Dorian’s face darkened. He knew exactly what she was implying. This woman… she was truly shameless.

  “Fine,” he bit out. “Name your price.”

  Clarissa let out a soft chuckle. “That depends. How much is Lyra worth to you? Surely, she’s not cheap.”

  Dorian’s jaw tightened, his fury barely restrained. He glanced at her smudged makeup, at the dripping strands of hair clinging to her face, and felt nothing but disgust.

  Cheap. Vile. A tacky, desperate woman grasping for money.

  Without another word, he yanked out a checkbook and pen, throwing them at her feet. “Fill it out yourself!”

  Clarissa didn’t even flinch. She simply bent down, picked up the checkbook, and casually began writing.

  She wrote a “9” in the hundred-million column.

  Then another. And another.

  Nine hundred and ninety-nine million, nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents.

  Dorian stared at the number, then let out a short, angry laugh. “Clarissa, you have no shame.”

  “I suppose not,” she said, unfazed. “But after spending a few days without money, I’ve realized something—money is a hell of a lot more reliable than men. Instead of wasting my time on someone who never gave a damn about me, I might as well get rich.”

  She had once been the daughter of the Lancaster family. Now, she was an outsider.

  So why not embrace it?

  Dorian’s hatred for her deepened. Without hesitation, he signed the check and flung it at Clarissa.

  “Take the damn money and get lost!”

  Clarissa caught the check, her lips curving slightly. He signed so decisively—he really was the perfect example of a domineering CEO.

  Without another word, she turned to leave. But just as she reached the door, Dorian’s voice rang out behind her.

  “Wait a minute!”

  She paused, glancing back over her shoulder. “Something else?”

  Dorian’s eyes were cold. “If I find out you took the money and still dared to bother Lyra—”

  “You don’t have to worry,” Clarissa interrupted, her tone calm. “From this moment on, I’ll never step foot in the Lancaster family again. Our engagement is officially over. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.”

  And with that, she walked away without looking back, her figure disappearing down the hallway.

  The room fell into a strange silence.

  Dorian narrowed his eyes, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. There was something different about Clarissa. He just couldn’t put his finger on it…

  Meanwhile, Lyra’s fingers tightened around Dorian’s arm. Something about Clarissa’s reaction unsettled her. In the past, she had been jealous, petty, and fiercely obsessed with Dorian. But now? She had let go so easily—it didn’t feel real.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  .....

  By the time Clarissa made it home, it was already late.

  In the dimly lit kitchen, Clementine stared at the cold plates of food on the table and let out a long, tired sigh. Her chest ached. She had hoped—just a little—that Clarissa would come back in time to eat.

  Resigned, she got up, ready to put the food in the fridge. Maybe Clarissa would heat it up tomorrow…

  Just then, the front door creaked open.

  Clementine turned, eyes widening in surprise.

  Clarissa had thrown away the key to this house long ago. She had only just found it after digging through the bushes outside for what felt like forever. Now, exhausted and starving, she finally stepped inside.

  Clementine hadn’t expected her to return. A flicker of hope crossed her face before she hesitated, her posture tense.

  “Clarissa, you…” She trailed off, lowering her gaze slightly. Her voice softened. “Miss Clarissa, I thought you wouldn’t come back. Have you eaten?”

  The woman in front of her—Clementine—was Clarissa’s biological mother. She was the one who had switched the babies at birth. She was the reason Clarissa had lived a lie for so many years.

  But her actions hadn’t been out of malice. When Clarissa was a child, she had been diagnosed with a rare and expensive illness. Clementine, just an ordinary woman with no resources, had been desperate. Her husband had died young, leaving her powerless and broke. With no options left, she had made a cruel choice—she swapped her sick child with the wealthy Lancaster family’s newborn daughter, ensuring that at least one of them would have a better life.

  Yet, she hadn’t raised Lyra herself. Instead, she had given the girl to a kind-hearted family, one that was planning to move far away. She thought it would be best if Lyra stayed as far from the Lancasters as possible, to avoid discovery.

  Clementine, on the other hand, had stayed behind, taking a job as a servant in the Lancaster household—watching from the shadows as her real daughter grew up without knowing the truth.

  When the truth finally came out, the Lancaster family had thrown her and Clarissa out without a second thought.

  Now, this rundown house was all she had left. It wasn’t exactly a slum, but compared to the Lancaster estate, it was practically a shack.

  In the past, Clarissa had despised Clementine, treating her with nothing but coldness and resentment.

  Yet strangely, the original novel had barely mentioned her after this point. The author had been too focused on writing about the male lead’s overwhelming love for Lyra and the endless, over-the-top drama between her and various other men.

  Clarissa glanced around the house, then turned back to Clementine with a calm expression.

  “I haven’t eaten yet,” she said simply.

  Clementine’s hands trembled slightly. “Then… I made some dishes you used to like. If you don’t mind, would you like to try them?”

  She had lost her job, and money was tight. The food she had prepared wasn’t extravagant—it was simple, homemade. If this had been the old Clarissa, she would have sneered in disgust.

  She would have spat insults like, “I wouldn’t eat this garbage if you paid me.” Or, “How could you expect me to live in a filthy place like this with someone as low-class as you?”

  But this time, Clarissa’s expression remained gentle.

  “Okay,” she said. “But I want to take a shower first.”

  Clarissa was drenched earlier, and now, after the long walk back, she was covered in sweat. Her clothes clung to her uncomfortably, and she felt sticky all over.

  She frowned slightly. She had no idea what kind of water that damn butler had thrown on her.

  “I’ll run you a bath right away—” Clementine started to say but froze mid-sentence.

  A sudden realization hit her. There’s no bathtub here.

  Her face paled slightly, and she braced herself for Clarissa’s anger. But to her surprise, Clarissa’s expression didn’t change.

  “I’ll just take a quick shower,” she said simply, grabbing her clothes and heading to the bathroom.

  By the time Clarissa finished her shower and came out, Clementine had already reheated the food.

  The table was set with braised shrimp, stir-fried beef with green peppers, a bowl of sautéed lettuce, and a plate of spicy-sour pickled vegetables.

  Clarissa’s gaze lingered on the dishes for a moment.

  She knew these weren’t meals Clementine typically made for herself—she usually ate much simpler, cheaper food. These were all things she had prepared just for Clarissa.

  Clarissa also remembered this scene from before.

  In the original timeline, the spoiled, arrogant version of herself had taken one look at the home-cooked meal and sneered. She had demanded Western food instead. Desperate to please her, Clementine had gone out in the middle of the night to buy steak. And when she finally cooked it, Clarissa had found it too tough and dry—then, in a fit of anger, she had swept the entire meal off the table.