Nicole drew in a steady breath before answering quietly, "No." She then wheeled Connor toward the bed. "It's late—you should get some rest. If you need anything during the night, just call out."
Although they shared the same roof, they didn't share the same room, with Nicole taking the guest room next door.
Once her footsteps faded, Connor calmly ordered someone to forward Erika's background report. After skimming only a few pages, he shut the file with a faint curl of disdain—a good-for-nothing woman and a complete waste of time.
...
Nicole poured herself into designing her dress for Erika's birthday party, adjusting every seam until it finally felt right just two days before the event.
For a long while, her gained weight had kept her from dressing up at all, the old habit of shrinking inward leaving her shoulders rounded and her gaze lowered. This time, she was determined to stand tall, spine straight.
Once she slipped into the dress, she slowly turned before the mirror, studying the reflection from every angle. It still felt lacking.
Right then, Samuel stepped in carrying a sleek black box and spoke with practiced courtesy. "Ms. Perry, this is a gift from Mr. Reed. He asked that you open it yourself."
Nicole froze for a split second, genuinely surprised. A gift—from Connor?
Shock melted quickly into a quiet thrill as she lifted the lid and found a sapphire necklace gleaming inside, its deep blue facets catching the light.
Against her black dress, the necklace sharpened her presence instantly, lending her a poise.
Even so, beneath the flicker of joy, unease stirred—something this exquisite had to carry a price tag she wasn't sure she was comfortable accepting. Given that the money for their arranged marriage had come from the Reed family—and that Connor himself likely didn't have much disposable cash—she couldn't help but worry about the cost.
"Renting this necklace for just one day has to be outrageously expensive, doesn't it?" she asked, frowning faintly. "Emily's birthday is the day after tomorrow. Wouldn't it make more sense to book it only for that day? Otherwise, we're just throwing away two days' rent."
A barely perceptible twitch tugged at Samuel's lips. Rent? What utter nonsense. Connor had never fretted about money. A necklace priced at a million barely registered for him, as insignificant to him as spare change.
Still, knowing Connor had to keep up his act of the unwelcome member of the Reed family with little money in his pocket, Samuel played along with the story. "The store offered a special arrangement—rent it for a day, and they throw in two more for free. You can wear it without a second thought."
Delight flickered across Nicole's face as she lifted one brow. "Wait, a deal like that actually exists?"
With a straight face that barely concealed the playfulness, Samuel added, "Mostly because Mr. Reed is devastatingly good-looking. The store decided to grant him exclusive privileges."
After fastening the necklace around her neck and admiring how it caught the light, Nicole approached Connor and thanked him sincerely, her voice warm with genuine appreciation.
Connor watched her waddle closer without the slightest flicker of interest crossing his composed features.
Despite her knowledge of his blindness, heat still crept up her cheeks, and she murmured, a little flustered, "Thank you for being so considerate. The necklace was lovely—I'll take good care of it."
Resting a finger against the raised dots of the braille-engraved book in his hand, Connor answered coldly, "Spare me such talk. I just didn't want you to go out looking sloppy and affect my image."
The words came out blunt, but they carried no real bite.
Nicole shrugged it off with an easy laugh, her mood untouched, and turned back to her chores with a light step.
Soon after Nicole departed, Samuel drifted over and asked with a teasing smile, "Funny coincidence, Mr. Reed—we have an engagement on the same day, same hotel. Want to steer clear of Ms. Perry?"
Curiosity flickered through Connor at the thought of how her uncle's family would handle her, so he answered evenly, "No need. Just move it to another hall."
...
Days later, Erika's birthday celebration arrived. Right on cue, Nicole showed up.
At the entrance, Erika latched onto Jerald's arm as they welcomed guests, the two of them polished and dazzling, an eye-catching pair framed by smiles and spotlight.
Upon spotting Nicole, Erika hurried over and clasped her hand with practiced warmth, smiling brightly as she said, "I'm really relieved you showed up. I was worried you were still angry with me and wouldn't even come to wish me well."
At those words, nearby guests shifted their focus, murmurs rippling through the room as curious glances slid toward Nicole.
For years, Erika had perfected the art of painting herself decent, spinning half-truths in a few soft sentences that always left Nicole cast as the heartless cousin.
Seeing through Erika's tricks, Nicole met her gaze calmly and replied, "Why do you always phrase things in a way that invites misunderstanding? Or is it simply because you don't like me?"
Caught off guard, Erika froze, the sweetness on her face cracking for a brief, awkward second.
Accustomed to trampling over Nicole without resistance, Erika had never imagined she'd be challenged. When the question was flung back at her, panic flickered in her eyes, and she instinctively fell back on old tricks—lowering her lashes, letting moisture gather until she looked fragile and aggrieved.
Unable to stand the sight of Erika's distress, Jerald pulled her into his arms at once, his brow knitting as he turned on Nicole. "After all this time apart, I honestly thought you'd reflect, maybe even change," he said coldly. "Yet, you are still the same. What did Erika ever do to earn this kind of hostility from you?"
Nicole lifted her gaze to him. He'd already become just as bad as Erika, and with every last attachment already severed, a quiet boldness rose in her chest. "After all this time apart?" she replied evenly. "By my count, it's been barely half a month. I assumed you couldn't stand me at all and wouldn't register my absence—but clearly, you've been marking the days a lot more carefully than I thought."
