Chapter 4

Lily's 18th coming-of-age gala was hosted in the grand ballroom of the city's most luxurious downtown hotel.

The hall was decorated like a fairytale world, crystal chandeliers casting dazzling, almost blinding reflections everywhere.

The rental fee for this venue, the imported fresh flowers, and the top-tier catering crew were all paid directly out of my personal account last month.

If our bond was destined to shatter tonight, consider this my final parting gift to the sweet five-year-old Lily from long ago.

Wearing an understated black evening dress, I stood silently at the edge of the crowd.

Ten minutes before the event kicked off, Mark walked over to me.

Dressed in a sharply tailored suit, his eyes darted nervously, refusing to meet mine head-on.

Handing me a glass of champagne, he lowered his voice, trying to hide his guilt behind a groveling tone.

"Eleanor, Chloe is here tonight. Look, you know Lily only turns eighteen once. She literally cried and begged me to let Chloe come. You've always been generous and understanding—just suck it up for Lily's sake tonight, okay?"

I stared at the man I had spent twelve years with.

Guilt lingered in his gaze, but it was overshadowed by entitled calculation.

He expected me to swallow all indignities as usual, footing the bill for his reputation and his daughter's joy.

"Mark," I looked at him calmly, "what if I refuse to swallow it this time?"

Mark's brow instantly furrowed, impatience and petty annoyance bleeding into his voice.

"Eleanor, can you stop being so overly sensitive? Chloe is just here for her daughter's birthday! She's not trying to steal your status. You raised Lily for twelve years—can't you just think about her future for once?"

See? That was the man I used to love with all my heart.

Without Chloe even having to twist his arm, he shoved me into the humiliating mud himself.

Right on cue, the heavy double doors of the ballroom swung open.

Chloe strutted in, wearing a jaw-dropping crimson high-fashion gown.

That exact gown was the "art project prop" Lily charged over $10,000 on my secondary card for two months ago.

Chloe exuded glamorous, effortless charm, dripping in a fake sense of luxury.

The second Lily locked eyes on Chloe, her eyes lit up like fireworks.

She practically jogged over to greet her, locking arms tightly with Chloe and clinging to her birth mother with a radiant, almost sycophantic grin.

At that moment, in Lily's eyes, the woman who abandoned her for twelve years was the glamorous "cool mom."

Meanwhile, I—the stepmother who served her hot soup by her sickbed and pulled all-nighters polishing her college essays—was just an unglamorous, boring maid.

But in Chloe's eyes, all I saw was cold, scheming calculation.

She casually stroked Lily's hair, but her eyes were busy sizing up the opulent decorations before landing on me, her lips curling into a smug, victorious smirk.