On a Monday morning at the Fairfield & Rubinger headquarters, Elise’s office.

Amelia and Elise were seated on the office sofa, poring over documents in preparation for the upcoming court session.

Elise took a sip of coffee and remarked, “I know the judge presiding over your case very well. If Chad gets engaged to Vianna so soon after filing the divorce, the judge will definitely see it as immoral and deem him unfit to have custody of Luna.”

“Vianna isn’t that stupid,” Amelia replied with a frown. “She’s doing this today just to disgust me.”

Elise nodded, her tone indignant. “Exactly. That gold-digging tramp has already wiped everything from the internet. All those so-called ‘platonic’ dinners she had with Chad before your divorce?” Elise sneered. “It’s like they never existed.”

Amelia’s expression turned serious. “It seems that gold digging bitch isn’t as simple as she appears. She’s prepared for the worst-case scenario. No wonder Chad fell for her.”

At that moment, Amelia’s phone rang unexpectedly. To her surprise, it was Chad. Since the divorce, Chad had never initiated contact with her.

Amelia answered the call.

Chad’s icy voice came through. “We need to talk.”

“Where?” Amelia put the call on speaker.

She had considered refusing outright if it was about Luna’s custody, but then thought she might be able to extract some useful information for the upcoming court session.

“Palms Club. Noon.”

Amelia’s tone was calm. “Interesting. The last time you took me there, it was to propose.”

Chad was silent for three seconds. “Twelve sharp.”

The call ended, and Amelia put her phone down.

Elise whistled. “Well then, time for some psychological warfare, huh?”

Amelia grabbed her coat. “Don’t worry. I just need to give him enough rope to hang himself.”

…

At the Palms Club in the Plaza Hotel, Amelia followed a waiter to Chad’s table. He sat with a poised elegance that stirred unwelcome memories for Amelia.

As she took her seat, she smirked coldly. “If it weren’t for Luna, I’d regret ever meeting you here.”

Chad’s expression flickered, but he maintained his superior demeanor. “Enough small talk. Name your price. What will it take for you to give up custody of Luna?”

Amelia suddenly laughed. “Oh, are you still waiting for news of my death? Oh, wait—where’s your girlfriend? Too busy picking out wedding dresses to play sidekick?”

“She and I won’t progress any further until I secure custody of Luna.” Chad’s tone was cold.

Sensing his guardedness, Amelia leaned forward, her smile sharp with mockery. “Tell me, Chad—when the next, more ‘premium’ Vianna comes along, will you leave her too?”

“That’s enough,” he snapped, his voice harsh. “I’m done wasting my patience on you. This marriage is over, and the divorce is happening.”

Chad’s irritation was evident as he straightened his posture and looked down at Amelia. “My lawyer says my work commitments won’t cost me custody. On the other hand, you have no skills and no income to support yourself.”

“And what about your affair with Vianna?” Amelia’s voice was icy.

Chad responded as though it were common sense. “With just how unkempt you looked back then, how could I take you out in public? At events, you just stood there like a statue. What else could you do?”

Amelia’s eyes burned with fury. She had always found those social gatherings shallow and insincere, filled with nothing but gossip and competition. She had refused to sink into that mire and wear a mask for their approval.

She retorted coldly, “Those fake social events—what do they have besides gossip and shallow comparisons?”

After a brief pause, her eyes sharpened. “Forcing me to join your charade? Sorry, but none of you are worth it.”

Chad laughed. “See? This is exactly why you’ll never fit into my world.”

Amelia stood, grabbing her bag. Before leaving, she delivered her parting shot.

“This is who I am, and I’m not interested in fitting into your world.”

With that, she turned and walked away.

“Wait!” Chad called after her. “Today is my mother’s birthday!”

Amelia didn’t even glance back. “So?”

Chad’s tone grew commanding. “They don’t know about the divorce yet. You need to attend tonight’s dinner party. Name your price.”

“Tell your money-obsessed relatives I’m not interested.”

Amelia stopped for a moment but didn’t turn around. She then strode out, pushing the door open with force.

Watching her leave, Chad shook his head in disdain. “Looks like I really misjudged her that night. As if she could ever know the mayor.”

Outside the Plaza Hotel, Amelia’s phone rang again. It was an unfamiliar number.

Amelia answered. “Who is this?”

“Miss Ainsworth, I’m Mara Claire from the New York Women’s Rights Association. The mayor recommended you to me. After learning about your situation, I’d like to sincerely invite you to the New York Women’s Rights Charity Dinner in three days, where we hope you’ll deliver a speech. The women of New York need your help.”

Amelia thought of Chad’s earlier disdain and the challenges she would face after divorce were she really just nothing but a full-time housewife. She nodded firmly. “I’ll be there.”

…

That evening, at the Weatherfield Estate.

The main hall echoed with the sound of guests singing “Happy Birthday.”

In the center of the grand room, Chad’s mother blew out her candles, surrounded by fervent applause.

“Amelia, help us cut the cake now,” she said habitually, only to realize there was no response. Looking around, she asked Chad, “Where’s Amelia? Why isn’t she here?”

Chad replied calmly, “She asked me to apologize on her behalf. Something urgent came up.”

He gave the butler a subtle nod. “She sent a gift for you.”

Accepting the gift, Mrs. Weatherfield sneered. “Urgent? What kind of urgent matters can a housewife have?”

She turned to Chad and complained, “What were you thinking, marrying a woman like her? All she does is spend your money and then embarrass us.”

Chad’s father, Joseph Weatherfield, interrupted coldly. “Enough. Let’s eat.”

The complaints ceased as the family sat down at the long dining table. The conversation turned to high-society gossip and business opportunities. Chad glanced at the empty seat beside him, thinking she didn’t realize what she was giving up. Even a single tidbit from this table could elevate a middle-class family to the upper echelons.

After dinner, Joseph summoned Chad to his study.

Underneath the Weatherfield ancestors’ portrait, Joseph lit a cigar and asked, “How confident are you about the city’s redevelopment project?”

Chad stood before the desk. “The mayor hasn’t scheduled a meeting yet. But as far as I know, he hasn’t approached our competitors either. That suggests he’s still observing.”

Joseph threw the cigar at Chad, standing abruptly. “What a fool! How can you be certain he’s just observing? What if he’s already made a deal?”

“And if he hasn’t spoken with competitors, what if he’s leveraging this project as a bargaining chip for his future ambitions in Washington, striking deals with top-tier financiers?”

“Have a bigger picture. How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t just look at New York!”

Chad picked up the cigar and placed it in the ashtray. “The mayor will be giving a speech at the New York Women’s Rights Charity Dinner in three days. I’ve already secured an invitation and will try to speak with him.”

“You don’t have much time. Too many people are eyeing this project. I don’t care what it takes—get it done.”

Joseph turned his back, staring at the ancestral portrait. Without looking at Chad, he added, “If you secure this deal, the Weatherfield family will be a powerhouse in New York. Governors, mayors, even presidential candidates will have to respect us.”

“If you fail, there won’t be a second chance. I’ll consider your brother instead.”

Chad’s expression grew tense. “Yes, Father. I promise I’ll get it done.”