"I understand. I wish you and my brother a romantic evening."

"Well then, I'm hanging up," Julia Bluen said with a laugh from the other end before she hung up the phone.

Mila Anderson listened nearby. Knowing that her son and daughter-in-law wouldn't be back tonight, she couldn't help but think, This is all fate.

RING RING... Just as Adele Horne finished her call, Mila Anderson's phone also rang. It was Gian Horne.

The freeze Glades Horne had placed on their finances had expired. With their access to funds restored, Gian Horne rushed off to the Coastal District, intending to explain to Pheobe Rogers why he hadn't visited her in the past month.

"Mila, I won't be home tonight," Gian Horne said, his tone quite casual. He had said this phrase almost daily for the past several decades, and Mila Anderson felt as if her ears were about to grow calluses from hearing it so often.

If he isn't coming home, why bother calling to tell me? Isn't he just trying to upset me on purpose?

The more Mila Anderson thought about it, the angrier she became. She hadn't yet told him about their daughter's situation, planning to do so when he returned. But now, he wasn't coming home again. Fine! If he's not coming home, then I don't want him to know about our daughter's situation either. From now on, he won't be involved in matters concerning our son or daughter. Because he doesn't deserve it!

With a tremor in her hand, some of the soup Mila Anderson was holding splashed onto her fingers. Accustomed to being pampered, the sudden greasy sensation made her flinch, and her grip loosened. The bowl of soup clattered to the floor. The bowl didn't break, but the soup spilled everywhere, some of it splashing onto her leg.

"Ah!" Mila Anderson stood up in a panic, a hint of disgust on her face.

"Mom, are you okay? Did you get burned?" Adele Horne asked with concern, quickly grabbing tissues to help Mila Anderson.

"It's nothing. I just carelessly spilled the turtle soup and dirtied my clothes. What a pity! I only bought this outfit recently. It's a designer brand and cost several hundred thousand, and now a bowl of soup has ruined it."

"Mom, we can always make more soup. If your clothes are dirty, they can be washed or replaced. As long as you're not hurt, that's all that matters," Adele Horne said instinctively.

Mila Anderson froze, staring blankly at her daughter.

A wave of guilt washed over her. She had prepared this turtle soup intending to cause her daughter's miscarriage. Yet, her daughter, completely unaware, showed such pure and genuine concern. Can I really bring myself to harm my daughter and the baby in her womb like this?

KNOCK KNOCK. An urgent knocking came from outside the door.

"Miss, are you in your room? It's Uncle Deon. I need to speak with you." Uncle Deon, being the quickest, was the first to reach Adele Horne's door.

Adele Horne opened the door. Before Uncle Deon could say why he was there, she instructed, "Uncle Deon, Mother accidentally spilled soup and made a mess of the floor. Could you please have someone come and clean it up?"

Uncle Deon quickly looked Adele Horne up and down. Ensuring she was unharmed and hearing that soup had merely been spilled, he visibly relaxed and said with a smile, "Certainly. I'll have Sister Hong come and clean it immediately."

With that, he turned and headed downstairs, bumping into Nanny Mei, who was assisting the Old Lady, at the turn of the stairs.

Uncle Deon told the Old Lady what had happened, and she let out a deep sigh of relief.

Adele Horne's child was safe for now, but the Old Lady was not truly at ease.

After Mila Anderson had changed her clothes and everyone had finished dinner, the Old Lady summoned Mila to her room. The two of them, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, closed the door and had a long discussion. No one knew what they talked about, only that Mila Anderson emerged from the Old Lady's room much later.

On a pitch-black night, standing high above and gazing at the vast expanse of the sky, one could feel a sense of power, as if reaching out could touch the dark clouds, and with a mere gesture, gather the heavens into one's embrace.

Noah Reyes sat on the rooftop of a skyscraper, more than a hundred stories tall. He alternately gazed up at the black sky and down at the flame totem he toyed with in his hand.

His most loyal assistant, Deon Myers, sat opposite him, silently observing the shifting expressions on Noah Reyes's face.

Besides these two, the sprawling rooftop was empty.

Even though the rooftop boasted a sky garden, with Noah Reyes present, no one from the building dared to venture up at this hour.

There was no snow that night, but the air was still frigid.

"Young Master, is something troubling you?" Deon Myers, an Englishman, asked tentatively in English.

The Flames Sect drew disciples from all corners of the globe. However, the Reyes Family was of Chinese descent; otherwise, such complex and traditional rules would not have been established.

Noah Reyes said nothing.

He replaced the flame totem—the very one coveted by everyone in his family—around his neck, then stood and walked to the railing. Looking down upon the world from such a height, as if standing among the clouds… this feeling is good. I like it.

"Young Master, is it time to utilize Silvia Baxter?" Deon Myers, knowing Noah Reyes wouldn't answer his previous question, changed the subject.

"Wait until she has wrested all control from her father. Only then can she be of use. Right now, she's merely her father's apprentice. What good is she?" Noah Reyes replied, his tone and expression cold, showing little interest in Silvia Baxter.

Deon Myers moved to his side and asked respectfully, "In that case, Young Master, the sect elders are urging you to marry soon and produce a direct heir to secure the future of the Flames Sect."

Noah Reyes pursed his lips and remained silent.

If I were to marry and have children now, I fear the child might be killed in the womb before it's even born. Those people have endless schemes. I won't undertake such a significant life event during these turbulent times.

He had no idea that his own child had, in fact, very nearly been killed in the womb.

「Emerald Garden Building.」

Hansen Ruiz sat on the somewhat worn wooden sofa in Rachel Bailey's rented apartment, his gaze glued to Rachel Bailey's every move.

Within the depths of his usually gentle eyes, twin flames of desire flickered.

That afternoon, he had finally managed to get her to the Civil Affairs Office, where they registered as a legally married couple. Holding their two red marriage certificates, he smiled with deep satisfaction.