Chapter 2
Mr. Hawthorne and I were in a business marriage, a corporate alliance. Our grandfathers had been comrades-in-arms, having fought side by side, and after surviving countless battles together, they arranged this marriage decades earlier.
But this marriage was originally meant for Lily West. There was no other reason for it-she was the “rose” the Westbrook
family had nurtured for eighteen years.
As for me, I was the swapped-out biological daughter of the Westbrook family-the inconvenient truth no one wanted.
A person like me-an outsider-could never be compared to someone like Mr. Hawthorne, a true heir, a son of privilege.
We were worlds apart, let alone in love.
It wasn’t until I turned eighteen that Mr. and Mrs. Westbrook found me and tearfully claimed that I was their real daughter,
that a nurse’s mistake had caused our separation all those years ago.
At the time, I had been living in an orphanage, and when I saw my parents driving luxury cars, I thought my future would
be smooth sailing-at least I wouldn’t have to pick up trash to pay for school fees. The orphanage was poor; not every
child there got the chance to go to school.
But I didn’t receive any compensation from my parents, only indifference. All I wanted was the chance of college tuition.
They told me that the real “fake” daughter’s parents had passed away, so they wouldn’t send her away. Yet, their daily
treatment of me felt worlds apart.
I was nothing like their second daughter. I felt more like the maid’s child.
Then came the accident. It wasn’t until they started pushing for this business marriage that I learned that the handsome
young man who’d always been by Lily’s side had been in a serious car accident. They said his leg would never fully heal,
that he’d limp for the rest of his life.
And Lily, crying, swore she would never marry a cripple.
So, the duty fell to me.
I could have refused, but when I thought of that once-sunlit, handsome face that I hadn’t seen in over a year, I
unexpectedly agreed.
I was twenty that year, about to start my sophomore year of college. My parents arranged for me to take a leave of
absence, and at an unexpectedly young age, I got married.
When I first met him, he threw a huge tantrum, smashing a vase at my feet and shouting for Lily to come.
But Lily, of course, had already gone abroad to study, using the Platinum card my parents had given her.
The Westbrook family’s business relied on Hawthorne Industries, and Lily didn’t want to marry a cripple, but needed
someone to stabilize the relationship between the two families, so I was offered up in her place.
That was the first time that I saw my mother-Lady Westbrook-show me a rare kindness. She cried as she spoke about
the hardships at home, about how pitiful Lily was, and how my father’s hair had already started to turn gray.
I remained unmoved. “Why say all this? I didn’t agree to marry because of you. It’s because of Hawthorne.”
When I was a freshman, Hawthorne was a senior. He was famous at school as the “handsome campus king,” receiving
countless confessions and offers from all kinds of heiresses, but at that time, he was always with Lily.
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Because of that, Lily became the center of attention, proudly claiming her unique place in Hawthorne’s heart, a place no
one else could shake.
I admired people who were good-looking, but what truly captivated me was his dedication to academics.
His obsession with mathematics led to numerous published SCI papers, and I had read every single one. His papers even helped me solve several problems I had been stuck on.
I was won over by his talent. The transition from admiration to affection didn’t take long.
On our wedding day, Hawthorne didn’t smile once. I, on the other hand, was so nervous that I kept wiping the sweat from my hands.
Even when Hawthorne took my hand, I almost tripped.
The people around us chuckled, and I felt like an unworthy mess. I faintly overheard people mentioning Lily, and
Hawthorne’s face grew even darker.
I thought to myself, “He must love Lily. Otherwise, why would he resent me so much?”
In that moment, I regretted it-both my marriage and my unspoken feelings.
That night, Hawthorne treated me like a way to release his frustrations, but his leg was still injured. I was in so much pain that I pushed him down, not allowing him to move, and instead took control, slowly entering him. Before long, both our
breaths were heavy, his face flushed red. I too lost myself in my own movements.
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