On the empty road, Cynthia pulled the hood of her coat over her head, walking with her head down and carrying her belongings along the roadside. Unlike the other three, she didn't have a chauffeur to pick her up, nor did she have a car of her own.
Of course, she rarely returned home either. Now in her second year of college, she spent most of her time on campus. Mr. Lancaster had made it a rule that all four daughters had to come home every weekend for a family dinner, but she always found some excuse to avoid it. Coming back once a month was already pretty good for her.
There was a bus stop not far ahead. Since this was a villa area, only one bus route reached this place, and it only ran a few times a day. So, she quickened her pace, hoping to catch the next bus.
She was walking with her head down when a loud, arrogant honk suddenly blared behind her. Without turning around, she knew it had to be Doreen Lancaster. Sure enough, there was Doreen, sitting in her fiery red sports car, smirking mockingly at her.
"Cynthia, I won't let your scheme succeed. As long as the wedding hasn't happened, I still have a chance. I'm the only one who can marry him!" Doreen shouted.
Cynthia stood there, smiling coldly.
"Is that so? Then go ahead, bring it on!"
Was it really her scheme? She didn't even know who the man was, how could she have schemed anything?
But if what Doreen said was true, and that man had indeed chosen her, Cynthia believed he wouldn't give her up so easily. From their brief interaction earlier, she could tell he definitely had... ulterior motives.
Marrying someone without love—what else could it be but ulterior motives? Yet, choosing Doreen would have made sense. Doreen had the looks and the figure. Why, then, had he chosen her?
Seeing Cynthia's indifferent expression, Doreen let out a disdainful snort. Her flashy sports car roared off, leaving a trail of exhaust behind. Cynthia gazed at the spot where the car disappeared, a mocking smile curling her lips. "Doreen, you've been taking things from me since we were kids. Let's see if you can take this one."
She had only walked a few steps when another honk sounded behind her. Turning around, she saw Maureen Lancaster's warm smile.
"Cynthia, heading back to school? We can give you a ride."
Cynthia returned a gentle smile. "No need, Maureen, I'll just take the bus. You go ahead and take care of your business."
In this family, Maureen was the only one who still treated her with some kindness. William S. Lancaster wasn't bad to her either, but under the pressure of Grace Lancaster and Doreen, he didn't dare get too close to her.
She was their half-sister, born to a different mother. Grace Lancaster resented her because of Vincent, while Doreen hated her for her mother's affair with William S. Lancaster, which had driven their biological mother into depression and eventually to her death.
Maureen Lancaster didn't insist, only reminding Cynthia to be careful on her way before driving off. Cynthia continued walking alone, completely unaware of the silver-gray car parked up ahead.
It wasn't until a sharp honk startled her that she snapped back to attention. The man who had just said he wanted to marry her at home was now smiling at her, saying:
"Miss Lancaster, where are you headed? Let me give you a ride."
Albert Wilson had just left the Lancaster residence when, in his rearview mirror, he saw a figure running out. He instinctively slowed down.
Cynthia had no good impression of him after his arrogant behavior at the house, and she was about to refuse. But when she caught sight of the car pulling out behind her, she hesitated for only a second before ducking into Albert Wilson's car.
Albert, being sharp-eyed, also noticed the car behind them. His thin lips pressed together into a stern, sharp line, exuding an icy aura.
In the car that had left the Lancaster residence, Grace Lancaster was driving, coldly mocking Vincent, who sat in the passenger seat.
"What's the matter? Are you jealous? Or feeling sorry for her?"
Vincent sat there with a cold expression, remaining silent, letting her speak to herself. His mind replayed the pained look in Cynthia's eyes when she glanced at him in the living room, and the slap Doreen had delivered to her face. He turned his head to look out the window, burying the heart-wrenching pain deep within.
But it was this indifference that drove Grace Lancaster crazy. She abruptly slammed on the brakes, bringing the speeding car to a screeching halt by the side of the road. Turning to face his emotionless expression, her eyes burned with stubborn defiance.
"I'm telling you, Vincent. No matter how much you two loved each other in the past, she'll never have you in this lifetime. You're destined to be mine!"
"Unbelievable!"
He only replied coldly with those two words. She gritted her teeth, stomped on the gas, and the car sped forward once again.
She had long grown used to his coldness. She had secretly loved him for so many years, and they'd been married for over two years now. The number of words he had spoken to her was limited, and the times he had really looked at her were few, outside of the necessary social occasions where they had to pretend.
Albert Wilson's car, from afar, appeared to be a low-key silver-gray. But on closer inspection, one would notice the unique license plate and custom design. This luxury vehicle was one of a kind, specially tailored by Rolls-Royce for the four leaders of BlackRock.
Each car was a perfect reflection of their personalities, making them iconic symbols of these men in the world.
Inside the car, Cynthia had been silently leaning against the door, gazing absentmindedly out the window since she got in. She didn't say a word, not because she didn't want to, but because there was nothing to say.
She was wearing a white hoodie, the hood pulled over her head, and even after getting into the car, she didn't take it off. She just sat there, hands in her pockets, hood on, completely ignoring him.
Psychologically speaking, people who isolate themselves from the outside world often do so because they have a heightened sense of self-protection. They tend to lack trust in others, fearing that their vulnerabilities might be exposed. To put it simply, they disguise themselves because they are afraid of getting hurt.
Albert Wilson, as he drove, tilted his head slightly to glance at her. In fact, he had been observing her earlier when she was walking on the road. Although she wasn't as tall as Doreen Lancaster, her figure was perfectly proportioned — the kind of balanced beauty that only years of dancing could cultivate.
Now, in her white hoodie and jeans, her well-proportioned body stood out even more. However, she seemed lost in her thoughts, not once turning to give him a proper glance. Albert Wilson had never been so... ignored by a woman before.
"Don't you have anything to say to your fiancé?" he asked casually, expertly turning the steering wheel.
Cynthia's heart trembled, and her fingers in her pockets clenched into fists. Even he was talking like that now — it seemed her marriage to him was truly settled. Ha, impulsiveness really is a devil, Cynthia. You've done something incredibly foolish, so foolish that you've wagered your entire life on it.
It turned out she still couldn't face the man who had hurt her with indifference. That's why she stubbornly and recklessly wanted to see him suffer, no matter what it cost.
Things had escalated to the point where she knew there was no turning back. She could say it was just a joke, but this man would never let it go. Even though he hadn't said or done much, she could feel his icy, undeniable authority.
She lowered her eyes, quietly suppressing the sadness in her heart. Without even looking at him, she half-heartedly went along with his expectation and asked,
"May I ask, what is my fiancé's surname?"
He glanced at her and suddenly burst into laughter.
"You don't know who I am?"
While he might not be as famous as those celebrities in the entertainment industry, he was at least a regular in the financial press.
She continued staring blankly out of the window, answering his question with silence. Growing impatient, he decided to introduce himself.
"My surname is Wilson, Albert Wilson."
After he said this, he suddenly felt a pang of frustration. He had planned on waiting for her to ask on her own, but he hadn't expected to lose his composure first. For a woman to make the shrewd and composed Vice President Wilson lose his cool — she seemed to be the first.
Upon hearing him say his name, she finally had a slight reaction. She turned her head indifferently, glanced at him, and uttered a few words,
"Nice to meet you, Cynthia."
However, it was this brief glance that allowed him to notice the swelling on her right cheek.
"What happened to your face?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. He turned the steering wheel sharply, pulling the silver-gray car over to the side of the road. He leaned slightly toward her, reaching out with his large hand to cup her face and examine her injury.
She hadn't expected him to suddenly get so close or to make such an intimate gesture. She instinctively recoiled, but he wouldn't let her retreat so easily. His strong hand tightened, keeping her in place.
Outside the car, a vehicle slowly passed by. Sitting in the passenger seat on the right side, Vincent turned his head to look over and saw the scene unfolding inside the car. The window of that car hadn't been rolled up, and from his angle, he could clearly see Albert Wilson leaning in toward her, the scene resembling two people in the middle of a passionate kiss.