The drive back to the penthouse was unusually quiet. The black luxury sedan glided through the city streets, its tinted windows reflecting the blur of passing lights. Inside, Layton Knight sat in the back seat, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable.
Normally, he used travel time to review reports or prepare for meetings, his mind always occupied with numbers, contracts, and strategies.
Today, however, the tablet resting beside him remained untouched. His thoughts refused to cooperate. They kept circling back to one person—Mindy.
The phone call from earlier replayed in his mind like a broken record. Every word, every tone, every pause echoed with unsettling clarity.
The more he thought about it, the more irritated he became. Something about her voice had been wrong. Very wrong.
Layton had known Mindy Hawthorne almost his entire life.
Their families had been connected for generations, their paths intertwined since childhood.
He knew her habits, her moods, her reactions. He knew how she behaved when she was angry, when she was sad, when she wanted his attention.
But the woman on the phone today had sounded like a stranger.
Cold. Detached. Uninterested.
The realization left an uncomfortable weight in his chest. Yesterday, when he had handed her the divorce papers, he had expected tears. He had expected pleading, perhaps even one of her emotional outbursts.
That was how Mindy always reacted when she felt cornered—emotional, impulsive, desperate to fix things.
Instead, she had looked at him with eyes that were completely empty. There had been no love there, no hope, no desperation. Nothing.
For years, whenever Mindy looked at him, there had always been something in her gaze. Hope. Affection. Devotion.
Even when they argued, even when she cried, that quiet devotion never disappeared. It was constant, unwavering, almost suffocating at times.
But yesterday, it was gone. As if someone had erased it overnight. Layton frowned, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. He couldn’t understand it, and Layton Knight hated things he couldn’t understand.
The article made even less sense. Mindy would never do something that damaged his reputation.
She loved him far too much—or at least she used to. Even when they disagreed, she had always protected him.
Even when she was upset, she never embarrassed him publicly. Then why release such a scandal? Why involve the media? Why create unnecessary trouble? The questions piled up in his mind, each one more frustrating than the last.
None of the answers satisfied him. For the first time in a very long time, he felt as though he had completely lost control of a situation, and he disliked that feeling immensely.
He leaned back in his seat, his jaw tightening as he tried to make sense of it all. He never actually intended to divorce her—not really.
The papers had been a warning, a way to make her stop creating problems whenever Missy was involved.
He just wanted her to stop arguing, to stop accusing, to stop acting jealous. Missy was kind, gentle, patient. She always treated Mindy like family. At least, that was what Layton believed.
The first year of his marriage to Mindy had been peaceful. There was no passionate love, no grand romance, but there was stability.
She had been quiet, accommodating, and easy to live with.
Then Missy returned from overseas, and everything changed. Arguments became frequent. The air in the penthouse grew heavy with tension.
Mindy complained constantly whenever Missy appeared, accusing her of things that made no sense.
At the time, Layton had assumed it was jealousy. Mindy had always been emotional, easily swayed by insecurity.
He thought she would calm down eventually, that this was just another tantrum. She always came back to him in the end.
But this time felt different.
He remembered her voice on the phone, sharp and unyielding.
"Get lost."
The words echoed in his mind, colder than anything she had ever said to him. His expression darkened. No, nothing about today felt normal.
The car entered the underground parking area of Knight Penthouse, the tires humming softly against the polished concrete.
Layton stepped out, his movements precise and controlled, though his irritation simmered beneath the surface.
Mike followed several steps behind, quiet and professional as always. Years of working for Layton had taught him survival instincts, and one of those instincts was recognizing dangerous moods. Today was definitely one of those days.
The elevator ride was silent.
When the doors opened, the familiar scent of polished wood and expensive cologne greeted them. The penthouse was immaculate, as always, but something about it felt off. The air was too still, too quiet.
Usually, when Layton returned home, someone would be waiting. Most of the time, it was Mindy. No matter how late he arrived, no matter how exhausted she was, she would greet him at the door, take his coat, and ask if he had eaten. It was a routine so ingrained that he barely noticed it anymore.
Today, the entrance hall was empty.
A servant approached quickly, bowing slightly. "Welcome home, President Knight."
Layton removed his coat, his eyes sweeping across the room instinctively. There was no sign of her. The realization annoyed him more than it should have.
"Where is Miss Mindy?" he asked, his tone clipped.
The servant hesitated, glancing nervously toward Mike before answering.
"Miss Mindy hasn’t returned since morning, sir."
Layton’s brows furrowed. morning? That didn’t make sense.
She should have come back by now. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, the sound of another vehicle echoed from outside.
Mike turned toward the entrance, relief flickering across his face.
Perhaps Mindy had returned. Perhaps this entire situation would finally end. But when the doors opened, his relief vanished instantly.
It wasn’t Mindy.
It was Sonia Mori.
Layton’s mother swept into the penthouse like a storm, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Her expression was thunderous, her voice cutting through the silence the moment she spoke. "Where is Mindy?"
The servants immediately lowered their heads, none daring to answer. Sonia’s fury was legendary, and today it was on full display.
She marched forward, her designer handbag swinging at her side, her eyes blazing with indignation. The newspaper article had completely ruined her morning.
As someone obsessed with social reputation, she could barely tolerate such public embarrassment.
Years ago, Sonia had genuinely liked Mindy. Back then, Mindy had been cheerful, polite, and adored by everyone.
She had been the perfect daughter-in-law—gracious, attentive, and eager to please. But over time, things changed. Missy Hawthorne’s influence had been subtle but effective.
She painted herself as the victim, the misunderstood sister, while Mindy became the jealous aggressor. Slowly, Sonia began to believe it. Now, she disliked Mindy almost as much as Emily Hawthorne did.
"Where is she?" Sonia demanded again, her voice rising.
Layton finally looked up from where he stood near the window.
"She’s not here," he said simply.
Sonia frowned, then crossed the room and sat down opposite him, her movements sharp and deliberate. "Good," she said coldly.
"Tell me you’re finally divorcing her."
The room fell silent. Mike lowered his head further, suddenly fascinated by the floor.
Sonia continued, her voice dripping with disdain. "I’ve tolerated her long enough. If you want a divorce, I’ll support it. Honestly, you should have married Missy from the beginning. At least she understands how to behave."
She slammed the folded newspaper onto the table, the headline glaring up at them. "And now this article. The entire city is discussing your marriage. Do you have any idea how much this damages your reputation? Missy’s reputation too!"
To everyone’s surprise, Layton’s expression didn’t darken further. Instead, it cooled into something unreadable. "We’re not divorcing," he said quietly.
The words stunned the room. Even Mike blinked in disbelief. Sonia stared at her son, her mouth slightly open. "What?"
Layton leaned back in his chair, his tone calm, almost dismissive. "She’s angry. Once she calms down, things will return to normal."
The confidence in his voice was startling.
He spoke as though he genuinely believed Mindy would come back, apologize, and pretend none of this had happened.
Mike stared at him, a strange expression crossing his face. Hadn’t Miss Mindy already signed the papers? And judging from that phone call earlier, she had sounded very serious.
But Mike valued his salary, and his survival instincts told him to stay silent.
The uneasy peace lasted less than twenty minutes.
Another group arrived, their presence announced by the sound of multiple footsteps and raised voices. The Hawthorne family had come in full force—Raymond, Drake, Jagger, Emily, and finally, Missy. They entered the penthouse looking collectively frustrated.
The article was still spreading like wildfire, and despite their efforts, not a single media company had agreed to remove it.
Andrew Bose clearly had no intention of helping them. Everyone knew how much he adored his daughter, and if Ana Bose wanted a story published, no one in Greendale would dare stop her.
The moment Sonia saw Missy, her expression softened.
Missy sat carefully on the couch, her ankle still wrapped in a neat bandage. Her complexion was pale, her demeanor fragile, the perfect picture of innocence and suffering.
Sonia immediately crossed the room and took her hand. "Oh, you poor child," she said, her voice full of sympathy. "You must have suffered so much."
Missy lowered her eyes modestly. "It’s alright, Aunt Sonia," she murmured. The performance was flawless.
Sonia’s heart melted instantly. "I won’t let Mindy get away with this," she declared.
For a brief moment, Missy’s eyes flashed with satisfaction, but it disappeared so quickly that only Mike noticed. He looked away, pretending to study the ceiling.
The room gradually filled with tension. Everyone had come for the same reason—to find Mindy, to force her to remove the article, to make her apologize, to restore Missy’s reputation, and to fix a problem none of them truly understood. Layton finally turned toward Mike.
"Call her again," he ordered.
Mike obeyed immediately, dialing Mindy’s number. The call rang once, twice, three times. No answer. He tried again. Still nothing. Layton frowned and pulled out his own phone, trying himself. The result was the same. Silence.
Raymond, who had been pacing near the window, suddenly stopped. "Did she block both of you too?" he asked.
A strange silence followed. Layton’s expression darkened, and Mike hesitated before nodding slightly. Sonia looked stunned. The realization settled over the room like a heavy fog.
It wasn’t just that Mindy wasn’t answering. It was that she had never done this before. Not once. For years, she had been the obedient daughter, the accommodating wife, the woman who always came running whenever they called.
No matter how harshly they spoke to her, no matter how unfairly they treated her, she always answered. She always tried to make things right.
But now, she had cut them off completely.
For the first time, none of them knew what she would do next.
The silence stretched on, thick and uneasy. Sonia sat stiffly on the couch, her fingers tightening around Missy’s hand.
Raymond’s jaw clenched as he exchanged a glance with Emily, who looked equally unsettled. Drake and Jagger stood near the doorway, their expressions uncertain. Even Missy, for all her composure, seemed momentarily thrown off by the realization that Mindy was no longer playing her part.
Layton stared at his phone, his thoughts a tangled mess of irritation and disbelief. He couldn’t accept that she had blocked him. It didn’t make sense.
Mindy had always been predictable, manageable. She cried, she apologized, she forgave. That was the pattern. That was who she was.
Except now, she wasn’t.
He set the phone down slowly, his expression unreadable. Around him, the others waited, convinced that sooner or later, Mindy would walk through the door.
They told themselves she was just being emotional, that she would come back once she realized how unreasonable she was being.
None of them realized the truth.
The woman they were waiting for no longer existed.
The obedient wife, the desperate daughter, the quiet victim—they were gone.
And the woman who would eventually return to face them would not be the same one they thought they knew.