The day Nina was discharged, Jordan came to pick her up himself.
He drove a black Maybach with an F Country consulate special plate.
The whole ride was smooth, no stops, no trouble.
Nina sat in the back seat, watching the city blur past outside the window, her thoughts a total mess.
“Jordan, where are we going?”
“Home.” Jordan glanced at her through the rearview mirror, his smile soft and steady.
“I have a place in Uppergate.
It’s nowhere near as over-the-top as a palace, but it’s quiet, secure, and way more livable.
Most importantly, it falls under the consulate’s jurisdiction.
So no matter how capable certain people think they are, they can’t get their hands in here.”
The car drove into an upscale villa district on the outskirts of the city, then finally stopped in front of a three-story European-style villa.
“We’re here, Nina.” Jordan’s voice came from the front, with that faint, almost boyish note of wanting credit.
Nina stepped out and looked up.
The villa was an elegant creamy white, wrapped in green climbing vines.
In front of it stretched a wide lawn, and on both sides stood tall phoenix trees, quiet and stately.
Then, beyond the hedges, a vast wall of blooming roses came into view.
Nina’s breathing hitched instantly.
Seeing her stare blankly at that sea of flowers, Jordan’s voice softened even more.
“What’s wrong?
You don’t like it?
There’s an even bigger garden in the back.
I had people plant a lot of roses and jasmine.
I figured girls usually like that kind of thing…”
He walked over to her side and said gently, “There are two more gardens in the back.
It’s early summer now, so the roses are blooming beautifully.
Wasn’t your adoptive father the perfume king?
I thought…
maybe you could grow the flowers and herbs you like here.
Make perfume, or whatever you want.”
“It’s not that I don’t like it.” Nina shook her head lightly, but a thin mist still rose in her eyes before she could stop it.
She stepped onto the soft lawn, and in that moment, it felt as if time had suddenly pulled her back fourteen years.
Back then, she wasn’t some secretary at the presidential residence, and she definitely wasn’t a lonely orphan clawing her way through life in an orphanage.
She was the youngest daughter of the Harlow family, living in the famous perfume estate of her adoptive father, Edmund Harlow, in Uppergate.
At the very center of that estate had been a massive garden filled with roses, jasmine, lavender, and tuberose, all grown for extracting fragrance oils.
Whenever flower season came around, her adoptive mother would hold her hand and stroll with her down the flower paths, teaching her how to tell each scent apart, from the top notes to the lingering finish.
Ambrose Harlow was always mischievous.
He would sneak freshly picked petals into her collar, then run off laughing like crazy, while their father pretended to be angry and chased after him.
“Nina,” Edmund Harlow would always stand at the far end of the flowers with his arms open, smiling with that warm, patient gentleness of his.
“Come here.
Dad will teach you how to make a new perfume.”
That had been the brightest, warmest chapter of her life.
Later, the Harlow family fell, and that estate was swallowed up by the Ashford family at a dirt-cheap price, then turned into a cold storage and logistics center.
She had snuck back once before.
The sea of flowers she remembered had already been flattened by bulldozers into a hard stretch of concrete, and the only thing left in the air was that sharp, choking paint smell.
After that, she never saw a garden that grand again.
“Jordan,” she said softly, “I want to call this place Fragrance Garden.”
“Fragrance Garden?” Jordan paused for a second, then broke into a smile.
“Nice.
Fragrance Garden it is.
Way better than those tacky names I came up with before, like ‘Emerald Bay’ or ‘Cloudcrest Residence.’ Starting today, this is Fragrance Garden.
My sister’s home.”
He took Nina’s hand and led her inside, talking as they walked.
“First floor’s the living room, dining room, and kitchen.
There are three bedrooms on the second floor, so just pick whichever one you like.
Third floor is my study and gym.
As for the basement…” He cleared his throat.
“Yeah, we’ll save that for later.”
Nina chose the south-facing master bedroom on the second floor.
The window looked straight over the back garden, where large clusters of roses were blooming in full color.
Then Jordan pulled out a black card and pressed it into her hand.
“This is your allowance from me.
Money will be transferred in every month.
If it’s not enough, tell me.
Don’t try to save for no reason.”
Nina looked down at the card, and her nose instantly stung.
“Jordan, I’m not a kid anymore.
I can make my own money…”
“In my eyes, you’ll always be that little girl who clutched a ruby at three years old and grinned like a fool.” Jordan ruffled her hair, his tone warm, doting, and impossible to argue with.
“Be good and take it.
What’s the point of me making money if my sister doesn’t spend it?”
The card barely weighed anything, but the gesture behind it made Nina’s chest tighten.
Her eyes stung.
During those three years at Platinum Palace, Ethan had also given her a card.
The password had been her birthday too.
But later, she found out that whenever her mother-in-law, Vera Blackwell, got hold of it, the balance would be wiped clean.
She had kept that card for three whole years, and it had never once held more than five figures.
In the end, Nina couldn’t hold it in anymore.
She threw herself into Jordan’s arms and cried like a real child, completely breaking down.
Jordan gently patted her back, but his gaze drifted out the window, cold enough to feel like ice sharpened into blades.
Ethan.
The Ashford family.
Every bit of suffering you dumped on my sister, I, Jordan, will remember.
After settling Nina in, Jordan immediately started arranging security.
He had the most advanced surveillance and alarm systems installed around the villa, then brought in two full teams of bodyguards to stand watch in shifts around the clock.
“Don’t worry,” he told her.
“As long as I’m here, nobody gets to touch a single hair on your head.”
Nina nodded and looked at her pale reflection in the mirror, making a vow deep in her heart.
From this day on, she would no longer be Nina, the woman who bent over backward for love.
She was Nina Calloway, the little princess of F Country, the last daughter of the Harlow family.
She would live well.
And every person who owed her would pay it back, one by one.