January 15th, Kingsford.


    On a deep winter''s night, thick snowkes drifted down, nketing the ground in


    a heavyyer that quickly turned to slush under the constant tread of pedestrians and vehicles.


    At the curb sat a sleek blue Audi.


    M Suthend, wrapped snugly in a white down coat, clutched a bouquet of freshly bought roses as she made her way to the car, dialing Lysander Montgomery''s number.


    Today marked their eighth wedding anniversary.


    She had wrapped up work early, hoping to surprise her husband with a candlelit dinner to celebrate making it through the infamous seven-year itch, stepping into their ninth year of marriage.


    The first call went unanswered.


    She tried twice more, waiting patiently each time until a cold voice finally came through.


    "What is it?"


    M''s smile waned, but she gently reminded him, "We nned to have dinner out today, remember? The restaurant is..."


    "Busy with work."


    Before M could say another word, the line went dead.


    Standing in the biting wind, M gripped her phone tightly, shivering as a gust cut through her. A wave of disappointment washed over her.


    Did Lysander even remember what day it was?


    ns they made were always being postponed or brushed aside; he couldn''t spare even a single evening for dinner.


    A sudden fatigue settled over her.


    Closing her eyes briefly, M gathered herself and called her son, Adrian Montgomery.


    She had arranged for him to stay with his grandmother so she and Lysander could have a rare evening alone.


    With dinner ns dashed, she needed to pick up her child.


    In avish corner of an upscale restaurant sat an elegant woman with striking features, apanied by a boy of about six or seven.


    The boy was engrossed in a brand-new gaming device, oblivious to the shing call on the table beside him.


    The woman, noticing the caller ID, deftly swiped to answer and set the phone on mute, cing it face down on the table.


    She turned to the boy and asked, "Adrian, do you like the game console I got you?"


    M, listening on the other end, was momentarily stunned by the voice before a chill crept over her heart.


    It was Giselle Harvey, Lysander''s childhood crush. Wasn''t she supposed to be pursuing her doctorate abroad? Why was she back, and with her son?


    ...


    Inside the restaurant.


    Finally looking up from his game, the boy nodded enthusiastically. "I love it, Giselle! Thank you!"


    Giselle''s lips curled into a slight smile. "Really? Doesn''t your family buy you game consoles?"


    With the sprawling Montgomery Holdings empire, headed by Chairman Lysander Montgomery, buying out a few gamingpanies would be effortless-let alone a single game console.


    Adrian pouted, a hint of displeasure in his voice:


    "It''s not that. Dad and my grandparents let me y whatever I want. It''s Mom who''s always nagging, controlling how long I can y. She takes it away when time''s up... But you''re the best, Giselle."


    Giselle gently ruffled Adrian''s hair, her tone soothing. "Don''t say that. Your mom just worries about you ying too long and hurting your eyes. She means well, and it''d make her sad to hear you say otherwise."


    "She wouldn''t care."


    Adrian, already absorbed back in his game, replied dismissively, "Mom''s always so nice. I''ve never seen her upset."


    Giselle chuckled softly, her gaze drifting to the table''s spread. After a moment''s thought, she picked up a piece of spicy chicken and offered it to Adrian, who was too preupied to eat.