Chapter 1

On the day I went to deliver Andrew Langley's car keys, outside the private room, I heard him talking with his friends.

He said, "Her? Just a plaything. How could I care about her for real? Once I marry Charlotte, I'll get rid of her."

I pushed the door open without a single change in my expression.

When he saw me, his hand jerked, and the cigarette burned his finger. "What are you doing here?"

I smiled. "I brought your car keys."

Then I set the keys down and walked away.

Later, Andrew's mother, Julia Langley, gave me some money.

With that, Andrew could get engaged to his fiancée, who was a proper match for him.

I took the money and flew straight to Lavitoria.

After all, that was the last payment I needed to reach my savings goal.

But most importantly, from the very beginning, I never planned to be his plaything.

What I wanted was to build a life of my own.

*****

I stood outside the private room, my hand gripping the doorknob. Their voices seeped through the heavy wooden door. Every word was so clear that it felt branded into my bones.

"Her? Just a plaything. How could I care about her for real?" Andrew scoffed.

It was Andrew talking, sounding as casual and indifferent as ever. "Once I marry Charlotte, I'll get rid of her."

The guys around him let out a few low laughs.

I stood outside, listening to every word without a single change in my expression.

If this had been three years ago or a year ago, I probably would've felt upset, like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

But at that moment, I glanced down at the car keys in my hand, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

The room was thick with smoke. A bunch of guys lounged on the big leather sofas, and the table was scattered with open bottles of Whisky and a jumble of glasses.

Andrew sat right in the center, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, holding a half-smoked cigarette between his long fingers.

The moment he saw me, his hand shook. The cigarette burned his fingertip.

He sucked in a breath, then hurriedly crushed the cigarette into the ashtray. A red mark was already blooming on his fingertip.

Andrew looked up at me, and for a moment, those eyes, usually so ruthless and commanding in the boardroom, actually showed a hint of panic. "What are you doing here?"

I walked over, unfazed, and placed the car keys on the table right in front of him. "Just here to give the car keys. You left them with me."

Andrew stared at me for a couple of seconds, as if he was trying to gauge my reaction.

His buddies fell silent, too, and the awkward hush in the room was almost suffocating.

I didn't give him a chance to ask anything else. I set the keys down and turned to leave.

I could feel Andrew's gaze glued to my back, searing into me like a branding iron. But I didn't bother to look back.

Once I stepped out of the club, the night breeze hit me, carrying the crisp chill of early autumn.

I stood by the curb, tilted my head back to glance at the moon, which was not quite full, and let out a long, slow breath.

My hands didn't shake, and my eyes didn't get red. I felt a bit relieved.

It was like that boot that had been hanging over my head finally dropped. Sure, it wasn't exactly graceful, but at least I didn't have to keep waiting for it to fall anymore.

*****

My name is Sophie Hart. At that time, I was twenty-one, starting my junior year of college.

Three years before that, I was nineteen and a sophomore, working as a part-time waitress at a corporate event.

Back then, I was flat broke. My monthly living expenses were cobbled together from student loans and two part-time gigs.

After paying rent, I barely had anything left and had to think twice before buying a cup of coffee.

That day, I was weaving through the crowd with a tray when some wasted, greasy guy grabbed my wrist, sloshing his drink all over me.

As I struggled, Andrew stepped between us. He said to the drunk guy, "Sir, looks like you've had a bit too much." His tone was easy, but the guy instantly let go, giving a sheepish grin and mumbling an apology.

Then Andrew looked over at me. It was like a predator at the top of the food chain casting a casual glance at an ant below.

There was nothing gentle, not a trace of kindness. It was an aloof, almost disdainful gaze from above.

He handed me his business card and said, "If you're interested, get in touch."

Back then, I had no idea who he was. All I saw was a guy in a tailored suit, rocking a watch that cost more than three years of my tuition. Everything about him screamed money.

It wasn't until later that I learned he was Andrew Langley, the only heir to the Langley Group.

He was only twenty-six years old, and his family was worth billions. He was the infamous Mr. Langley, the one everyone in Capitavia's business scene talked about.