《Craving the Man She Calls Uncle》

Chapter 1

The day Angela Watson learned about Oliver Kingston's engagement, she knew it was time for her to go. She had tried to ignore the growing knot in her stomach, but the news clarified everything.

It was time to leave Springfield City.

Without overthinking, Angela grabbed her phone and dialed her Aunt Joanne's number.

"Auntie, I’ve made up my mind. I’m leaving Springfield City and moving back to my hometown."

On the other end, there was a long pause, followed by a burst of joy. "When’s your flight, Angela? We’ll come pick you up at the airport."

Angela sighed, trying to figure out the best way to explain. "I still have a few things to take care of. It’ll probably be in about two weeks."

"Two weeks, huh? Alright, well, your uncle’s been taking care of you for twelve years now. You’d better take this time to say a proper goodbye to him."

Angela barely whispered, "Mm-mm," before hanging up.

——

She dropped back into her chair, staring blankly at her desk. Her fingers absently traced the edges of the photo frame in front of her as though it could offer some comfort. She lifted the frame and looked at the photo inside.

There she was, eight years old, holding a bunch of colorful maple leaves. She'd been tossing them up into the air while Oliver, at sixteen, stood just a few feet away, surrounded by the golden swirl of falling leaves. He'd caught one in midair, casually holding it close to his chest with that warm, easy smile. The kind of smile that made everything feel safe.

That day, the world had felt so simple and perfect. Her whole family had been there, including Oliver.

She turned the frame over.

On the back was a family photo—the Watson family. Oliver was right there in the front row, holding her hand. Behind them stood her grandfather and parents. The image seemed to capture a moment frozen before everything went wrong.

Her heart clenched as she looked at it. All of them were gone now. Her parents, her grandfather—they were all gone.

And now, it was just her and Oliver, but they could never return to what they once had.

When she was five, her grandfather adopted Oliver, making him her uncle.

A few years later, Oliver's family took him back to Springfield City, far away from here. And then, when Angela was eight, everything had fallen apart. Her family's business went under, and soon after, there was a tragic car accident that took her parents and grandfather from her.

Oliver had come rushing back, all the way from Springfield, to attend the funeral and bring her home with him. The grief was unbearable, and at such a young age, she hadn't known how to process it. Some people suggested sending her to a sanatorium to take care of her fragile mind.

But Oliver, maybe out of gratitude for the family who had adopted him, or maybe just because they had known each other since childhood, had refused to let her go anywhere else. He had taken it upon himself to care for her. He ensured she ate, drank, and stayed healthy, even staying by her side while she slept.

As time passed, Angela had healed, but it wasn't just her physical health that had improved. Oliver kept caring for her, patiently guiding her through the worst, helping her grow into the person she was today. And as he did, she realized he was her life's most important person.

At first, she didn't really understand what that meant. But over the years, something in her had changed.

On her eighteenth birthday, Oliver had thrown her a big coming-of-age party. She'd worn a beautiful strapless dress, holding her birthday cake as she walked toward him. He was a little tipsy, leaning against the table, when he asked her what wish she'd made.

"I want us to become a real family, Uncle Oliver."

He'd smiled, a little confused. "You're my niece. We're already my family, Angela."

But then his fingers brushed against her forehead, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Without thinking, she had stood on tiptoe, kissed the cream off his lips, and said, "No, I mean the kind of family between a man and a woman."

For a split second, his face froze, and that gentle look was replaced by something else—something darker.

He shoved her away from him, his voice rising. "For god sake, I’m your uncle!"

"But we don’t share blood," Angela reasoned.

Oliver replied, his voice edged with desperation, "You're a Watson, Angela. Even if we're not blood-related, what really sets us apart from being family?"

It was the first time he had ever raised his voice at her. There had been a brief silence, and then he added, in a softer tone, "When you were taken away, they already removed you."

The heat had rushed to her face. She had felt embarrassed yet still longed for Oliver's affection. Without thinking, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Oliver's hands had slowly pried her fingers away from him, one by one.

His voice was quiet, filled with regret. "Angela, I... I failed you."

She didn't understand it then, but as she pulled back, she asked, "What does liking someone have to do with being taught?"

It was the first time she'd ever stood up to him. The two of them had left that conversation on bad terms.

From then on, Angela threw herself into her studies. She worked hard, earning top marks and winning awards in competitions. Each time she gained something, she brought it to Oliver, hoping he'd see how much she had grown and learned.

She repeated the same confession every time, hoping that this time, he'd understand. She was showing him that he had taught her well. She could finally tell the difference between affection and love.

Despite his rejection, she never gave up.

And then, that one night happened.

Oliver stormed into her room, his eyes impassioned and blazing, she didn't push him away. Angela drew him near, pressing her lips against his—surrendering her soul to the man she loved most.

Chapter 2

If Oliver Kingston really cared about etiquette and societal expectations, Angela was the one to throw those rules out the window. She was all in—betting on everything. Unfortunately, it didn't work out the way she hoped.

She failed.

After what happened that night, Oliver didn't just pull away—he completely vanished.

And just a few days later, Angela saw the news. He was getting engaged to someone else.

The lucky woman was Gwen Hoffman. All flushed and glowing, she told the world they had been secretly dating for months.

Angela felt a chill run down her spine as if the world around her had suddenly gone cold. She couldn't sit still. Without thinking, she rushed into Oliver's office and confronted him, asking through gritted teeth if his family was forcing him into marriage.

He looked at her, that same cold smile on his face.

"Naive," he said, almost dismissively. "I'm the head of the Kingston family. Who could possibly force me into anything?"

He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Stop imagining things. You’re still young. Focus on learning more."

Angela couldn't even remember how she made it back home that day. All she could remember was the overwhelming weight of her heart-shattering. It was worse than when her family had collapsed. The grief felt suffocating.

And then, Joanne's call came through. "Angela, the maple trees here in New York are starting to turn yellow. Do you want to come back and see it? Also, I'm doing fine. I’ve got everything I need here. And Richard treats me well. It’s just that… Me and my husband have kids. This big house feels so empty. It would make me so happy if you could stay with me for a while."

Angela hesitated. If she left now, she knew she wouldn't come back. But part of her held onto that faint hope, which was tied to everything she felt for Oliver.

So, she respectfully rejected her aunt's offer.

But that hope? It stayed, faint as it was, until yesterday.

During a live stream, Angela saw Gwen's necklace. It glinted in the light, and for a moment, Angela felt like a needle had pierced her heart. That was the necklace her mother had given Oliver. The one she had left for him. And now, he was using it to propose to someone else.

Angela's fingers dug into her arm as she stared at the video, unable to look away. Her skin turned pale, and the red marks from her nails were clear against her arm. She knew the pain was real. And, more than anything, she knew it was finally time to let go.

Just as she was drowning in her own sorrow, a sharp cry from downstairs yanked her back to the present. Without thinking, she bolted barefoot out of the room.

Angela saw Gwen covering her hand, leaning pitifully in Oliver's arms.

"I just thought it looked pretty and wanted to touch it," Gwen said, her voice high and sweet. "Who knew it would bite me?"

Angela's heart raced. Her cat, Nala, was usually calm, never biting anyone. That cry—it wasn't just from being startled. There was a real pain in it.

She rushed to the sofa, her feet sliding on the floor as she scooped up the trembling cat.

Oliver's voice was oddly soft, his gaze distant. "That cat’s a beast. If you don’t like it, Gwen, we can get rid of it."

Angela's heart sank, the words stinging like salt in an open wound. She could barely hold herself together as she carefully cradled Nala against her chest.

"Oliver, Nala isn’t—"

She cut herself off, her voice faltering as she stared down at the cat. This was the gift Oliver had given her for her seventeenth birthday. Back then, she had been worried it would be hard to care for, but Oliver had promised her he could handle it.

"If I can take care of a person," he had said, "I can definitely take care of a cat."

That day, she'd held the little kitten in her arms, feeling content.

But now?

Now, he was calling her pet a "beast"—a word she never imagined he'd use for something so dear to her.

The sharp sting of betrayal hit her harder than anything before. She tried hard not to let the tears fall, but it was like holding back an avalanche.

"Even though it’s just a beast, at least it’s Angela’s pet. I won’t argue with her. But the vaccination will be painful—can you take me to the vet?" Gwen's voice was syrupy and sweet, practically dripping with fake kindness as she pressed closer to Oliver, her face soft with feigned innocence.

"Nala's already had its vaccination…" Angela mumbled, and she knew Gwen lied. After all, there were no scratches or marks on Gwen's hand.

Oliver shot Angela coldly as he scooped Gwen into his arms and walked toward the door. He didn't even bother to look at Angela's bare feet.

Gwen, her face a mask of coyness, leaned against Oliver's shoulder and kept shooting Angela these little glances, a smug grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

The front door clicked shut behind them, and the sound of the reminder beep from Angela's phone echoed in the silence. It was time to take Nala to the shelter.

With a shaky breath, Angela wiped her eyes, quickly gathered her things, and left the house.

Chapter 3

The sleek black car came screeching to a halt right before Angela.

"Where do you think you're going?" Oliver's voice cut through the air, his frown deepening as he noticed her wearing only sandals.

Angela sniffled, trying to steady herself. "I’m… taking Nala to get dewormed."

The sky above darkened, a storm clearly brewing.

"Get in the car," Oliver ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I’ll take you."

Angela hesitated for a moment, but the words slipped out anyway. "Thank you, Uncle," she muttered, climbing into the car without another word.

Gwen, sitting beside Oliver, seemed in a good mood. She chatted happily with him but never missed an opportunity to glance at Angela through the rearview mirror.

"So, how old is Angela this year?"

"Twenty-one," Oliver replied, focusing on the road ahead.

"Does she have a boyfriend?"

Angela froze momentarily, then shook her head, not wanting to say anything.

Gwen's voice was playful as she continued. "Look at you, Oliver. There are so many eligible bachelors in your circle. Don’t you know anyone who’d be a good match for your niece?" She leaned in, her tone soft and teasing. "I’ve got a cousin, a distant nephew. He's the perfect age and status. What do you think about introducing them?"

Just then, the car came to a screeching halt as the traffic light turned red. Oliver quickly turned to her, his gaze warm, almost tender.

When he didn't respond immediately, just offering a smile, Gwen nudged his arm, her voice impatient and amorous. "Come on, Oliver, tell me what you think!"

Oliver's smile widened, and he raised a finger to trace the outline of her lips, clearly fascinated by her.

Gwen's face flushed a deep red, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. For anyone watching, young lovers always had that aura of sweetness about them.

But Angela? She just turned away, staring out the window, lost in darkness.

If it weren't for the sudden sneeze that caught her off guard, she could've kept staring for much longer.

"What's wrong?" Oliver asked, his voice sharp as he turned slightly to glance at her.

"Sorry, Uncle," Angela mumbled, trying to hold herself together.

"Oliver, I think I’m allergic to cat fur..." Gwen half-heartedly covered her nose with a hand, shooting Angela a look through the rearview mirror that was anything but subtle.

Oliver's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as he looked into the rearview mirror.

"Get out of the car, Angela," he said coldly.

Angela opened her mouth, ready to argue, but Gwen cut in as she said, "It’s fine. I can hold on. Angela’s almost there, right?"

With that, Angela checked the new address on her phone—only two more kilometers. She thought everything would be fine if she could drop Nala off. Oliver would understand.

But now, it felt pointless.

The car had already stopped at the side of the road. Oliver tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, a sign of impatience.

"I'll just get out of the car," Angela said softly, gathering her things and exiting the car, clutching the cat in her arms.

The rain came pouring down in sheets, instantly soaking her through. The car sped off, its headlights disappearing into the distance. Angela didn't even have time to avoid the rain. She was drenched from head to toe in seconds.

By the time she reached the cat shelter, she was completely soaked. After drying off, the shelter owner began the usual check-up on Nala. To Angela's surprise, they found a small cut near the base of Nala's tail—a scratch from a claw. Angela hadn't cried throughout all this, but when she saw that tiny injury, tears flooded her eyes, frightening the shelter owner, who quickly tried to comfort her.

"It’s fine, it’s just a little scratch. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her," the young woman reassured her quickly, but Angela could barely hear the words over the sound of her own sobs.

"How much is a cat like Nala worth?" Angela asked.

The owner paused, considering the question. "A purebred like her, with such a rare color and excellent quality? At least $70,000 or $80,000. You’re not… you’re not going to sell her, are you?"

The shelter owner's eyes widened, and Angela quickly shook her head, desperate to clarify.

"No, no," she stammered, wiping away her tears. "This was a gift from a friend. I just want to return the favor."

Nala had been a gift from Oliver. A ragdoll cat that he'd brought back from Northern Europe. Angela knew she'd have to return all the other gifts, but Nala?

Nala was different. She'd grown attached to her.

For now, Angela planned to board Nala at the shelter. When things settled down, she'd come back to pick her up. By the time Angela got home, it was already 11 p.m. She stopped at the front door, eyes falling on the high heels by the entrance. That was all she needed to know.

Oliver had brought Gwen home.

Without thinking, Angela looked at the dining table, but no food was left. It suddenly hit her that he hadn't waited for her to have dinner in a long time.

She looked at Oliver's room upstairs. The lights were on in the bedroom and the study area.

Angela tightened her grip on the hem of her skirt, then let go, only to grab it again as if trying to make up her mind. After a moment of brief internal struggle, she finally approached his room.

Chapter 4

Angela pushed the door open and looked up, immediately meeting the cold, distant gaze she had come to expect.

"What are you doing here?" Oliver asked, his tone sharp, almost dismissive.

"I..." Angela faltered, unsure how to continue.

"If you don't have anything to say, just leave," he cut her off, his eyes never leaving his computer screen.

Angela bit her lip as if something had just clicked in her mind. She walked toward him, her footsteps quieter now.

"Uncle, about the solarium... I want to clear it out."

It was the room he had designed to mirror the layout of the Watson family's old mansion after buying this villa.

"Why?" Oliver's voice remained impassive, though his brow arched slightly in curiosity.

"I don’t want it anymore." Her voice dropped, barely audible, her eyes downcast.

The house was in her name. He had told her years ago that she would own the place.

But now? He'd brought someone else into her domain.

Hence, Angela felt the solarium to be unnecessary.

"Do as you like," he stingly replied.

This time, Oliver didn't even bother to lift his eyes from the screen. His indifference was almost chilling.

She must have become an inconvenience to him, she thought. It was time for her to leave to make breathing easier for him.

"Thank you, Uncle," she said softly, her voice laced with sincerity. She still bowed slightly, grateful for his care over the years.

But as if sensing her mood, Oliver stood up, walking toward her.

At that exact moment, Gwen, dressed in a nightgown, "tap-tapped" into the room, bouncing into Oliver's arms with a playful giggle.

She reached out, but before she could even touch his chest, Oliver swiftly pulled her into an embrace.

"Oliver," Gwen cooed, "I just saw the solarium from the balcony. It looks so beautiful!"

"Do you like it?" Oliver's lips curled up in a small, affectionate smile.

"Mm, but..." Gwen lifted her right arm, revealing a bandage wrapped around it. Her gaze lingered lazily on Angela, who was already about to turn away.

"Wait," Oliver called, stopping Angela before she could leave. "Help Gwen pick some flowers," he ordered.

Angela hesitated for a moment, then relaxed her clenched fist, nodding in acknowledgment.

Behind her, their laughter echoed, soft at first but growing more flirtatious and intimate with each passing moment.

Angela quickly went downstairs, grabbing a pair of pruning shears. She approached the flower room, trying to block out their sounds in the background.

Her phone buzzed relentlessly on the way down.

It was Gwen, sending a string of messages, telling her exactly which flowers to pick.

Gwen had practically mapped out the entire room for her.

Angela was exhausted from the endless cutting, but the flood of sweet photos Gwen kept sending her made her forget her fatigue.

When she wanted a specific flower, Oliver always Oliver always picked it for her. All she had to do was sit on the swing, point, and he'd fetch whatever she asked for.

He used to say her hands were meant for the piano, that she shouldn't get them dirty. When she was younger, he'd taught her how to play, always in the front row at every competition, watching her perform. But over time, he started to disappear.

The last time, she waited for him on stage for hours. The performance ended, but Oliver never showed.

When she returned to the hotel that night, heartbroken, she wrapped herself in the blanket, trying to block out the ache.

She never expected him to barge in like that.

That was the night he confessed to Gwen.

And when he whispered her name later, it felt like a knife twisting in Angela's chest.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push the memory away, but it was like a vice around her heart. It was both painful and suffocating.

"Ouch!"

Angela snapped out of her thoughts with a sharp intake of breath. A thorn had pierced her skin. In her panic, she yanked her hand back, watching as a streak of blood ran down her palm.

Clenching her fist, she rushed back to the living room, searching for the first-aid kit.

After quickly bandaging the cut, she gathered the large bouquet of flowers in her arms and headed to Oliver's door.

"Uncle, the flowers in the solarium are ready," she said, her voice quiet, almost hesitant.

He opened the door without a word, took the flowers from her hands, and then slammed the door shut with a sharp motion.

The wind from the door hit her, lifting her hair and sending a chill through her body.

It was cold.

Angela pressed her lips together, fighting back the sting of tears. She turned back to her room, her steps heavy and slow.

Chapter 5

Angela lay back on the bed, her mind racing as she calculated everything.

Twelve years of care and support. That was how long Oliver supported and took care of her.

The house, the car, tuition, living expenses, gifts...

The house had been bought by Oliver. She planned to sell it, though it had appreciated quite a bit. It was all just accrued interest.

Then there were the costs of Nala and its upkeep, not to mention the burial plots in Springfield City. For her convenience, Oliver had purchased three plots for her family, setting up tombstones in their honor.

As the only heir of the Watson family, all these expenses were hers to bear.

She sighed and rubbed her swollen, tired eyes, sinking back onto the bed. She had just finished organizing the bills when her phone buzzed.

It was a message from Gwen.

[Angela, why didn't you like my post? Don't you like me?]

Angela opened the message and saw that Gwen had posted again.

A nine-square grid filled with intimate pictures of her with Oliver, and in the center, there was a photo of Gwen sniffing the flowers she had just picked.

The caption read: [Thanks for the feeling of being loved.]

Angela didn't feel like liking it. But, at this point, it didn't matter to her.

She swiped her finger across the screen and, following Gwen's intentions, tapped the red heart.

Then, Gwen added: [Gosh, I'm so tired... I need to sleep now. Oliver said he'll take me to the venue for our wedding tomorrow. In less than half a month, it'll be the wedding date. Oliver and I will be busy, so take care of yourself, Angela.]

Angela replied briefly: [I will.]

Staring up at the ceiling and lost in thought, she asked, 'They're getting married?'

The wish she had been waiting to be answered for all these years... and Gwen had managed to get it in less than a month.

It wasn't about timing. It was because Oliver never loved her.

She grabbed her phone again, opening the calendar.

The cemetery had told her she needed to pick an auspicious day to move the tombstone. The closest available date was fourteen days away. Coincidentally, it was the anniversary of her loved one's passing.

In the following days, Oliver traveled with Gwen to various places on a business trip.

Meanwhile, Gwen kept up with her constant updates on social media, tagging Angela in posts as if seeking her approval.

Angela, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief. After changing the bedroom door lock, she began organizing her things, silently preparing for whatever came next.

When Oliver returned, his frown deepened at seeing the truck parked in front of the house.

"Uncle, you're back?" Angela poked her head out from the second-floor balcony to greet him, quickly kicking the suitcase behind her into her room.

"What’s going on here?" Oliver asked, his tone sharp as he gave her a quick look before heading upstairs.

"Uncle, I told you the other day," Angela began, stepping carefully down the stairs. "The solarium... I don’t want it anymore."

Oliver stopped in his tracks, a brief flicker of surprise crossing his face before he walked toward her.

Angela retreated toward the door, her hands instinctively behind her back, gently pulling it shut as he reached her.

His towering figure loomed over her, and for a second, she felt uncertain.

He extended his hand toward her.

Was he trying to enter her room?

In the past, he used to come and go freely. He had even arranged the room himself.

Angela froze, her breath caught in her chest, her wide eyes staring at him.

But instead of stepping in, his long fingers brushed past her ear, and he pointed to the space behind her.

"You’re in my way."

Angela blinked, realizing he wasn't trying to enter her room. He was just... passing by on his way to his own.

She shook herself out of the moment, quickly glancing at her vibrating phone. Then, she headed downstairs after a few moments and ran right into Gwen, who had come in behind her.

"Angela, are those flowers going to be moved to my wedding house?" Gwen asked, a little too cheerfully.

Angela had just received a message from the driver saying someone had stopped them from moving the flowers. So it was Gwen trying to control it all.

She didn't want to give them to her, but Angela sighed and shook her head.

"Since Gwen likes them so much, just move them all over." Oliver, now changed into casual clothes, was descending the stairs slowly, one step at a time.

"Uncle, those are..." Angela started, but he cut her off.

"What are you standing around for? Hurry up and send them over."

Oliver's impatient remark was clear, but his voice had a strange softness as he lovingly looped Gwen's arm through his, pulling her close.

Chapter 6

"Thank you, Oliver." Gwen smiled sweetly, leaning into his arm. She then averted her gaze to Angela and said, "By the way, I almost forgot, there’s a party at the villa tonight. Angela, you must come!"

Angela quickly deterred her gaze, clearly uncomfortable. "I have something else to do."

"Oh, come on," Gwen pressed, her voice dripping with sweetness. "It’ll be fun. We’re almost family now!" Seeing that Angela was unmoved, Gwen turned to Oliver with a coy smile. "Please, let Angela go with us."

It was the first time Oliver had insisted she attend an event for someone else. He usually preferred that Angela avoid mingling with crowds, yet for Gwen, he made an exception. Angela couldn't help but notice the difference in his treatment of Gwen versus herself.

It was a stark reminder that all his exceptions and indulgences were for Gwen. But Angela no longer felt the sharp pain she had at the beginning.

Some people come into your life, others leave. And now, it was time for Angela to leave.

After they left for the party, Angela let out a long sigh of relief. With the help of several movers, she quickly packed up her personal belongings. The house, her life with Oliver—everything—was in the process of being put behind her.

...

At the party, Angela stood quietly in a corner, a drink in her hand, lost in thought.

Gwen, accompanied by a few girls, approached her, eager to drag her into their fun. Reluctantly, Angela followed them to the poolside. She stood at the edge, looking out at the water, her mind far from the festivities.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp shove from behind, and before she could react, she was falling, the cold water engulfing her.

A loud splash echoed across the space, followed by the clatter of a nearby drink table tipping over.

As Angela struggled to push herself up, her head barely above the water, she saw glasses crashing into the pool. Gwen ducked instinctively to protect Angela, but the pool's edge scraped her arm.

Fresh blood poured from the wound, quickly turning the water a disturbing shade of red.

It was a horrific sight.

Although Gwen wasn't injured, the shock was clear on her face.

Oliver heard the commotion and rushed over. His eyes widened when he saw Angela flailing in the pool, crying for help. Still, he shifted his focus to Gwen, pulled her into his arms to comfort her in a smooth, practiced motion, and then barked orders to his bodyguards.

"Help Angela out of the water." He turned to the others, his tone commanding. "Take her upstairs to the guest room, change her—don’t let her catch a cold."

Before leaving, he paused, casting a last glance at Angela, still dripping wet and shivering.

Gwen, ever the opportunist, added one last, seemingly concerned comment. "Be careful, Angela." She gave a delicate smile. "You’re lucky to have such a caring aunt like me who dotes on you."

But as Angela met Gwen's eyes, she saw the fleeting gleam of triumph in her gaze masked behind the façade of concern.

After being swiftly treated by the private doctor, Angela rested on the edge of the bed, her arm bandaged. Then, she noticed Oliver standing by the door, his face unreadable. He held her phone in his hand—dropped by the poolside in the chaos.

"Thank you, Uncle," Angela said, biting back the pain from her arm as she extended a hand to take the phone. But Oliver pulled it back.

"When did you get in touch with your aunt?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

Angela's heart skipped.

"What did she say?" Oliver pressed. "Aunt Joanne just told you to call her back when you have time. What did she want with you?"

Angela's mind raced. Joanne hadn't mentioned anything about coming back, and Angela felt a brief sense of relief. Yet, Oliver's insistence on asking left her with no choice but to come up with an explanation.

"Um... Auntie is in New York City," Angela said, her voice calm. "She said she would send me some seasonal pastries."

Before Angela was born, Joanne had worked for the Watson family. She had cared for Angela until she was eight when an incident led Joanne to move to New York. There, she met a wealthy businessman and became his partner.

"Oh, and she asked if you had any flavor preferences," Angela added. "She said she’d prepare some for you, too."

Oliver didn't seem suspicious and tossed her the phone without further question.

"No need," he said curtly before turning and leaving.

After a few hours, Gwen's nephew, Ralph, escorted Angela back to the house. She had refused, but Ralph insisted, and it seemed easier to go along with him than argue.

When they reached the entrance, just as Angela was about to change her shoes, Ralph suddenly grabbed her from behind, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Startled, Angela struggled, trying to free herself.

But before she could do anything, the sound of the door unlocking echoed through the hallway. Ralph loosened his grip but still held one of her hands, his fingers tightly wound around hers.

Chapter 7

When Oliver entered the room, his eyes immediately found Angela. Her head was lowered in shame, and her posture was stiff. Ralph was gently brushing her hair, his actions tender and almost affectionate. Still reeling from the earlier shock, Angela pushed him away and hurriedly ran to the living room.

Ralph, ever polite, greeted Oliver with a nod, then turned to Angela and waved.

"Goodnight," he said before leaving.

Angela collapsed onto the sofa, curling up and burying her head on her knees. She didn't notice the look in Oliver's eyes, dark and unsettling, like a storm waiting to break.

Oliver stood tall, his shadow looming over her. The air in the room grew dense with tension. Angela could feel the shift—his anger was palpable. She looked up, only to meet his gaze, filled with disgust that made her stomach churn.

"Uncle, he... He tried to touch me. I didn't..." Angela stammered, her voice trembling.

"There are plenty of hotels. Don't bring him back here!" Oliver's voice cracked with restrained fury. His anger surged in waves, a storm that he could barely contain.

His cold, burning fury felt like a knife in Angela's chest. Was he accusing her of flirting with Gwen's nephew? Was she the liar, the troublemaker, while everyone else was innocent? It was the same—no matter what happened, she was always the one to blame.

Her heart sank. The reality of it all hit her again. She didn't want to argue, didn't want to say another word. She sank further into the sofa, pulling a cushion over her head to shield herself from the world, from him.

Her wound throbbed, reminding her of the pain, of the bruises and cuts, both physical and emotional. She needed rest. She could feel her body trembling from exhaustion.

The sound of footsteps gradually faded as Oliver went upstairs. Angela remained there, eyes shut tight, and the soft weight of the cushion against her face provided a slight sense of comfort.

...

In the middle of the night, Angela was on the verge of sleep when she suddenly felt herself being lifted. The faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air—an aroma that had once brought her comfort but now felt strangely overpowering. It was Oliver.

She remembered waiting on the sofa for him to come home when she was younger. She would often fall asleep before he arrived, and he would always find her there, never waking or scolding. He would gently pick her up, carry her back to her room, and tuck her in.

But now, the familiar scent of her room was missing. Instead, the more pungent scent of sandalwood mingled with the sharp, stinging tang of alcohol.

...

The following day, Angela woke up alone. The bed was empty, and the room was silent. Panic rose within her. She quickly jumped out of bed, her heart racing, and ran to her room. She knocked over empty bottles, their clinking sound echoing loudly in the otherwise quiet house.

Oliver was gone.

She had to leave—now.

Last night, Joanne had called to tell her that the old mansion in New York had already been sold. Angela hadn't been surprised. The house had been sold at a ridiculously low price. It was just another sign that everything was changing.

Now, the house she lived in had caught someone else's eye. The realtor had already called, asking when it would be convenient for a viewing.

Angela tightly gripped her phone, her thoughts swirling. After a moment's hesitation, she decided to call Oliver.

The line rang, but there was only a busy signal before it abruptly disconnected.

Frustrated, she called his assistant instead. After waiting a few minutes, she was told Oliver was in a long meeting.

Angela sighed, making a quick decision. She contacted the realtor and set up a viewing for later. She couldn't stay here any longer—not with Oliver or Gwen.

She had to move on.

Chapter 8

The low-key yet luxurious decor of the private room, combined with the custom piano gifted as a present, made the buyer sign the purchase contract without hesitation.

The price of $400 million, plus $70 million for the old house and the valuable items that had already been sold, left Angela with only a few million to reach the entire sum of $5 hundred million.

Since she was leaving, there was no reason to take any of the old belongings with her. Only the essentials for herself and Nala, along with some cash, were necessary. There were still many expenses ahead. To support herself, she started accepting commercial performances at an overwhelming pace.

For days on end, Oliver hadn't returned to the house. Angela busied herself, circulating between various orchestra banquets and events, trying to avoid him as much as possible. She thought that by staying out of his way, everything would remain calm and uneventful.

But fate had other plans. At the last shift at the private club, their paths crossed.

When the manager led her into the room, she saw Oliver celebrating Gwen's birthday. Most guests were familiar faces, but no one took the initiative to greet her. Instead, they watched her with ambiguous, almost judgmental expressions.

Angela lowered her gaze, nodded briefly, and went to the piano. She began to play the piece she had been instructed to perform. Around her, people were drinking, laughing, and chatting, their voices rising in a cacophony of merriment.

"Isn’t that the top-quality Steinway & Sons's grand piano sold for $20 million at last week’s auction?" one voice murmured. "Turns out Oliver bought it for his future wife!"

"Thank you, Oliver." Gwen's playful voice rang out as she lightly resisted his affectionate teasing. The room erupted with cheers.

"Kiss her! Kiss her!" someone shouted from the crowd.

The callousness of it all stung, but Angela quickly reminded herself that the noise was for them, not her. She only needed to focus on the piano and keep playing as she had been taught.

It wasn't until a hand pressed down on her piano keys, disrupting her playing, that Angela realized someone had come up behind her. She looked up to find Oliver standing there, his gaze cold and sharp, his scent of sandalwood unmistakable.

"Not going to move?"