Chapter 1
The day the Lowe family went under, Eric Vaughn didn't even hesitate—he asked me for a divorce right away.
We'd been married for business reasons, and he'd put up with me for five long years. Finally, he was free.
After we signed the divorce papers, Lucas looked at me, cold as ice, and let out a relieved sigh. "Daisy, I hope I never see you again."
I nodded, staring at the pristine white walls of the hospital corridor.
Yeah, we'd never see each other again.
When I signed the divorce papers, Eric stared at me for a solid two seconds.
Maybe he was just trying to process it, like he couldn't really believe it was over.
Freedom and release after five years—it all happened so fast.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Crestville was getting its first heavy snowfall of the year.
Suddenly, I remembered the first time I met him—five years ago, it was dumping snow just like this.
After signing, I slid the papers across the table to him.
My voice came out shaky as I said, "I agree."
Eric still didn't trust me.
He was wary, picking up the papers with steady, precise fingers.
He scrutinized every line, reading them again and again just to be sure.
Only when he was certain there was no catch did he finally get up, a hint of relief showing on his face.
His voice stayed frosty. "You don't have to walk away with nothing.
"I'll give you 30 million in assets. Once everything's wrapped up, we'll make it official. Until then—don't call me."
He was throwing money at me to make sure I wouldn't cling to him.
My fingers dug unconsciously into my palm.
I nodded quietly, keeping my voice flat. "Okay."
As he walked away, a faint breeze stirred past me.
That was it. Nothing more.
I couldn't help it; I turned back for one last glance at his back.
The doctor's words echoed in my head: my condition was a wildcard.
If luck wasn't on my side, maybe this was really the last time I'd ever see him.
He hurried out the front door, not even bothering to look back, his silhouette vanishing from sight.
I knew exactly who he was rushing off to meet.
My phone buzzed. It was my dad calling.
After a moment's hesitation, I answered.
His furious voice exploded through the phone.
"Did you really ask Eric for a divorce?" he roared. "Daisy, have you lost your mind? Get your ass back here right now!"
I didn't want to go back to that house.
But I couldn't stop thinking about Grandma's urn—it was still sitting there. So I grabbed a cab and went back, after all.
To be honest, it didn't really feel like going home at all.
That place belonged to my dad.
After I got married, he'd always say, "A married daughter's never coming back—she's out for good."
As for Eric's house, that felt even less like mine.
I had nowhere to call home.
Crestville was freezing, buried under heavy snow. The taxi couldn't make it past the gates to the villa district.
I stepped out into the biting cold, forced to hike through the thick snow for ages before I finally caught sight of my dad.
As soon as I got through the front door, before I could shake the icy snow from my collar, my dad's palm came flying—smacking me hard across the face.
The Lowe family was bankrupt, totally underwater and buried in debt.
My dad looked haggard, more gaunt than ever, but that slap didn't lose any of its force.
Caught off guard, I staggered, hitting the floor in a pathetic heap.
The maid rushed over to help me up, but my dad snapped at her, "Don't you dare touch her.
"The Lowe family's about to collapse—we're desperate for Eric to throw us a lifeline.
"Now she asks for a divorce? She's just trying to kill us all! Heartless, ungrateful snake!"
I steadied myself against the shoe cabinet and slowly got back on my feet.
My voice came out weak, but I kept it steady, trying not to let him see how much it hurt. "Suit yourself.
"I'm just here to pick up a couple things—after this, you won't ever have to see me again."
I didn't even glance his way—I just brushed past him and marched straight upstairs.
My dad's furious voice exploded behind me. "You think you've still got any right to take anything from the Lowe family?
"You're so eager to screw me over, huh?"
I had a bad feeling gnawing at me.
When I turned around, I saw it—Grandma's urn, the one that should've been in my room, now gripped firmly in my dad's hands.
My expression hardened as I hurried over, snapping, "Give it to me. You don't deserve to be holding Grandma's urn..."
With a loud crash, the urn was smashed to the floor.
Ashes spilled everywhere, a cloud of gray powder spreading across the floor.
It felt like a final thread in my mind snapped, tearing loose all at once—I was done holding it together.
Driven by a wild rage, I hurled myself at him, my eyes burning with hate as I swung for his face. "She was your mother! What kind of person are you? How could you treat her like this?!"
My vision spun, my aim lost—I slapped at the empty air, missing completely in my desperation.
My body crumpled to the ground, a sharp, sickly taste blooming in my throat. I doubled over, wracked by coughing, and spat up a mouthful of blood.