Fireworks Fade, Lovers Depart

“Sign the agreement, and a five-million deposit will be wired to you immediately. The remaining fifteen million will follow in ten days—just before you enter the operating room.”

A crack of thunder split the silence outside.

After hanging up, Carolyn’s fingers drifted absently over the edges of the medical report. The words “cancer metastasis” had long since blurred into watery smudges.

One week earlier, while her mother Sarah was tearing her hair out over the company’s cash-flow crisis, Carolyn had been sitting in a sterile consultation room, listening to the doctor deliver her death sentence.

“Terminal brain cancer. We recommend immediate hospitalization.”

The sharp scent of disinfectant stung her eyes. Her phone lit up with a message from Peter: *Returning tonight.*

Fingers trembling, she deleted the half-typed words *I’m sick* and replaced them with a cute, pink cat sticker begging for attention.

Back then, she’d still been naive enough to believe that if she just curled up obediently in his arms—like she always did—she might somehow coax the money she needed to survive out of him.

Now, Carolyn simply patted her cheeks and began to pack.

She had ten days. She wouldn’t leave in a rushed, forgetful mess.

Better not to give anyone the impression she was still clinging to his coattails.

“Miss Carolyn, Mr Peter has requested your presence at the dinner tonight.” The secretary’s knock echoed through the door.

Hurriedly, Carolyn stuffed the medical report into a hidden compartment of her suitcase. She layered foundation over her puffy, red-rimmed eyes and painted on a bold red lipstick—forcing a look of vitality.

In the banquet hall, crystal chandeliers glittered, dizzying in their brilliance. The moment Carolyn pushed open the private room door, she froze.

There was Amanda, draped in a silver mermaid gown, leaning lightly against Peter’s side. His elegantly defined hand rested on the small of her back.

“I hear Mr Peter spent a fortune abroad to win that necklace for Miss Amanda at auction?” Business partner Mr Jacob swirled his wine glass, raising an eyebrow in Peter’s direction.

Amanda tightened her grip on Peter’s arm, lowering her head with a shy smile. “Don’t tease me, Mr Jacob. Peter just has a soft heart. He can’t stand to hear me go on about things…”

“A soft heart?” Mr Aaron shot a meaningful glance at the diamond necklace resting against Amanda’s throat. “If you ask me, our Mr Peter isn’t just soft-hearted. He’d probably charter a private jet to fetch her diamonds straight from the mines!”

Carolyn’s gaze dropped to the simple, unadorned silver chain around her own neck. A bitter smile touched her lips as she turned to leave.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr Peter’s little pet?” A balding man stepped into her path. “Heard your old man ran off with a billion and left the family company in shambles. Why not come with me? Old Jacob here has talents that go beyond the boardroom. I specialize in… taking care of women with deep needs.”

Amid the raucous laughter, another voice chimed in, “Anyone trained by Mr Peter must be a real firecracker. Why doesn’t Miss Carolyn show us how to handle a ‘Deep Sea Bomb’?”

A glass was shoved into her hands. Three layers of different-colored spirits shimmered with a dangerous gleam.

Across the room, Peter was bending to offer Amanda a small pastry, his expression detached but not impatient.

He hadn’t even noticed she was here.

“I’ll drink it.” Carolyn grabbed the glass and threw her head back, swallowing the contents in one go. A line of fire burned from her throat straight to her gut.

Wasn’t this exactly why Peter had summoned her?

To play her part.

Some people clapped and cheered. More glasses were pushed toward her.

By the fifth shot of tequila, Carolyn was staggering, bracing herself against the liquor cabinet. Through the ringing in her ears, she caught fragments of conversation.

“…in ten days… Mr Jacob has a taste for that sort… Can’t believe Mr Peter is actually willing to part with her.”

“Once you’ve kept something long enough, you have to extract the remaining value…”

“And she’s a top student, too. Mr Peter is truly generous…”

So *that* was why she’d been given ten days. Carolyn looked down at her own slender, well-proportioned figure.

To Peter, she wasn’t just a plaything. She was merchandise.

As a financial titan, once he grew bored, he naturally had to extract her remaining value. Couldn’t let the investment go to waste.

“Not feeling well? You look pale.”

Carolyn jolted back to the present. Peter had appeared beside her. Seeing her dazed expression, he frowned.

“If you’re unwell, don’t drink. Even if it’s something you usually like.”

His tone was stern.

Carolyn almost laughed.

How difficult it must be for him—having to bother soothing a trinket he was about to discard.

All these years, accompanying Peter to various events, she’d always tried to shield him from some of the drinking.

But today… Carolyn glanced at Amanda, who stood nearby, holding a wine glass with elegant detachment, its contents untouched.

The hollow feeling in her chest grew wider, deeper.

She was Peter’s tired-out mistress. A gift about to be regifted.

Last night, he’d made her sign the termination agreement. Today—and probably not just today—he wanted her here to drink on his and Amanda’s behalf.

Efficiency personified. New York’s most ruthless dealmaker, indeed.