The night had settled in soft and heavy, the dark sky scattered with tiny stars like someone had carelessly tossed glitter across it.
Ethan Blackwood stepped out of the bathroom, still rubbing his damp hair with a towel, when his phone lit up on the table. He took a lazy glance at the screen—and his expression instantly darkened.
A few seconds passed. Then he grabbed a jacket, shoved his arms into it, and stormed out of the room without another thought.
Downstairs, he suddenly halted, his gaze landing on the man standing quietly among the flowerbeds.
“You. Come here. Drive me to Haohong Hotel.”
Ethan Blackwood’s eyes were deep and unreadable as he glanced at her sharp, stunning face. He barely looked for a heartbeat before shifting his gaze away.
“Sure, Miss Hartwell.”
He moved his long legs and headed toward the garage.
Isabelle watched his back with narrowed eyes. The man had been hired just a month ago as the mansion’s new gardener.
From the very first moment she saw him, something had felt off. He was simply too perfect—handsome, tall, elegant in a way no normal gardener ever was. Even the way he lifted a hand carried that effortless aristocratic grace, and the aura around him pushed people back like an invisible force.
No way someone like that was just a regular gardener. The butler had definitely gone senile, hiring someone like him.
But honestly, none of that mattered to her right now.
Half an hour later, Isabelle’s heels clicked sharply against the floor as she arrived at the suite door of Haohong Hotel.
Seeing the door slightly ajar, she let out a cold little chuckle and walked in.
As expected, the bedroom door was also cracked open, and inside came sounds she really wished she didn’t have to hear.
Through the gap, she saw two bodies tangled on the bed—one of them being her oh-so-pure, obedient, perfect half‑sister Crystal Hartwell.
The other was her fiancé since childhood, Zachary Thornton, who always put on the gentleman act in front of every woman.
Her lip curled as she watched the two on the bed, working hard like they were filming some romance drama. And honestly? If they were going to put on a show, she might as well record it.
She pulled out her phone and began filming without hesitation.
Once she saved the video, she tucked her phone away, turned around, and sat down on the sofa, crossing her legs and patiently waiting for the two inside to finish whatever they thought they were doing.
Just thinking about how something that belonged to her had been tainted by Crystal made irritation surge up in her chest like an overflowing fire.
Ever since she was a kid, anything that should have been hers always got snatched away by Crystal Hartwell. And now Crystal had stretched her hand even further—trying to take her fiancé too.
Even though she didn’t actually care for the guy, just imagining Crystal beating her to it filled her chest with a sour, suffocating rage.
Everything in this room annoyed her, especially that weird sweet smell hanging in the air—it only made her temper spike even higher.
She was the eldest daughter of the Hartwell Clan, supposed to be the one everyone revolved around. But because her mother died the moment she was born, she grew up swallowing endless humiliation and grievances.
Her father, Philip Hartwell, cheated while her mother was pregnant. Once her mother found out, she spent the rest of her days heartbroken, her health ruined. She ended up bleeding out during childbirth, leaving the world with nothing but regret.
Barely half a year after her mother’s death, Philip brought Crystal’s mother home. Back then Rosalie Hartwell was already pregnant.
At that age Isabelle really didn’t understand anything. She had always believed Rosalie was her real mother. So she treated her “parents” and her “sister” with genuine affection. Even when Crystal bullied her, she still thought, “I’m the older one, I should let her have it.”
It wasn’t until two months ago, when she happened to overhear Philip and Rosalie talking in the study, that she suddenly realized she had been calling the wrong woman “mom” her whole life.
For so many years, they had kept her completely in the dark. She didn’t even know she had a mother who’d passed away.
She had wondered before why Crystal was only a year younger than her, but twins born years apart weren’t unheard of, so she let it slide.
But once she learned the truth and thought back, all those strange, off-kilter things finally made sense.
For years, Rosalie had indulged her temper, shaping her into an arrogant troublemaker. Her reputation in the circle was a total disaster.
If it weren’t for the childhood engagement set with the Thornton family, no one would’ve even considered marrying her.
The old Isabelle was so naïve; she actually thought Rosalie cared about her. Now she knew it had all been a slow, deliberate sabotage.
Meanwhile Crystal had been raised perfectly—always the benchmark, the model daughter everyone praised.
No wonder despite Rosalie’s “affection,” Crystal always came out on top. Because Isabelle wasn’t her real daughter. Crystal was.
After about ten minutes, the people inside finally finished whatever they were doing.
Zachary Thornton walked out with a towel slung low around his waist. The moment he saw the woman sitting on the sofa, his whole body jolted like he’d been electrocuted.
“What… why are you here?”
Isabelle watched his shocked expression, her beautiful eyes narrowing slightly. She lounged lazily against the sofa, gaze sliding past him to the woman emerging from behind him.
"I'm here to catch you cheating..."
The moment she said it, her whole vibe flipped. That pretty face still carried a smile, but that smile felt sharp enough to cut—like a blade wrapped in sugar.
Crystal Hartwell stared at Isabelle Hartwell in full panic, her voice trembling as she said, "Sister, please, let me explain."
"Explain?" Isabelle let out a short, cold laugh. "We've all seen what's going on. What exactly do you think you can explain? You're not planning to claim Zachary Thornton forced you, right?"
Even if Isabelle had been dumber, she could still see through this little performance. From that message to the half‑open door, everything screamed one thing: her lovely sister had staged this drama just for her.
As for the purpose—probably just to brag that she'd managed to steal yet another thing that used to belong to Isabelle.
Isabelle’s disdainful gaze shifted to Zachary. He frowned and pulled Crystal into his arms, glaring at Isabelle with tense wariness. "This is on me. Ice has nothing to do with it. If you’ve got a problem, aim it at me."
"Aim it at you?"
Isabelle shot him a mocking glance. "Then how about I help my dear sister call the police? Isn’t getting ‘forced’ supposed to be reported?"
Watching Zachary’s face turn instantly ashy, Isabelle finally felt a tiny bit of satisfaction in her chest.
If she wasn’t allowed peace, then none of them could dream of having it.
Crystal leaned weakly into Zachary’s arms, crying like she was shooting some tragic drama. "Sister, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have taken your fiancé. But we really love each other. I beg you… please let us be together."
Zachary tightened his hold on her protectively. "Ice, don’t beg her. I’ll talk to my parents. I’m breaking off the engagement with this arrogant, unreasonable woman."
Isabelle had just risen when her body froze mid‑movement. Her eyes locked onto Zachary—cold, sharp, and deadly. He panicked instantly and shut his mouth.
"Arrogant and unreasonable? If I don’t live up to that title today, wouldn’t that be wasting all the effort you two have spent slapping that reputation onto me?"
With that, Isabelle stepped right up to Zachary—and slapped him hard across the face. His head snapped to the side, and a bright red mark bloomed on his cheek almost immediately.
Both Zachary and Crystal were stunned by the sudden strike. They stared at her, eyes wide, looking thoroughly shocked.
Isabelle admired her handiwork with obvious satisfaction. She curled her lips slightly and said with icy pride, "A man who only lasts ten minutes… Since my dear sister wants him, she can have him."
While the two of them stood there with their expressions twisted in embarrassment, Isabelle turned and strode away, heels clicking with confident precision.
Something that filthy—she wouldn't keep it even if it were free.
