The automatic glass doors of the Serenity Meadows spa slid open with a soft "whoosh".
For the first time in three years, Kyra Curtis stepped into the blinding California sun. She blinked, the sudden glare bringing tears to her eyes.
A kind-faced nurse chased after her and slipped a delicate little gift bag into her hands. "For your new life, Kayla."
There was only one pink carnation in the bag.
Kyra forced a standard, hollow smile. "Thank you."
She turned and walked towards the roadside.
An inconspicuous Honda was parked on the side of the road. Her stepmother, Brenda, leaned out from the driver's seat.
"Kayla, hurry up. We need to get back to prepare for your father's birthday."
Kayla opened the back door and got in. Her father, Dale Tucker, sat in the passenger seat. He didn't turn around, just grunted in greeting. This man had always wanted a son and had never truly forgiven her for being a daughter.
The air in the car was thick with resentment. Brenda immediately began complaining about how much time it was a waste for someone to drive all that way to pick her up. Dale had already started talking about her stepbrother's upcoming golf tournament.
Kayla rested her head against the cold windowpane, watching the world rush by in a blur. Her fingers unconsciously fiddled with a USB-like object in her pocket. It was a secret she had quietly nurtured during those three years of silence and sterility.
The house was exactly as she remembered it—an ordinary middle-class family home in a featureless suburb, a place she had never truly belonged to.
As soon as she stepped inside, her father finally looked at her.
"Kayla," he said calmly, "now that you're out, we've arranged a blind date for you."
Kayla's heart remained unmoved. She knew this was just another deal. She was a broken asset that was being desperately sold.
"He's a university professor," Dale added, as if that would absolve him of all responsibility. "Clean family background. Given your situation, you're lucky someone even wants you. Don't cause us any trouble."
The unspoken words echoed in the air: Stop going crazy.
Kayla looked up, her face wearing a perfect, submissive mask. "Of course, Father. When?"
Her obedience soothed their anxiety. Dale and Brenda visibly breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that their "unstable" daughter wouldn't cause any trouble.
She walked back to her old bedroom. The room was cold and lifeless, stripped of all personality, as if she were just a temporary visitor. She pulled a simple dress from her suitcase and changed into it.
Standing in front of the mirror, she gazed at her pale face. Three years of "treatment" had taught her an invaluable skill: how to hide everything.
She said to herself in the mirror, "This is just the first step."
That evening, Kayla sat alone at a reserved table in the "Aria" restaurant—a high-end establishment that shimmered with crystal and exuded understated luxury. She had arrived early.
She observed the other guests—well-dressed men and women, chatting and laughing, their lives untainted by scandal. This was the world she once knew, the world that had vomited her out.
A wave of unease crept up her spine. Her fingers touched the plain, unadorned ring on her ring finger—a relic of a divorce settlement—and she began to turn it. It was a habit she couldn't break when she was nervous.
The restaurant manager was attentively leading a group of people towards a private room at the back. They were like a group of planets orbiting a central star—a tall man whose back was turned to her.
Kayla's gaze lingered for a moment, but the distance was too great and the light too dim.
She looked away, a self-deprecating smile playing on her lips. It was utterly ridiculous to even think that. He wouldn't be here.
"Excuse me, are you Miss Kayla Curtis?" a gentle voice asked.
Kayla looked up. A man with black-rimmed glasses and kind eyes stood beside her desk. This must be him—Nathan Foster, the professor.
She nodded politely, gesturing for him to sit down.
Just as he sat down, someone in the crowd in the distance smiled and made way for him.
The man who had been surrounded by the crowd stopped, turned his head slightly, as if listening to his assistant.
The light from the crystal chandelier overhead fell precisely on the sharp, aristocratic contours of his face, flashing briefly along the edge of his signature gold-rimmed glasses.
Kayla's breath caught in her throat. Her lungs contracted sharply.
That was Julius Carlisle.
Her ex-husband. The man who sent her to hell.
As if sensing her gaze, he turned his head.
Those cold blue eyes swept across the entire restaurant and landed on her.
He saw her!
