In the coffee shop, Collins Grace sat on the sofa, gazing at the distressed woman across from her.
"Miss Grace, this is my pregnancy report. It's been two months."
Grace took the document and examined it thoroughly. Sure enough, the bottom of the report bore the Anderson Dynasty logo.
She glanced at the woman before taking a check from her bag without hesitation. "This is two million dollars. You have two choices. First, take the money and get rid of the child. Second, keep the child and become President James Scott’s mistress. You'll receive a generous amount every month."
The woman’s face twisted with anger. "What do you mean? Who do you think I am?! Don't forget—this is James Scott’s child. Do you really think I won’t keep it and go straight to the Scott family?"
Grace took a sip of coffee, maintaining a professional smile. "I believe you. But Mr. James has countless women—and just as many pregnancies. You’ll have to get in line."
"You..." The woman was furious, but she couldn’t argue. Collins was right.
Acting indifferent, Grace reached out as if to take back the check. "But since you're so virtuous, then forget it."
"Wait a minute!" The woman abruptly stood up, snatching the check from her hand. "Who said I didn’t want it? If the baby’s gone, so be it. I don’t care about James Scott’s son!"
Grabbing her Chanel bag, she stormed off, fuming.
Grace watched her leave, completely unsurprised.
She had long lost count of the number of women James Scott had entertained. Every month, she spent more than half her time dealing with his "romantic debts."
Why had she ever agreed to be his secretary on a whim?
No, she had to ask for a raise.
Otherwise, this job was way too much of a loss.
After resting in the café for a while, Collins headed to the front desk to pay the bill. When she stepped outside, she found herself at a busy intersection. A shopping mall stood across the street, making it easy to hail a cab.
Dressed in a professional suit and a fitted skirt that accentuated her long legs, she lifted a hand to flag down a taxi. The wind played with her hair, and she instinctively tucked a few strands behind her ear.
Inside a black Rolls-Royce parked outside the mall, the driver caught sight of her.
"Sir, am I seeing things? That woman looks just like..."
He trailed off, suddenly hesitant.
"It really does seem like Miss Grace..."
At the mention of her name, Sebastian Zane paused his typing and glanced up instinctively.
But just as he did, a taxi stopped in front of Grace. She opened the door and bent forward to get in, revealing only a glimpse of her profile.
It looked like her.
It had been three years.
Three years since she had left New York City.
The last words she had spoken to him at the airport still echoed in his mind.
"I won’t return to this city for the rest of my life. Take care."
The memory of that rainy night resurfaced, and the man in his thirties fell into deep thought. Sitting in the back seat, his tailored black suit perfectly framed his cold, refined features. His expression was composed, yet unreadable.
He must have been mistaken.
"Sir, should I follow her?" The driver hesitated, glancing at Sebastian through the rearview mirror.
The silence stretched before a voice, low and cold, cut through it.
"No."
The driver blinked in confusion but didn’t press the matter.
Meanwhile, Grace arrived at the company, taking the executive elevator straight to the 17th floor before stepping into the conference hall.
