My birthday gala was a surprise thrown by my older brother, Steven. I’d planned to use the occasion to introduce Steven Maxwell to my family. But he claimed he had an important business dinner and declined my invitation. So, I reluctantly dropped the idea. At the gala, a familiar figure suddenly appeared, instantly drawing the gaze of every socialite and reporter in the room. It was Steven. He wore a sharp, tailored suit, radiating an undeniable brilliance. He was a completely different person from the Steven I knew, who wore a worn-out tank top in our rented apartment while telling me stories. Even more surprisingly, he had a woman by his side. Steven leaned in and whispered, explaining that this was Steven Maxwell, a renowned rising star in the city, who had taken over his family’s empire at eighteen and, at twenty-two, married the shipping magnate’s daughter – the very woman now at his side. My brother added that Steven’s life had been nothing but smooth sailing, earning him much envy and admiration. That was when it hit me: Steven Maxwell’s "Maxwell" wasn't just a surname. It was the Maxwell, of the city’s most powerful dynasty. 1 My family had been in politics for generations, originally old friends with the Maxwells. But then the Maxwell patriarch decided to venture into business, shifting from government to commerce. Our families now maintained only a basic, polite facade. Underneath, we even skipped exchanging courtesies during holidays. Simply put, the political elite looked down on merchants for their "new money" stench, while those in business found the politicians hypocritical and pretentious. As for me, I rarely set foot in the city, making few public appearances. My social media scarcely featured any photos of me. The outside world only knew of the Maxwells' well-protected younger daughter, Aurora. They didn’t know I also used my mother’s maiden name, Luna Turner. After graduating college, I spent three years gaining experience in a rural town with my brother, which left me even more out of touch with city affairs. So, when I first met Steven and heard his last name was Maxwell, I didn’t give it much thought. But I never imagined. I wasn’t the only one concealing my identity. Seeing my prolonged silence, my brother frowned, turning his gaze to me. "What are you thinking about?" His voice pulled me back to reality. I was startled, then forced a smile, shaking my head. "I'm fine, just probably didn't get enough rest." My explanation sounded a little thin; my brother clearly didn’t buy it. He looked at me twice more but ultimately said nothing. Steven was no longer in the main ballroom, nor was my father. They had clearly gone to the study upstairs. I unconsciously frowned. "What does he want with Dad?" My brother’s knuckles, wrapped around a champagne flute, tightened slightly, his eyes dimming. "They want an arranged marriage." "The Maxwells have a younger relative, about your age." Suddenly, I froze, my heart churning with emotion. "So Steven is here to broker a deal?" "Yes, he wants to win Dad over." The moment my brother’s words landed, I couldn't help but let out a cynical laugh. A wave of absurdity washed over me. Round and round we went. Steven had lied to me, I had lied to Steven, and now he wanted his family’s junior to marry me? How dare he? What right did he have? Betrayal and resentment surged simultaneously. I clenched my fingers, letting my nails dig into my palm. As blood dripped from my fingertips to the floor. My brother's frown deepened. This time, his voice was firm. "You know Steven Maxwell?" I didn't deny it. Steven and I met in Willow Creek. Three years ago, my painting hit a wall. Coincidentally, my brother was heading to Willow Creek for a training stint, so he brought me along. He was busy every day, always on the go. I explored the entire town, but he couldn’t spare a moment. It was then that I met Steven. That day, I wandered around with my easel, eventually stopping at a small park. Willow Creek was undergoing urban development back then, and officials were often in the vicinity. Steven was among the crowd that day, wearing a hard hat, a white T-shirt, and jeans, looking somewhat out of place among the suited individuals. So much so that I overlooked their respectful attitude towards Steven. He stood among them, speaking animatedly, a faint smile occasionally playing on his lips. The sunlight falling on his shoulders seemed to make him glow. I was so captivated by the sight that by the time I realized it, his profile was already sketched onto my canvas. That was my first encounter with Steven. At the time, I thought it was just a chance meeting and was filled with regret. But I never imagined our second meeting would come so quickly. 2 I rear-ended a car, and the owner was Steven. He got out of the driver's seat, his brow furrowed, and walked towards me. I thought he was coming to chew me out. But the next second, his magnetic, gentle voice filled the air: "Are you hurt?" I was instantly captivated. It was love at first sight with Steven. The moment I saw him, I couldn't move. Later, when he often took me hiking to mountain peaks, he'd ask, "If I didn't have this face, would you still love me?" He’d demand an answer but then wouldn’t care what it was. So much so that even today, I never said: "Steven, my feelings for you started with your looks and were cemented by your character." But it's a good thing I didn’t say it. Otherwise, everything that happened today would have been far too ironic. Later, we exchanged contact information. But neither of us reached out first. Until one night, half a month later, Steven got drunk, and the bar owner called me. I hailed a cab to the bar almost immediately. Terrified I'd arrive too late and Steven would be taken advantage of. After all, it’s dangerous for guys out alone these days, especially handsome ones. I didn't take Steven home; I didn’t dare. My brother detested every man in my life, so my relationship with Steven had to be kept a secret from him. Steven was a good drunk; he didn't cry or make a fuss, but he was too quiet. There were moments I thought he’d fallen asleep, but a quick glance showed he hadn't; his deep eyes were fixed on the TV, unblinking. Until the clock struck midnight. Steven softly murmured, "Happy birthday to me." Then he fell into a deep sleep. In that moment, I felt an indescribable mix of emotions—a deep ache, a heavy suppression. I ended up sitting in the living room all night. When I woke up the next day, I confessed my feelings to Steven. Steven didn't seem surprised then; he smiled and agreed. As we spent more time together, I learned that Steven had seen me the first time I appeared in the park. And our second and third encounters had all been his deliberate planning. At the time, I was so angry I didn't want to talk to him. Steven simply hugged me from behind, then bit my earlobe, muttering, "Baby, I just liked you too much, so I found ways to meet you." "I want you to love me, to like me." "I lied a lot to you, but that day really was my birthday." His voice was laced with a hint of grievance by the end, and eventually, I surrendered. I loved Steven, so I was willing to compromise. We dated for three years, our relationship stable; we almost never argued. Steven indulged me without limits, and even when we occasionally disagreed, we always resolved it in bed. Even a week ago. This man was still sleeping next to me on the wooden bed in our rented apartment, holding me gently from behind. His thin lips brushed softly against my ear, saying: "Luna, you are this world’s gift to me." "I love you so much." But who could have imagined that Steven was married? After a long pause, my brother’s throat bobbed, his gaze fixed on me. "So, all those times you told me you were staying at a friend’s house, you were actually with Steven?" I nodded. "Yes." Hearing this, my brother’s eyes darkened further. He silently lowered his head, finished the wine in his glass, then said hoarsely, "What are you going to do now?" I didn't answer, just gave my brother a reassuring look. Then I turned and walked straight away. Steven wanted me to marry a junior from his family. Fine, I’d grant him his wish. I just hoped he wouldn’t regret it someday. 3 Just then, Steven had settled the marriage alliance intention with Mr. Maxwell, when his peripheral vision caught a familiar figure at the stairwell corner. Before he could get a good look, the person disappeared into the depths of the hallway. He frowned, his right hand instinctively reaching into his pocket for his phone. The top contact on his social media was Luna Turner; not even his nominal wife held that privilege. Luna had sent him a message that afternoon; he hadn’t read it yet. "Even though it's my birthday today, you're allowed to come home late, BUT! You absolutely must bring a gift." After reading it, a faint smile played on Steven’s lips. His expression was clearly visible to Mr. Maxwell, who chuckled. "Everyone says Steven Maxwell is cold and unfeeling, a block of ice. It seems that’s not entirely true." Steven looked up, a little belatedly, but his smile remained. "Just a little laugh, Mr. Maxwell." Mr. Maxwell waved his hand, shaking his head. "Alright, I'm off to join my little princess. I still need to ask for her opinion on this marriage alliance. If she doesn't agree, I'm out of options." Steven nodded, saying nothing more about the alliance, leaving it at that. But he didn't expect Steven Crosby to walk towards him. Steven Crosby was the Maxwell family’s adopted son, and perhaps out of gratitude, he was fiercely protective of his sister, Aurora. He worried about every little thing that might happen to her. From childhood, she had been shielded, everyone calling him a "sister’s boy." The alliance with the Maxwell family. While Mr. Maxwell said he’d consider Aurora’s feelings, Steven Crosby's approval was, in reality, far harder to win. "I hear from Father that you're here to discuss my sister's marriage to your nephew," Steven Crosby went straight to the point. Steven didn't deny it, nodding frankly. "So?" Steven Crosby scoffed. "Just give up already." He lifted his eyes to Steven, a mocking curve playing on his lips. "Aurora won't agree. Even if she says yes, I won't let your Maxwell family cling to her." His words were unapologetic. He didn't care about Steven's power or status, nor did he bother to save face for him. Steven also knew Steven Crosby’s background. Three years in Willow Creek. All to return now and rightfully take over from Mr. Maxwell. But an alliance between the two families would only bring benefits, not drawbacks. He couldn't understand why Steven Crosby was so resistant, even showing hostility towards him. Steven narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the man before him. But before he could figure it out. His assistant hurried over, whispering in his ear: "Mrs. Maxwell is having an argument with someone in the backyard." ... I didn't expect to run into Chloe Turner before I ran into Steven. Chloe recognized me almost instantly. Dressed in a haute couture gown, she directly blocked my path. "You must be Luna Turner, right?" I frowned. "You know me?" "Surprised?" Chloe looked at me with an easy smirk, her hand casually stroking her abdomen. "Steven Maxwell is my husband, in name. As his wife, I should be aware of all his activities, including—" She paused, then softly uttered three words: "His side chick." Instantly, my fists clenched unconsciously. "So you knew about Steven and me all along?" Chloe smirked, nodding. "Yes, I knew all along." "I know exactly what kind of person Steven Maxwell is—possessive, doesn't like anyone interfering in his affairs, so there's no need for me to stir up trouble." "Anyway, he won't shortchange me on what's rightfully mine: love, status, power, position. What belongs to me, he hasn't given to anyone else." "What more could I want?" I opened my mouth, then fell silent for a moment. If Steven had given Chloe the love she deserved, what had he given me? Three years of companionship, what did it mean to Steven? Chloe noticed my daze and continued: "Luna Turner, do you know why Steven suddenly came back to the city?" 4 I hadn't considered that question. Steven was always traveling between two cities, claiming it was for work, and for a man, putting his career first was perfectly understandable. I never demanded that Steven revolve around me. So, when he said he had to attend a business dinner and would miss my birthday, I didn't say anything. But now, Chloe stared at me, her words crystal clear: "Because I'm pregnant." A sudden crash echoed in my mind. My pupils constricted, and I looked up in disbelief, almost instinctively asking, "So what?" "What are you trying to brag about?" "Are you trying to tell me how much Steven loves you?" But on second thought, why would Chloe need to brag? She was Steven’s wife, and it was natural for her to be carrying his child. It was me. What was I? What standing did I have? "Did you know, Steven loves this child very much? The day he received the report, he established a charity foundation in its name, accumulating good karma for it," Chloe boasted. No wonder. I gave a self-deprecating laugh. Willow Creek was still under development back then, so commercialization wasn't severe, and it was by the sea. Lying on the beach at night, you could see many stars. At that time, Steven loved to watch the stars with me and play in the sand with the kids nearby. I thought he liked children, so I tentatively asked, "Steven, do you like kids?" But he looked at me deeply before saying: "No." Now I finally understood. Steven didn't dislike children; it was just that the person who would bear his child shouldn't be me, couldn't be me. I didn’t want to be entangled with Chloe any longer. Everything that happened today had caught me off guard; I needed to calm down. But as I turned to leave, Chloe suddenly grabbed my arm. I instinctively pulled my wrist back with force. She lost her footing, staggered back two steps, her heel slipping on the ground. She fell unsteadily onto the floor. A passing waiter immediately came to help her up. "Ms. Turner, are you alright—" "Get out!" Chloe snarled. She stood up and raised her hand, slapping me across the face. Her movement was too swift; I didn't even have time to dodge. "Slap—" The slap landed squarely on my face. A burning sting instantly flared on my cheek. Steven arrived just in time to see this scene. He almost stepped forward immediately, but his assistant reminded him there were paparazzi nearby. After a moment of consideration, he stopped. I laughed, mocking myself. I had actually just been hoping Steven would come over, would stand up for me like he used to. But I'd forgotten. My Steven was dead. The Steven before me was just Chloe’s husband. I stepped past him, ready to leave. Steven said softly, "Come home, I'll explain everything to you—" Mid-sentence, I calmly interjected, "No need." "Steven, we're over."
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