Chapter 4

*Crack!*

A deafening clap of thunder rattled the windows as lightning tore through the sky.

I stared at Ethan's twisted, furious face, and then at Vivian smirking behind his shoulder.

Suddenly, I let out a soft laugh.

Ethan froze. "What..."

I didn't give him a chance to finish. I calmly picked up a napkin, dabbed at the corners of my mouth, and stood up.

Grabbing my tote bag from the chair, I pushed past them, opened the heavy front doors, and walked out into the storm.

I popped open the compact umbrella—the one I had refused to give him—and stepped into the torrential downpour.

The icy wind whipped the rain sideways, soaking half of my clothes and making me shiver to my core.

Yet every step I took away from that house was steady and resolute.

*Crack!*

Another bolt of lightning illuminated the sky.

The flash seemed to snap Ethan back to reality. Listening to the violent deluge outside, he realized he had crossed a line.

It was a dangerous storm, and he believed I was still pregnant.

A sudden surge of panic gripped his chest. He pulled away from Vivian, intending to chase after me.

"Summer—"

Before he could reach the door, Vivian wrapped both arms around his waist from behind, sobbing hysterically.

"Ethan, don't leave me! The thunder is so loud, I'm terrified!"

Ethan reached down, trying to pry her hands off. "Vivian, let go. There are dozens of staff in the house."

"Summer is carrying my baby. I have to go check on her."

Instead of letting go, Vivian clung to him tighter, her voice trembling with tragic desperation.

"Ethan, don't you love me anymore?"

"I was forced to marry your old, dying father, but my heart has only ever belonged to you! You swore you would protect me! Now that Summer is treating me like dirt, are you really going to abandon me in the dark to chase after her?"

Ethan stood frozen in the hallway for what felt like an eternity.

Slowly, his hands dropped.

He turned around, pulling Vivian back into his arms, whispering soft reassurances.

"Stop crying. I'm right here."

Yet his eyes remained fixed on the pitch-black, rain-lashed darkness outside the window.

Once Vivian finally calmed down, Ethan pulled out his phone and dialed my number.

No answer.

He called three times in a row. Still nothing.

Hiding her smug satisfaction, Vivian pressed her cheek against his chest and murmured innocently:

"Ethan, do you think Summer is so mad she won't show up tomorrow? She's pregnant, after all. What if something happens? Maybe you should text her an apology..."

Ethan's eyes flickered with unease, but his stubborn pride quickly took over.

"Apologize?" he scoffed, desperately trying to reassure himself. "She was the one in the wrong. If I apologize now, she'll walk all over me for the rest of our lives."

"Don't worry. She's obsessed with me. We're getting married tomorrow—there's no way in hell she'd actually throw that away. She probably just went to our new townhouse to cool off."

Ethan was dead wrong.

I was at the airport.

I had boarded a flight ten minutes ago. I had no specific destination in mind.

I had simply walked up to the counter and asked the agent for a ticket on the very next flight leaving the tarmac.

At 3:20 AM, my plane touched down in a coastal city hundreds of miles away.

The moment I turned on my phone, two text notifications popped up.

The first was from the private investigator:

*Miss Summer, everything is ready.*

The second was from Ethan:

*I was too harsh earlier. Get some rest. I'll pick you up from the new house in the morning.*

I didn't reply to either of them. My body was completely exhausted, my eyelids heavy as lead.

I checked into a nearby airport hotel, collapsed onto the bed, pulled the duvet over my head, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

At 7:00 AM back home, the Hayes estate was a buzz of chaotic energy. Groomsmen in sharp tuxedos were cheering and laughing, hurrying Ethan to get moving.

Yet Ethan kept staring at his phone, his stomach twisting into nervous knots over the text that had remained unanswered all night.

Vivian stepped beside him, looking concerned. "Ethan, are you okay? You look terrible. Still no word from Summer?"

Ethan shook his head distractedly.

Then his gaze drifted down to Vivian's outfit, and his brows instantly slammed together.

She was wearing a skin-tight, glittering crimson gown, practically backless and dripping with sequins.

She looked undeniably gorgeous, but entirely inappropriate.

"Vivian, maybe you should change," Ethan said, frowning. "Today is my wedding. Wearing something that bright and revealing..."

Vivian lowered her head, instantly welling up with tears.

She was about to pull her usual innocent victim routine to make Ethan back down.

Except this time, the groomsmen weren't having it.

One of Ethan's close friends spoke up, frowning. "Uh, Vivian, isn't that dress a bit over the top? I mean, it's Ethan's big day, but technically you're his father's widow. You should probably wear something more modest. That dress looks like you're heading to a nightclub."

"Seriously," another groomsman chimed in. "Ethan is marrying Summer today. You're his stepmother, showing up dressed like a siren. It looks weird."

"There's going to be press outside the estate today," a third warned. "Vivian, you shouldn't be clinging to Ethan's arm like that. If the paparazzi snap photos, the rumors will tear the Hayes family's reputation to shreds."

With everyone talking at once, and Ethan too distracted to defend her, Vivian had no choice but to bite her lip in fury. She stomped upstairs, changed into a subdued navy dress, and climbed into the bridal motorcade heading toward the new townhouse.

On the way, Ethan's assistant called with an update:

"Mr. Hayes, the neighborhood security said a crew was at the house around two or three in the morning setting up decorations. They said Miss Summer arranged it all. She should be waiting inside."

The heavy stone weighing on Ethan's chest instantly vanished. A triumphant, arrogant smirk spread across his lips.

See? He knew it. She couldn't resist him.

When the motorcade pulled up to the luxurious townhouse, however, the entire estate was eerily quiet.

There were no flowers on the gate. No ribbons on the porch. No festive decorations whatsoever.

It didn't look like a wedding venue at all.

A knot of confusion formed in Ethan's gut, but remembering the assistant's words, he forced a confident grin and waved his groomsmen forward.

"Come on! Let's go get my bride!"

To everyone's surprise, the front doors weren't locked. There were no bridesmaids blocking the entrance, demanding bridal games or red envelopes.

The heavy double doors stood slightly ajar.

With a gentle push, the flock of groomsmen, friends, and relatives spilled into the grand foyer.

*BANG! BANG! BANG!*

A dozen heavy confetti cannons instantly detonated with a deafening roar!

Countless glossy photographs exploded into the air like a firework show, fluttering down like a storm of falling snow.

High-resolution, crystal-clear pictures rained down over everyone's heads.

Photos of Ethan and Vivian passionately making out in hotel suites.

Photos of them entwined naked in bed.

And photos of them tangled up on the couch in the private lounge of his father's memorial service, kissing like animals while Arthur Hayes's coffin lay just in the other room.

Ethan froze in his tracks, every drop of color draining from his face in a split second.

He stared at a photograph that landed directly at the tips of his polished shoes.

In the picture, Vivian was straddling his lap in the memorial hall lounge, their lips locked in a feverish kiss.

Printed neatly across the bottom of every single photo was a single sentence in bold, crimson font:

*To Ethan Hayes: Congratulations on your wedding with your Stepmother!*