Nurses, doctors, pilots, entrepreneurs—they're all human. Men and women alike, they carry the same biases, the same passions, the same blind spots.
To this particular female nurse, Emily Harper was nothing short of angelic. A woman like that—flawless skin, perfect features, the kind of beauty that turned heads in any room—should be cherished, worshipped, protected. The idea of her kneeling in the rain, begging forgiveness from any man? Outrageous. Unacceptable.
This nurse wasn't just sympathetic; she was a committed feminist. She ran a popular X account with tens of thousands of followers, regularly posting threads defending women's dignity and calling out men who took advantage of beauty or vulnerability.
Last year, when world-renowned pianist Langston Hale married a woman more than a decade his junior—young, stunning, highly educated, with a figure that made even women jealous—the nurse had gone viral tearing him apart. "A middle-aged greasy man like Langston Hale doesn't deserve her," she'd posted. "Genius or not, success doesn't entitle you to a goddess."
In her eyes, even a globally celebrated artist was unworthy if he wasn't perfect. Her disdain for men ran deep.
So when Jeff Sterling gave his quiet instruction—"Don't tell her I carried her in"—the nurse saw her chance.
She lied without hesitation.
"When we arrived," she told the room, voice steady and righteous, "Ms. Harper was already inside—on the second or third floor, in one of the bedrooms."
The Harpers exchanged delighted glances. At least Jeff wasn't completely heartless.
The nurse pressed on. "When we lifted her, her body had been partially dried. Her arms, thighs, calves—no rainwater at all. Only her hair and clothes were soaked."
Emily's cheeks flushed. She imagined Jeff gently toweling her off while she was unconscious. The thought sent a thrill through her.
The nurse wasn't done. "Her clothes were… disheveled. Buttons undone here and there. I suspect the man in the villa might have taken advantage of her while she was out."
"What?!" Susan Harper gasped, eyes lighting up.
Emily's heart raced. "Jeff still loves me," she whispered, almost giddy. "I knew it!"
The nurse frowned, genuinely confused. "Ms. Harper, you're beautiful—like a fairy. You could have any man in the world. Why kneel to one? It's degrading to women everywhere."
She shook her head. "That guy? He's nothing special. Just rich. Probably not even six feet tall. A second-rate nobody riding his money."
"Ms. Harper, if you're looking for someone worthy, I can introduce you—tall, handsome, successful. Real men."
Sophia Grant's eyes narrowed. She reached into her bag, pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill, and pressed it into the nurse's hand. "Thanks for your help. You can go now. This doesn't concern you anymore."
The nurse blinked, pocketed the cash, and left the ward without another word.
The moment the door closed, Emily turned to her mother, practically vibrating with joy. "Mom! Did you hear? Jeff might have kissed me while I was unconscious!"
Susan clapped her hands. "I heard, I heard! My daughter's too beautiful. He's still a man—he couldn't resist."
Emily looked to Sophia, eyes shining. "Does this mean he's forgiven me?"
Sophia smiled warmly. "I told you—he's just playing tough. Deep down, he's already softened. As a man, and especially as a CEO, he has to protect his image. Keep pushing, Emily. He'll cave. You'll be back together soon."
Emily nodded fiercely. "Mm!"
Brandon Harper and Jessica Harper were there too, of course—not out of concern for Emily's health, but to gauge Jeff's attitude toward her.
Jessica stared at Emily, mind racing. *He took advantage of her while she was passed out? My figure's better. If I fainted at his place one day… would he do the same to me?*
Her thoughts spiraled into fantasy.
Brandon stepped forward, smug. "Emily, you should thank me. If I hadn't kept tabs on you, made sure you didn't move in with Ryan before the wedding, that playboy would've ruined you. No matter how pretty you are, after he'd had his way for months, think Jeff would still want you?"
Emily actually felt a wave of gratitude. The hotel-room lie could be explained away, but during those months after the courthouse marriage but before the ceremony—Brandon had impersonated Old Madam Harper on nightly calls, supervising, threatening. Without that, she'd have given in to Ryan long ago.
And if she had? Jeff would have despised her forever.
"Thank you, Brother Brandon," she said sincerely.
With that, she yanked the IV needle from her arm. "I fainted from heartbreak. I don't need this anymore. I want to go home and tell Grandma the good news!"
Old Madam Harper had warned: fail to win Jeff back, and she'd be disowned from the family.
But tonight's "progress"? She couldn't wait to report it.
Half an hour later—Sterling Heights Villa.
"Really? The nurse said all that?" Old Madam Harper listened, then broke into a relieved smile. "Thank the heavens for giving my granddaughter such a perfect face! Haha—as long as Jeff still has feelings, there's hope. You can win him back!"
Sophia nodded. "The issue now is that Jeff has to act ruthless on the surface. If Emily shows up again too soon, he might not even let her through the gate."
Old Madam Harper agreed. "He's stubborn. We need to create opportunities for her to see him—naturally."
Susan leaned forward eagerly. "How?"
Old Madam Harper thought for a moment, then looked down at the poodle curled in her lap—Flowers, the fluffy white toy she doted on like a grandchild.
Without warning, she lifted Flowers and dropped her to the floor. Then she stomped hard on the dog's front paw.
"Awoo! Awoo! Awoo-oo-oo!"
Flowers yelped in pain, scrambling away.
"Grandma?!" Emily gasped. Her grandmother never raised a hand to that dog.
Old Madam Harper's eyes gleamed with calculation. "Brandon—tomorrow, call Jeff. Tell him his beloved poodle, Flowers, is injured. Badly."
She smiled thinly. "That should get him over here."