them. But now…"

Perhaps noticing the look on Vivian Grant's face, he softened his tone.

"Alright, you've been with me for so many years, I can't treat you badly. Here's fifty thousand. Buy whatever you want. Stop throwing a tantrum, okay?"

He took out his phone and initiated the transfer right in front of her.

After completing the transaction, he relaxed completely, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

He looked at Vivian Grant, his gaze returning to its usual tenderness.

"All better now?"

"Don't be angry anymore."

"Work has been so stressful lately. I'm exhausted."

He opened his arms again and walked toward her, his tone wheedling.

"Hug me."

Vivian Grant watched him approach, watched the face that had captivated her for five years, and felt nothing but a roiling wave of nausea in her heart.

Just as his arm was about to touch her shoulder, she once again sidestepped nimbly, dodging him.

"I haven't showered yet."

"I feel grimy. I'm going to go wash up first."

BANG.

The bathroom door slammed shut.

In the split second before the door closed, Vivian Grant clearly saw the reflection of Quentin Lowell's back as he stood frozen in place.

His posture conveyed astonishment, confusion, and a hint of offended anger.

The corners of Vivian Grant's lips curved into a cold smile.

'A man another woman has touched is filthy to me.'

Hot water cascaded from the showerhead, washing over her body but failing to rinse away the chill in her heart.

DING-DONG—

Her phone vibrated on the shelf.

[Your account ending in 8888 received a deposit of 50,000 at 10:18 PM.]

The money had arrived.

Vivian Grant glanced at it, then looked away, her expression impassive.

A moment later, the screen lit up again with two new friend requests.

She tapped it open.

The first request had a profile picture of the rose from *The Little Prince*.

The request message was just one sentence.

[Hello, I am your marriage arrangement partner.]

Vivian Grant's finger paused. 'Her father certainly worked fast.'

She tapped "Accept," and the person's profile picture immediately appeared in her contacts.

Vivian Grant thought for a moment and sent a single word in reply.

[Hello.]

There was no immediate reply.

She backed out and tapped on the second friend request.

The profile picture for this one was incredibly jarring.

It was an intimate photo of Quentin Lowell and Evelyn Jennings. In the picture, Evelyn was nestled in Quentin's arms, her face beaming with happiness.

The request message was even more provocative.

[I know you saw everything today.]

Not a ripple of emotion showed in Vivian Grant's eyes.

She accepted, then slowly typed out two words.

[Who's this?]

This time, the reply was almost instantaneous.

[I'm Evelyn Jennings.]

[Quentin Lowell's fiancée. And his future wife.]

[Vivian Grant, how does it feel to be the other woman for three years, squatting in someone else's home?]

A series of messages popped up.

They were followed by a pile of photos.

The first was a wedding photo.

In the photo, Quentin Lowell and Evelyn Jennings were dressed in formal wedding attire, complete with a groom's boutonnière and a bride's corsage. They were smiling brilliantly, a perfect match.

However, the background wasn't the plain red wall of a government registry office, but a magnificent church.

It was a "wedding photo" they had taken themselves.

Vivian Grant's gaze fell on Quentin Lowell's face.

He was smiling with a happiness she had never seen before.

The rest were all sorts of intimate photos of the two of them.

Kissing on the beach, embracing in the snow, a candlelight dinner at a fancy restaurant…

Each one was like a knife, slicing her to pieces.

But as Vivian Grant scrolled through them, one by one, her heart was terrifyingly calm.

There was no anger, no jealousy, not even a trace of pain.

All her love for Quentin Lowell, all her obsession, had been blown away by the cold wind on the way back from The Zenthian Hotel tonight, dying completely and utterly.

She leisurely dried herself off, slipped on a bathrobe, then picked up her phone to reply.

[Oh.]

[And?]

[What's your point in sending me these?]

On the other end of the screen, Evelyn Jennings must not have expected this reaction. She was silent for a full thirty seconds.

After thirty seconds, a new message popped up.

[What do you mean?]

Vivian Grant smiled. She could clearly feel Evelyn Jennings's anxiety and frustration through the cold screen.

'Actually, Quentin Lowell's act over the past five years hadn't been perfect.'

'Occasionally, in a fleeting moment, he would reveal a hint of his true feelings.'

'Those unintentional moments of tenderness, that subconscious protectiveness…'

'She could feel it, and so could Evelyn Jennings.'

'That was why Quentin Lowell's moment of silence in the banquet hall tonight had been like a thorn in Evelyn Jennings's heart, amplifying all her insecurities.'

'She was afraid. She was afraid that Quentin, the hawk she'd let out of its cage, would get carried away playing and truly fly away, never to return.'

Sure enough, the next second, a message from a furious and humiliated Evelyn Jennings came through.

[Vivian Grant, have you no shame? You're already the other woman, and you're still clinging desperately to someone else's husband!]

[I'm telling you, Quentin is about to lay his cards on the table with you! If you know what's good for you, you'll get the hell out!]

Vivian Grant looked at the words on the screen and chuckled.

She didn't reply to Evelyn Jennings's rant.

Instead, she quietly slid the bathroom door open and poked her phone out.

In the living room, Quentin Lowell, who had likely just showered as well, was pacing back and forth in front of the sofa in his bathrobe.

CLICK.

Vivian Grant aimed her phone at him and snapped a photo.

The angle of the photo was cleverly chosen. It only captured him in his bathrobe, revealing his sexy collarbone and chest, with a messy bed and suggestive lighting in the background.

She sent the photo to Evelyn.

Then, she unhurriedly typed a line of text.

[Guess what happens next?]

Having done all this, Vivian Grant tossed her phone aside and began to blow-dry her hair, her mood considerably improved.

'They enjoyed toying with her emotions, didn't they?'

'Didn't they love watching her struggle in pain?'

'Fine, then.'

'Now, the game begins.'

'The roles have been reversed.'

'It's my turn to play with their feelings.'

'I just wonder, how much of a test can their so-called 'unbreakable' love really withstand?'*****