When Victor announced his intention to break off our engagement, I didn’t create a scene.
Out of respect for our years of friendship, I simply gave a few sincere words of advice, “Miss Sullivan is new to Ashford, has no connections here, and has lost her voice. Saving your life won’t automatically guarantee her the coveted role of the Harlow family’s future matriarch. Even if you persuade the board, the family patriarch, Mr. William will never agree. It might only bring her trouble.
“Victor, why not take a step back? Let her start in the company as an intern for now. In the future…”
I left my point hanging deliberately, “After all, the future will be up to you to decide, won’t it?”
Those few words resolved the immediate crisis for her but brought disaster upon me.
…
Smack! Smack! Smack!
In my past life, the moment Yvonne dropped to her knees, I rushed forward to help her up.
This time, I stood still, watching coldly as she delivered several sharp slaps to her own face without hesitation.
One after another, the sound rang out crisply in the air.
Emily tugged at my sleeve, her eyes filled with concern.
Tonight’s event was packed with guests, and several people had already pulled out their phones, aiming them in our direction, eager to capture the drama.
Emily wanted to step in and stop her.
I rested a hand on hers lightly.
“What’s the rush?” I murmured.
“Yvonne!” Victor’s expression had darkened, a flicker of discomfort in his eyes.
In mere seconds, Yvonne’s cheeks were swollen red.
Paired with the tears welling in her eyes, she painted a pitiful figure.
She glanced at Victor, then turned her gaze to me, biting her lip as if torn between despair and guilt, only to continue her self-punishment.
I took a sip of my wine, unhurried and composed.
A curious thought crossed my mind—how far was she willing to take this performance?
Yes.
Yvonne was putting up a show.
Her muteness was an act. Her innocent, delicate demeanor was also an act. Even her “suicide by poisoning” in my past life was just another act.
Outside the door of a private lounge in an exclusive club, I had overheard her speaking in her true voice, clear and sharp.
Sobbing, she begged a doctor, “Doctor, I’m just a helpless, pitiful girl. Without resorting to a little self-sacrifice, how could I possibly get accepted into the Harlow family? Please, give me something to induce a brief state of shock!
“Doctor, I truly love Mr. Harlow. Given my background, becoming his lover would elevate my social standing. Even though he already promised to marry me, I still believe I need to take things further to ensure he always feels guilty toward me. Please, help me!
“If I can fake my death just once, Mr. Harlow will spend the rest of his life believing he owes me everything!”
What a clever scheme.
She didn’t just deceive Victor and me; the entire Ashford social elite fell for her ruse.
I once asked Victor why he was so deeply infatuated with Yvonne.
