The next morning dawned with unseasonably brilliant sunshine.
At precisely nine o'clock, a black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the entrance of the Winters mansion. The driver stepped out and respectfully opened the rear door.
Ryan Donovan emerged from the car.
He wore a dark grey three-piece suit today, the collar of his white shirt impeccably crisp, no tie—a look both casual and refined. Sunlight etched the sharp line of his jaw. Standing by the car, he glanced up at the mansion, his expression inscrutable.
The door opened.
Catherine was the first out—not a dash, but an "elegantly hurried" exit. She wore the cream-colored suit from the day before, her hair meticulously styled, makeup flawless, a small alligator handbag in her grip. Seeing Ryan, a radiant smile instantly lit her face.
"Mr. Donovan!" Her voice was honey-sweet. "It's so terribly kind of you to come fetch us personally."
Ryan nodded in acknowledgment.
"Miss Winters."
His tone was flat, polite, yet distant.
Catherine's smile faltered for a split second but quickly recovered. She walked to the car, expecting Ryan to open the door for her—but he didn't. He simply remained where he was, watching the doorway.
The next moment, Amelia appeared.
The navy blue suit, her hair simply pulled into a low ponytail, face nearly devoid of makeup save for a touch of lip balm. She carried several books and notebooks, her stride steady, her gaze calm.
Seeing Ryan, she gave a slight nod.
"Mr. Donovan."
"Miss Amelia." Ryan returned the greeting, his tone identical to before, betraying no distinction.
But he walked over and naturally took the books from her hands.
"Let's go."
Catherine's expression shifted.
She pressed her lips together but said nothing, merely opening the rear door herself and sliding in—taking the window seat, leaving the middle vacant.
But Ryan didn't get in. He opened the front passenger door, placed the books on the seat, then turned to Amelia. "You take the back. More room."
Then he settled into the front passenger seat himself.
Catherine's face fell completely.
Vivian glanced at her, said nothing, and entered the back seat. The car was spacious, the leather seats carrying a faint, clean scent. She placed the books beside her and fastened her seatbelt.
The car pulled away smoothly.
Throughout the drive, Catherine desperately attempted conversation.
"Mr. Donovan, what is Professor Howard like? Is he very strict?"
"Fairly."
"I heard he once worked for the Supreme Court. Is that true?"
"Yes."
"Was your father close with him?"
"Acquainted."
Every question was met with a reply of no more than three words from Ryan. Polite, but cold as a business transaction.
Catherine grew increasingly frantic, her smile more and more strained.
Vivian kept her eyes on the passing scenery, not joining in. But she could feel Ryan's gaze flicker to her several times in the rearview mirror. Brief, restrained glances, but she caught them.
Twenty minutes later, the car stopped before an old apartment building on the Upper East Side.
The building was not tall, only five stories, its exterior dark red brick veiled in ivy. A small brass plaque by the entrance bore the name "Arthur Howard."
Ryan got out and opened the car doors.
This time, he opened both sides simultaneously, his movements fluid, as if calculated.
"Professor is on the fourth floor," he said, leading the way inside.
The staircase was old-fashioned, covered in deep red carpet that muffled their steps. Black-and-white photographs lined the walls—a young Howard in judicial robes standing in a courtroom; him with various dignitaries; a few graduation photos with students.
The fourth floor had only one door.
Ryan rang the bell.
The door opened promptly.
A white-haired old man stood there, not tall, slightly stooped, but with extraordinarily bright eyes that seemed to see through everything. He wore an old wool sweater and held an unlit pipe, habitually clamped between his teeth.
"Ryan." He nodded, his voice raspy but strong. "Come in."
Then his gaze fell on the two girls, appraising them from head to toe.
"These are the Winters girls?"
"Yes, Professor." Ryan stepped aside to let them enter. "Catherine Winters. Amelia Winters."
Professor Howard narrowed his eyes, studying Catherine for several seconds, then Amelia for even longer.
"Sit." He gestured to the sofa in the living room. "Ryan said your father wants you to study law?"
This was directed at Amelia.
"It was my own wish to study, Professor," Vivian replied softly.
"Oh?" Howard raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because…" Vivian paused. "I believe the law is the skeleton of society. To understand the law is to truly understand the rules by which this world operates."
Howard stared at her for a long moment, turning the pipe in his hand.
"Interesting," he said finally, taking a seat opposite them. "But studying law is hard, tedious. The books you'll have to read could bury you alive. Are you certain?"
"Certain." Vivian nodded, her gaze steady.
"Good." Howard turned to Catherine. "And you? Why study law?"
Catherine had her answer ready.
"I think… law can make one wiser, stronger. And, it's always good to learn more."
She spoke fluently, but Howard merely gave a noncommittal "Hmm" and asked no further.
"Classes are Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, nine to noon, here." He laid out the rules. "No tardiness, no leaving early, no phones in class. I'll provide a reading list. Finish by next class. Any questions?"
"None," Vivian said.
Catherine shook her head as well, but impatience was already creeping into her expression.
"Then we begin today." Howard stood, pulling two brick-thick volumes from a shelf. "*Introduction to the American Legal System*, Chapter One. Read on your own first. Mark what you don't understand. Questions in half an hour."
He handed the books to them.
Catherine took hers, flipped through a few pages, and her eyes glazed over—dense text filled with one unfamiliar legal term after another, enough to make her head spin.
Vivian, however, had already opened her book, taken out a pen and notebook, and begun reading intently.
The three-hour class felt like three years to Catherine.
Professor Howard lectured rapidly, his thoughts leaping ahead, frequently tossing out cases for analysis. Catherine couldn't keep up, could only stare blankly. Amelia not only followed but offered her own insights—though inexperienced, her thinking was clear, her logic rigorous.
"Not bad," Howard said, a rare nod after hearing her analysis. "Some issues with the details, but the direction is correct."
Catherine sat beside her, gnawing on the end of her pen, seething with envy and frustration.
At the end of the class, Professor Howard handed them the reading list for the next week—a full twenty books, none of them thin.
"See you next Wednesday," he said, then turned and retreated to his study without so much as a goodbye.
Typical scholar.
Leaving the apartment building, Catherine's face was as dark as thunder.
Ryan's car waited outside. Once inside, Catherine finally couldn't hold back her complaints.
"Those books are impossible! And that professor talks so fast, who can possibly follow?"
Ryan glanced at her in the rearview mirror but said nothing.
Vivian gazed quietly out the window, her notebook still in hand, filled with dense, meticulous notes.
"Sister," Catherine turned to her, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "You seemed to follow along quite well. Do you really intend to become a lawyer?"
"I simply wish to learn," Vivian replied evenly.
"Hmph." Catherine turned away, ignoring her.
The car returned to the Winters mansion. As they got out, Ryan said to both, "Don't forget the schedule for next class."
"Thank you, Mr. Donovan," Catherine immediately put on a sweet smile.
Vivian also nodded. "We appreciate it."
Ryan's gaze lingered for a moment on the notebook in her hand.
"Study well," he said, then got into the car and drove away.
Catherine watched the receding taillights, stamping her foot in anger.
"What an attitude! So icy!"
She stormed back into the mansion, straight to her mother's room.
"Mother! That class is impossible!"
The moment she entered, Catherine launched into her lament, throwing the book onto the sofa. "That old professor talks a mile a minute, the reading list is terrifying, and he clearly favors Amelia! He kept praising her! I just sat there like an idiot!"
Margaret set down her tea and gestured for the maids to leave.
"Calm down," she said, pulling her daughter to sit. "It's only the first class. Why the hurry?"
"But Mr. Donovan will find out!" Catherine's tears began to fall. "The professor will tell him I know nothing! He'll think I'm a complete fool!"
Margaret sighed, taking out a handkerchief to wipe her daughter's tears.
"Catherine, I told you, your purpose there is not to learn law," she said, lowering her voice. "It's to become acquainted with Professor Howard, to meet more people through him. As for Ryan Donovan…"
She paused, her eyes growing deep.
"That man is not one to be swayed by ordinary means. Your task is not to show him how clever you are—truly clever women don't wear their intelligence on their sleeves."
"Then what should I do?" Catherine sobbed.
"Observe," Margaret said. "Observe what kind of student Professor Howard favors. Observe what Amelia is doing. Observe what interests Ryan Donovan. Then… cater to those interests."
She patted her daughter's hand.
"Don't rush to stand out. Sometimes, staying quietly on the sidelines allows you to see more."
Catherine nodded, only half understanding.
But the fire of jealousy in her heart burned hotter than ever.
Why?
Why did that bastard girl Amelia win the professor's approval? Why did Mr. Donovan treat her differently? Why did everyone think she was clever, diligent, promising?
She bit her lip, her expression gradually darkening.
Just wait.
This is only the beginning.
**Third Floor, East Wing Room**
Vivian sat at her desk, organizing today's notes.
Anna knocked softly and entered, carrying a cup of warm milk.
"Miss, you must be tired. Drink some milk."
"Thank you." Vivian took the cup. The warmth slid down her throat, dispelling the fatigue of the day.
"Miss Catherine went straight to the mistress's room as soon as she returned," Anna whispered. "She seemed to be crying quite hard."
Vivian said nothing, continuing to arrange her notes.
"Miss," Lillian also came in, her face worried. "I heard… Miss Catherine is very angry. You must be careful."
"I know." Vivian looked up and gave them a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I know how to handle it."
She looked out the window.
Night deepened, stars piercing the dark one by one.
The notebook in her hand felt heavy, yet her heart was lighter than ever before.
Today, she had taken her first step.
A real step.
Not as the Winters family's bastard daughter, not as the stepmother's oppressed victim, but as a person with a goal, a direction, striving to move forward…
She opened her notebook and wrote today's date on the first page.
Then, beneath it, she added a small line in neat, firm script:
_"Father, wait for me."_
Like a vow.