Evening, outside an elite boarding school.

Amelia’s modest Volkswagen looked strikingly out of place amidst the parade of Rolls-Royces, Maybachs, and Bentleys. She parked the car, stepped out, and stood waiting. To pass the time, she pulled out her phone, scrolling through recent divorce cases in New York City. Suddenly, a cloying wave of perfume invaded her senses.

“Well, well, well, isn’t this the soon-to-be ex-Mrs. Weatherfield?”

Amelia turned, her gaze meeting Vianna’s sharp, mocking face.

Unfazed, Amelia responded to the unwelcome visitor, “Vianna. Still playing Chad’s mistress, are you? I thought three months would’ve been enough for you to know your place.”

Vianna’s smile faltered for a split second, but she quickly recovered. “No need to be so bitter, darling.”

“Chad and I,” she continued, her voice dripping with affectation, “we are way past that stage. In fact, we’re practically engaged.”

She raised her left hand, flaunting a diamond ring no less than five carats, her eyes gleaming with provocation. “So, as the future Mrs. Weatherfield and Luna’s stepmother, I’ve come to take her home.”

Amelia’s lips curled into a cold smile. “You can have that useless man. I don’t care. But if you think you can touch my daughter, I swear you’ll regret ever stepping into this world.”

“Save the acting, Amelia,” Vianna said, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper, each word cutting like a blade. “Do you really think you can win? Chad hired the best legal team in New York. In court, they’ll crush you.”

She stepped closer, her overpowering perfume making the air almost suffocating. “Chad says that if you sign over custody, he’ll give you a decent settlement. Five million dollars. Enough to maintain your… modest lifestyle.”

“I will never give up my daughter.” Amelia’s response was swift and resolute.

“Furthermore,” she added, her tone icy, “if you want to be with Chad legally, I suggest you convince him to relinquish custody. Then, I’ll cooperate with the divorce.”

“Oh, you’re insufferable,” Vianna groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically. She reached into her Hermès Birkin bag and pulled out a gilded invitation.

“Take a look at this,” she said, waving it smugly. “An invitation to the mayor’s charity dinner party. Only people from the upper class get invited. Chad even bought me a diamond necklace for the occasion.”

She fingered the necklace around her neck, her expression triumphant. “And you? You’ll probably be at home with a cheap bottle of supermarket wine, crying over our photos in the news.”

Amelia’s smile deepened, faint but cutting. “How amusing. I don’t recall any other women needing a man to validate their worth.”

Vianna’s smug expression darkened.

“But we both know,” she shot back, her voice dripping with contempt, “without Chad, you’re nothing. Just a jobless housewife living off her husband’s charity. What do you even have to be proud of?”

At that moment, a cheerful, childlike voice broke the tension. “Mommy!”

Luna Weatherfield, a seven-year-old girl with chestnut curls mirroring her mother’s, came skipping over, her school bag emblazoned with the academy’s crest. She paused when she saw Vianna, her steps slowing hesitantly.

Vianna instantly plastered on a saccharine smile. “Luna, sweetheart! I’m here to pick you up! Your daddy said tonight we’re going to—”

Before she could finish, Amelia stepped forward, shielding her daughter. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

Vianna’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “We’ll see about that.”

She pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. “Chad? Yes, it’s me. She’s being uncooperative… Yes, right here at school… Of course I tried… Fine, you talk to her.”

Within seconds, Amelia’s phone rang. The name “Chad Weatherfield” flashed on the screen.

Taking a deep breath, she answered.

“Name your price,” came Chad’s cold, emotionless voice, skipping any pleasantries.

Amelia glanced at her daughter’s puzzled face, her tone calm yet unyielding. “She’s not for sale.”

“Ten million,” Chad countered, his voice devoid of warmth. “Cash. Sign the papers today and you’ll never have to work again. It’s enough for you to buy a small house in the countryside and live out your days in peace.”

For a moment, silence hung between them. Amelia could hear the sound of her own heartbeat—steady, defiant.

“Go to hell,” she said softly, then ended the call.

Turning to Vianna, her gaze like ice, she said, “Tell Chad this: if he wants a war, I’ll give him one. But he won’t win.”

Kneeling down, she adjusted her daughter’s collar. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go home.”

Luna clung to her mother’s hand, casting a nervous glance at Vianna before following Amelia to the car. Behind them, the sharp clatter of Vianna’s high heels echoed, angry and defeated.

The car glided smoothly down the road. Luna sat in her car seat, fiddling anxiously with her bag strap.

“Mommy?” she asked in a small voice. “Will Daddy take me away? I don’t want to leave you.”

Through the rearview mirror, Amelia saw her daughter’s worried face. Her chest tightened, an invisible hand squeezing her heart.

“Sweetheart,” she said gently, reaching back to hold Luna’s tiny hand, “I want you to remember one thing—”

Her voice was steady, her grip firm. “No one can separate us. I promise.”

In the rearview mirror, Amelia caught her own reflection: eyes filled with resolve, her daughter’s anxious gaze looking back at her.