Lights blazed through the villa at Xiangxi Valley, just beyond the fifth ring of North City.

From the front entrance to the living room, up the stairs, and all the way to the bedroom, clothes lay strewn everywhere—a mess with more than a hint of intimacy behind it.

The door to the bedroom wasn’t even fully shut. Soft, teasing laughter echoed from inside, sultry and magnetic, enough to set the imagination on fire.

Emily Johnson lay facedown on a pillow, half-lidding her eyes. Her long hair was tangled across her back, and even with her eyes closed, she could feel the heat of the man beside her.

Scorching. Almost like it could burn through her skin.

But behind this fevered moment, who would’ve guessed they were just using each other?

A year ago, the phrase "Emily Johnson the homewrecker" had shot to the top of trending topics online. Every news outlet tore into her; the public spat her name with disgust.

Who else, they said, would sink so low as to seduce a man during her own sister’s engagement dinner?

Across the entirety of North City, only Emily had the guts—or shamelessness—to break every rule and cross every line.

Still, so what? What did people’s opinions matter? Who would care enough to dig into the pain buried inside her heart?

She once tried to tell the truth: her mother had tried to sell her off to a sugar daddy like some birthday gift, and a twist of fate brought Logan Armstrong into her life instead. Would anyone believe that?

"I should head back."

The man next to her lit a cigarette, took one deep drag, then put it out in the ashtray without another glance her way. No shower. Just pulling on his clothes like none of this meant anything.

Emily sat up under the covers, watching his broad back as he got dressed.

She had to admit—this guy was dangerously good-looking. The kind of handsome that made you stare without realizing it.

But no matter how good he looked, he’d be gone in minutes, rushing off to play the devoted, gentle boyfriend to his precious first love.

From day one, Emily knew where she stood.

She was just a perfectly timed pawn in Logan Armstrong’s life.

A pawn he could use in the power struggle against his parents—or to shield his delicate white moonlight from any mud the world might try to sling.

After all, everyone, including Logan’s own mother, hated and mocked Emily. No one had the time or curiosity to dig deeper into Logan’s private life.

Which meant Hazel Parker, that porcelain doll of a girl, could stay hidden in his shadow, enjoying her peaceful little romance without interruption.

And Logan? He clearly adored Hazel—but oddly enough, never touched her. When he needed to blow off steam, he always came to Emily.

Like tonight. Totally unexpected, not part of his usual schedule.

He said nothing, just showed up and lost control—didn’t even use protection.

"Hey… aren’t you gonna shower?"

The second she said it, Emily regretted wasting her breath.

They’d been doing this for a year. Not once had she seen him wash up after being with her. He didn’t even touch the clean clothes she set out.

Jackson Turner had accidentally let something slip once.

“Miss Hazel’s not in great health. She’s sensitive to unfamiliar scents.”

So, no perfume. No scented shampoo or body wash. And Logan? He made sure nothing from Emily clung to him.

He was terrified that his beloved Hazel might catch a whiff of someone else on him and pull away.

God, how pathetic could she get?

Logan buttoned up his shirt and finally looked over his shoulder at Emily.

His gaze landed on the marks covering her skin, and his brows twitched almost imperceptibly.

“I’ve got some stuff coming up. Won’t be around for a few days. Take this card and keep yourself entertained.”

Emily glanced at the black credit card lying on the bed. She smiled faintly and reached out to pick it up, her tone light.

"So I can spend whatever I want, no limits?"

Logan buckled his belt, glanced at her again, and said, “There’s a hundred million limit. I’ll be monitoring any big purchases.”As expected, Emily didn’t see Logan again for the next two weeks.

That night, someone suddenly barged in.

To her surprise, it was Hazel—the woman Logan treated like a precious gem.

“Miss Parker? What brings you here?”

Emily glanced at the clock—past 9 p.m. Hazel stood in the doorway, dressed thinly, eyes brimming with tears.

“So it’s true. Logan’s been hiding his little lover all along.”

Hazel stepped in closer. Her eyes locked onto Emily’s youthful face, every curve of her figure highlighted by the deep V, lake-blue nightgown she was wearing. Hazel’s fists clenched silently.

“You homewrecker.”

Emily just gave a faint smile and didn’t bother to respond. She walked back to the couch, turned on a comedy show, and acted like Hazel’s insult was nothing more than background noise.

She’d been called worse. Ever since that first night with Logan—when she left with him in full view of the crowd—she’d stopped clinging to dignity.

She still remembered how it felt leaving the Johnson house that night—it was the moment she killed the soft, weak part of herself.

“You’re sick. A monster with no shame,” Hazel snapped, stepping closer, her voice shaking with rage.

Just then, a car engine sounded outside. Headlights flickered through the windows.

Emily didn’t need to check. Logan was here.

She moved to open the door but before she could take a full step, Hazel grabbed the fruit knife from the table and shoved it into Emily’s hand.

Caught off guard, Emily froze—then Hazel gripped Emily’s hand and jammed the blade into her own stomach.

When Logan rushed in, he found Hazel collapsing in pain, clutching her stomach as blood gushed between her fingers. It splattered onto Emily’s feet, stark against her pale skin.

And Emily?

She stood there like someone in shock, clutching the handle, stunned.

“Logan… it hurts,” Hazel sobbed, looking toward him weakly, her bloodied hand trembling in the air.

Emily finally came to. She dropped the knife and frantically tried to wipe the blood from her hands, shaking her head.

“It wasn’t me! I didn’t hurt her—it was her… she did it herself…”

“She stabbed herself? Just to pin it on you?” Logan moved fast, yanking a cushion from the couch and pressing it on Hazel’s wound, his voice dark and full of fury.

“Hazel’s afraid of pain. She cries just getting a shot. And now you expect me to believe she knifed herself in the gut? Emily Johnson—how the hell am I supposed to believe you?”

With Hazel in his arms, Logan stormed out. But he paused to glance back one last time—his eyes, like frozen steel, cut straight into her heart.

Emily had always told herself she didn’t care. That she and Logan were nothing more than a transaction—he paid, she played the part.

But as she watched him carry Hazel out, treating her like something fragile and precious—

Her chest tightened. It felt like a slow knife slicing through skin and bone—painful enough to steal her breath.

She slumped onto the couch, hands covered in blood, trembling. Hazel’s ruthless look before the stabbing replayed in her mind.

Emily knew—this time, she’d been set up. Big time.

Maybe it was all the blood. Maybe it was the sheer shock. But her stomach turned violently, bile crawling up her throat. She nearly threw up multiple times.