Chapter 2

Jade's POV

In this family, Vivian was the treasured jewel. I was the tool used to fill holes.

After Mother died, Vincent cultivated a philanthropic wealthy persona for himself to seem refined.

He didn't understand architecture, but he knew Vivian needed a talented woman's reputation to marry into even higher society.

And I was that shadow.

Since childhood, whenever there was a design competition, I was locked in the attic to draw.

The winner's list always bore Vivian's name, and those trophies would be displayed in the most prominent spot in the living room for Vincent to brag about how outstanding his younger daughter was.

If I didn't draw, Mother's belongings left to me would mysteriously disappear or get damaged.

For the sake of those mementos, I lived my life as Vivian's shadow.

The private phone on the desk vibrated, breaking the suffocating silence.

It was Lucas's private number. Only a handful of people had it.

He reluctantly set down the calligraphy he'd been holding, his brow furrowing slightly.

When he answered, his voice instantly returned to its usual cold nobility.

"Hey."

I stood in the shadows by the door, in no hurry to enter.

The voice on the other end was probably his psychologist Dr. Xu, faintly audible through the receiver, asking about his recent condition and why he still endured my bad temper.

Lucas's fingers unconsciously tapped the table-his tell for irritation.

"She's just someone who knows how to draw blueprints."

His voice was cold, as if evaluating a defective product.

"She's a gold digger. Apart from money and scheming, what does she know about design?"

I stood outside the door, my nails digging into my palms.

So this was his assessment of my countless all-nighters and endless discarded drafts.

Then his tone changed, becoming extremely tender.

"Only Vivian's calligraphy has spirit. Doctor, you don't understand-what I saw in the darkness was exactly that kind of light. To protect Vivian's purity, enduring that woman is worth it."

In that instant, I felt something shatter inside me.

Since you're so noble, don't blame me for showing you what real gold-digging looks like.

I pushed the door open.

The loud sound of the door opening shattered the meditation room's silence.

Lucas reacted quickly, immediately turning to block the safe behind him, his brow furrowed, his eyes full of disgust at my intrusion. "Who gave you permission to come in?" he demanded coldly.

I leaned against the doorframe, my gaze falling on the corner of the safe visible behind him, and let out a cold laugh.

"Obsessing over a piece of paper-Mr. Hayes, what refined taste. Since you like it so much, why not go find the real person with all that 'spirit'?"

Lucas's expression darkened, and he barked sharply, "Shut up! You don't understand art, and you're not worthy to speak Vivian's name. Her calligraphy is priceless, unlike you-all you think about is business."

I ignored his rebuke and casually pulled a gold-embossed invitation from my bag, tossing it onto the table.

"Tomorrow night, you're coming to the gala with me."

The invitation slid across the table and stopped beside that piece of calligraphy.

Lucas didn't even glance at it, refusing without hesitation. "I'm busy. I have no interest in that kind of social climbing. Go by yourself."

"Is that so?"

I adjusted my cuffs, my tone flat.

"I heard Vivian will be there too. As the lead designer of the Holy Infant Cathedral, she's going to accept an award."

The air froze for a second.

Lucas's previously cold expression instantly softened, his eyes relaxing, even taking on a hint of pride.

"Holy Infant Cathedral... That's Vivian's life's work."

He picked up the invitation, his slender fingers caressing the gold lettering.

"What time do we leave?"

Watching him like this, I only felt it was ridiculous.

"Seven tomorrow evening."

With that, I turned and left the meditation room.

Back in the attic, my room had no lights on.

By the moonlight from the window, I could see a sketch still clipped to the easel.

It was a discarded draft I'd drawn in a burst of inspiration late one night two years ago.

I walked over and tore the sketch down.

The sound of ripping paper was especially harsh in the quiet attic.

I crumpled it into a ball and casually tossed it into the trash can by my feet.

Since I was selling out, I might as well sell out completely.

The next morning, servants delivered two evening gowns.

One was the latest season's white haute couture, with layers upon layers of skirt, studded with tiny crystals-ethereal and clearly prepared for Vivian.

The other was black, an outdated style, not even the right size.

The servant set down the clothes, her eyes evasive. "Mr. Reynolds said Miss Vivian is accepting an award and needs to look presentable. This black one is suitable for you to sit in the audience."

I said nothing and waved her out.

That evening, Lucas was already waiting by the car.

Because of his photophobia, he wore sunglasses and a haute couture suit, his posture straight and commanding.

Such a man who could make waves in the city was now willing to act as my driver for Vivian's sake.

I walked over in my heels and pulled open the door to sit in the passenger seat.

We didn't exchange a single word the entire ride.

The air pressure in the car was frighteningly low. Only when Lucas occasionally glanced at the rearview mirror would the corners of his mouth unconsciously lift slightly.

I knew he was anticipating that "spirited" Vivian.