Chapter 3
Preston froze, his eyes full of confusion: "What did you say?"
"I said, I'm willing to marry Benjamin Wilson." My tone was calm.
Benjamin was the head of the Wilson family, known throughout Emerald City and even the entire East Coast underworld.
Rumor had it he was ruthless and unpredictable, and he stayed away from women. He once locked a woman who tried to seduce him in a cellar and starved her for three whole days and nights.
When they pulled that woman out of the cellar, she was barely breathing.
Since then, no family's daughter was willing to marry him. They were all scared just hearing his name.
After I refused the arranged marriage, Preston had considered having Marlowe's daughter marry him to strengthen his position in high society.
But Marlowe refused, no matter what, and eventually the matter was dropped.
Preston looked me up and down: "But didn't you already marry Michael?"
"We never registered our marriage. I'm currently single." I responded calmly.
Preston looked at me in disbelief.
"But I have one condition," I continued. "I want the mansion grandmother left to my mother, the mansion at Willow River, along with all the property deeds."
When I refused Preston's proposed business marriage, I was kicked out of the house and only got a small portion of what Cecilia left behind.
And Willow River Mansion was Cecilia's favorite residence, my only keepsake, so I had to have it.
"Are you serious?" Preston narrowed his eyes.
"No way!"
Before I could respond, Marlowe spoke up first in refusal: "Willow River Mansion may be old, but the location and land value are worth a lot! And that's the White family's property, you're a married-off daughter with no right to it!"
I looked at her coldly: "That's my mother's property, legally inherited solely by my mother. You only have the right to live there. After my mother's death, I'm the first in line to inherit."
Preston's face darkened. He certainly knew the value and ownership of Willow River Mansion. When he didn't give it to me before, he had his selfish reasons.
"What do you want it for?" he asked in a low voice.
"That's my business."
"But..."
Marlowe tried to stop me, but I cut her off: "Looks like you want your precious daughter to marry him instead?"
"No! I don't want to!"
As soon as I finished speaking, a scream came from the second-floor stairway. Amelia White, in a white dress, rushed down and threw herself into Marlowe's arms: "Mom! I don't want to marry that devil! They say he kills people! I don't want to!"
Marlowe hugged Amelia, comforting her lovingly: "Good girl, mom won't let you marry someone like that."
I sneered inside. When Marlowe forced me to marry Benjamin, she wasn't this easy to talk to.
Preston looked at the crying Amelia, then at my expressionless face, his brow furrowed, deep in thought.
After a long pause, he finally spoke: "Fine, I agree. But remember, once you marry Benjamin, you need to know what you should and shouldn't do."
"Don't worry." My tone remained flat: "I'll do my part."
Marlowe wanted to say more, but Preston stopped her with a look.
He waved his hand: "It's late, have the servants prepare a room for you."
"No need, I'll do it myself." I picked up my luggage and turned toward the stairs.
The next morning, I went to the club under the Wilson Group.
Two burly security guards in black suits stood at the club entrance.
I gave my name and purpose. One of the guards confirmed quietly through his earpiece, then, after a moment, stepped aside to let me in.
As soon as I entered the club, I saw a familiar figure emerge from around the corner of the hallway.
Michael and a man in a suit were talking.
He saw me and was clearly stunned for a moment, then quickly walked toward me, lowering his voice: "Ophelia? What are you doing here? Don't tell me you came looking for me?"
"Mr. Johnson, you're way too full of yourself," I said with a cold laugh. "We've already broken up. Where I go has nothing to do with you."
"Broken up?" Michael's expression turned displeased: "I just asked you to go home for a few days. When did I say I wanted to break up with you?"
He finished speaking, took a deep breath, and softened his tone considerably: "I know what happened yesterday upset you. But you were wrong too. How about this - as long as you go back and apologize to Freya, we'll forget about it, and things can go back to how they were."
Back to how they were?
I almost laughed out loud. Where did he get the confidence to think I would go back to his carefully woven web of lies?
"Michael, I used to think you were just heartless, but I didn't realize you were brainless too."
I warned him bluntly: "I'll say it one more time - we're done!"
Michael's face completely darkened, his eyes turning sinister.
"Done? You think you can just end it?"
He stepped forward, trying to grab my wrist, completely dropping his gentle facade: "Ophelia, don't be ungrateful! Without me, without the Johnson family, what can you do!"
His grip hurt, and I struggled desperately: "Let go of me! What I do is none of your business!"
But Michael had no intention of letting me go. Instead, he became more aggressive: "You still think you're the White family's daughter? Let me tell you the truth - your reputation in high society is already ruined! Besides that face and the money your mom left you, what else do you have?"
His words were like blades, stabbing through my heart and dignity one by one.
So in their eyes, I wasn't just an ATM, but also a burden they were desperate to get rid of.
Just as I felt my wrist bone was about to break, a deep, mellow voice came from the meeting room doorway: "Mr. Johnson, treating my fiancée like this doesn't seem quite appropriate, does it?"