Vernon's POV
But in the end, she said nothing.
I thought I had let go now that I was given a second chance in life. But standing here in this moment still felt like something had been ripped from my chest, so sharp and raw that it was hard to breathe.
I forced myself to stay composed and began unfastening my watch. The sound of the metal clasp echoed through the silent study, unnervingly loud.
“Vernon!” Mr. Andrews suddenly stood up. “There’s no need to go this far!”
“Mr. Andrews.” I cut him off gently and continued removing my watch. “Rules are rules.”
The suit, the tie, the watch, and the shoes. I took them all off, piece by piece, folding them neatly on the floor. Even my socks came off. I stood barefoot on the cold marble tiles.
At that moment, Calvert's face was smug, practically glowing with triumph. Zera, though, had turned pale.
When I started unbuttoning my shirt, she finally couldn’t take it anymore and looked away.
“That’s enough!” Mr. Andrews could no longer hold back. “Vernon, stop this!”
But I still calmly folded the shirt and placed it on top of the suit.
“From now on, I stand on my own,” I declared. “I'm Vernon Robson, and I’m no longer part of Andrews.”
Right after saying that, I left through the back door of the Andrews estate, pushing a rusty old folding bike. It was the only thing I owned. It was a birthday gift Zera gave me when I turned eight. It had just been sitting in the backyard storage shed ever since.
Outside, I hadn’t realized so many reporters had gathered. The moment I stepped out, they swarmed like vultures.
“Mr. Robson, how does it feel to be kicked out of the Andrews family?”
“Rumor has it they didn’t even let you keep your underwear. Is that true?”
The flashes were blinding, so I squinted against the light.
“Excuse me,” I said hoarsely, my voice rough and unfamiliar even to myself.
Then, the crowd burst into laughter. One female reporter even pointed her camera directly at my lower half.
Her face looked familiar. She was probably someone I’d seen at one of Calvert’s birthday parties.
I swung my leg over the bike and wobbled forward, weaving through the chaos. But the reporters chased after me like a beast following its prey.
It wasn’t until I turned into a quiet alley that I finally shook them.
But just as I exited the other side, a sleek black Maybach pulled up and blocked my path.
The window then rolled down, revealing a stunningly beautiful face.
“Mr. Robson,” she said, “I’m Madge Welch from the Welch Group. My grandfather would like to meet with you. Would that be alright?”
I froze in place.
Madge Wedge. The legendary heiress from the capital. The Welchs were an elite powerhouse with true heritage and influence.
In my previous life, I had spent ten years clawing my way up just to barely make contact with them. Now, they were seeking me out?
I straightened up and nodded seriously. “It would be an honor.”
Third Person's POV
The next day, back at the Andrews villa, Zera sat frozen, staring at her phone screen.
Then she crossed with a top trending topic.
[Zera Andrews's husband candidate, Vernon Roson, was stripped of status and thrown out naked, riding only a bike!]
[The moral decay of society! What a disgrace!]
[Word is, if it weren’t for Miss Andrews’s soft spot, he wouldn’t even have kept his underwear!]
[Yesterday’s high-and-mighty Mr. Robson is now worse off than a beggar. Tragic!]
[Nothing new. Even the dogs raised by the rich get treated like this!]
She clicked on the video without thinking, and the sight of his bare back on that old bike hit her like a punch to the chest. When the camera panned to that rusted frame, she froze.
“Zera, what are you watching?”
Calvert wrapped his arm around her from behind. He then caught a glimpse of the screen and immediately burst out laughing. “Haha! That’s gold. Totally worth calling in dozens of media outlets to film that!”
