Tension hung thick in the luxurious villa, the silence so profound one could almost hear the rhythm of breathing. Just as Jennifer began to doubt her gamble, Madilyn's lips curved into a smile. "Very well then, demonstrate your capabilities." Madilyn raised her hand, her cool fingertips gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind Jennifer's ear. "I'll be watching with interest..." Jennifer remained motionless, observing Madilyn's retreating figure. "Mom, are you certain she's truly aligned with us?" Jenarth approached and whispered. Jennifer kept her gaze fixed on the empty doorway where Madilyn had disappeared. A soft smile touched her lips, the corners curling with the confidence of one who already held the winning hand. "Whether she desires it or not, she has no choice but to stand with us. There is no alternative path for her." ***** The day after Chloe submitted her resume, responses began flooding in. Several prominent companies in Capaville expressed interest, their HR representatives sounding genuinely enthusiastic during phone conversations. Though her professional experience was limited, the design draft she had submitted had clearly made an impression. They admired her distinctive style and eagerly anticipated potential collaboration. Interviews were scheduled for three days later, with immediate start dates offered upon successful selection. Truthfully, Chloe had expected nothing less. "I've moved out of Myers Manor with Robert." Chloe sat beside the hospital bed, speaking softly to its occupant. "I once promised you I would love Arthur forever, but it seems that's no longer possible." In the bed lay Charles, silent and still amidst a tangle of medical tubes. Were it not for the steady beeping of monitors indicating signs of life, one might have thought him already departed. "Arthur has found what he believes is a better situation. That was his choice, and I respect it." Chloe's voice remained composed. "Mr. Charles Myers, thank you for the help you gave me back then." Years ago, when she had encountered difficulties, he had extended his assistance. She owed him for that kindness. Through twists of fate, she and Arthur had come together... Later, to honor Charles' wishes, she had tempered her edges, married Arthur, and dedicated herself to becoming the ideal wife. But... "Mr. Charles Myers, I wish you would wake up. I have a question for you." Chloe sighed softly, murmuring. "I already know Robert isn't Arthur's child. Perhaps that's for the best." At least this way, she could avoid the messy entanglements that might have followed with Arthur. She had always wondered whether Charles had known the truth of what had happened years before. But with him lying in a coma, no answers would be forthcoming. Chloe remained with him a while longer before departing with Robert. Unbeknownst to them, shortly after they left, the previously steady monitors began to flicker erratically... ***** At Myers Manor, Arthur descended the stairs, his head still clouded from the previous night's excesses. He massaged his temples, his entire body feeling drained. His stomach churned uncomfortably—he had drunk far too much, and his chronic gastric issues were flaring up again. He had always been cautious about such matters, making his loss of control all the more surprising. His memory remained hazy; he could recall nothing of what transpired after a certain point. He had just settled onto the sofa when Sarah approached. "Mr. Myers, breakfast is prepared in the kitchen. What would you prefer?" "Just some oatmeal." Whenever his stomach troubled him, oatmeal provided the only reliable comfort. Arthur sat on the sofa, his gaze sweeping across the conspicuously empty room. He frowned, an unshakable sense that something was missing. Soon, Sarah returned with a bowl of oatmeal and placed it before him. Eager for relief, Arthur picked up the bowl and took a large spoonful, eating as if he hadn't had a proper meal in days. The moment the oatmeal touched his tongue, his face contorted. An instant later, he spat it directly into a nearby wastebasket. "Sarah!" Arthur's voice rang out sharply. Sarah, who had been turning to leave, jumped at his shout. Seeing him reject the oatmeal so violently, she hurried back, concern etching her features. "Mr. Myers, what's wrong? I kept the oatmeal warm—it shouldn't be too hot." She assumed he might have burned his mouth. "Why doesn't it taste the same as before?" Arthur looked up at her, irritation evident. "It's completely different from what I used to have. What did you change?" Sarah froze, a nervous flutter in her response. "Mr. Myers, I prepared it exactly the same way! Before... previously, it was... it was Mrs. Myers who made it." "Then have her make it." Arthur's annoyance persisted. The oatmeal tasted terrible—nothing like the sweet, smooth texture he remembered. "She's not here." Sarah lowered her head and replied in a near-whisper.