Early the next morning, Shirley ordered the servants to gather up everything related to Oscar and throw them away.
His worn clothes, used pens, school bag, and even the birthday gifts he'd given her—all of them went straight into the trash.
The servants looked confused. "Ms. Shirley, these were your most treasured things. Are you sure you don't want them anymore?"
Shirley pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes. Throw them out."
She was just about to change and find Jamie when a servant shouted, "Ms. Shirley! Ms. Myra is at the door, begging to see you!"
Shirley frowned, her face darkening instantly.
"Shirley, I'm sorry about last night. Please don't be mad or blame Oscar, okay? I'm apologizing on his behalf!"
Shirley's eyes narrowed as she saw Myra trembling and crying at the door.
"Can you cut it out? All this pitiful act of yours is getting old."
Shirley stepped past her and was about to leave when Myra grabbed her ankle.
"No! I'm not leaving unless you forgive Oscar."
"What exactly do you want?" Shirley snapped. "Don't forget, everything you have today comes from me. Without me, you're nothing, let alone the Bishops' heiress."
"Hah." Myra's voice turned cold and mocking. "You think I care about status? Everyone treats me like your servant anyway. I'm here to beg you not to marry Oscar. He loves me and wants to marry me! I've been your shadow for years—it shouldn't be hard for you to grant me this one thing, right?"
Finally, she showed her true colors.
In the last life, Shirley hadn't realized Myra's deceit until it was too late.
Looking back, it was obvious. Myra had never been a kind person. All those years, she had acted helpless, and Shirley thought it was just shyness. But it was all fake—she'd been pretending to be the victim to capture Oscar's heart.
Too bad Oscar couldn't see it. He'd ignored the real Bishops heiress and went after a powerless foster daughter instead.
"What if I say I don't want to?" Shirley raised an eyebrow. "You're just a foster daughter. You have no right to demand anything! If you want to stay in my house, you'd better behave. Otherwise, forget about marrying into any of the four elite families!"
Hearing that, Myra gripped Shirley's ankle even tighter, her eyes gleaming with menace.
"Since you're so stubborn, I'll make you regret it!"
She dug her fingernails deep into Shirley's ankle, causing sharp pain to shoot up her leg.
"Let go!" Shirley was about to kick Myra before the latter rolled straight toward the stairs on her own.
"Ah! No, stop! It hurts!" Myra cried before tumbling down the stairs while Shirley watched, frozen in shock.
Right then, Oscar burst through the door. "Myra! Are you okay?"
He scooped her up and glared at Shirley, who was standing at the top of the stairs. "When will you stop? If you touch her again, I swear I will never marry you!"
Shirley's face stayed cold as she explained, "I didn't do anything. She fell down herself!"
"You're lying! I saw you kick her down the stairs with my own eyes!"
"Oscar, it's not Shirley's fault. It doesn't hurt!" Myra whimpered in his arms.
Oscar checked her over. "You've fractured a bone. Don't worry. I'll take you to the hospital."
On the way out, he noticed the bags the servants were carrying downstairs, all containing his belongings.
Looking at the stuff, he snorted. "We're not even married yet, and you're already moving my stuff to our new place? Nobody knows if we'll even get married!"
The servants stammered, "M-Mr. Miller, Ms. Shirley asked us to throw—"
"Enough. I don't have time for this nonsense."
Oscar left with Myra in his arms, not noticing the small, sly smile flicker across her lips.
But Shirley saw it.
She glanced down at her ankle to see ten fingernail marks pressed into her skin, raw and aching.
Oscar couldn't see it.
The servant asked hesitantly, "Ms. Shirley, what are we gonna do about these—"
"Throw them away," she spat.
She blinked through the sting in her eyes, counting down the days until the wedding.
She wanted to see Oscar's reaction when he found out he wasn't the person she was about to marry.
