“Just stay calm—I’ll be right there!”
Charles Knight hung up in a rush.
By now, he’d completely forgotten about questioning Summer’s finances.
His only thought was to get home and contain the disaster.
“Mr.
Barron, my deepest apologies—a family emergency.
I must take my leave immediately.
Rain check?”
With that, Charles turned and practically bolted out the door, all pretense of decorum forgotten.
Margaret had just called, telling him reporters had surrounded their villa, chasing a tip about his tax evasion.
Now, with every major outlet in City Q scrambling for a scoop, the Knight residence was under siege, journalists shouting questions nonstop.
Charles’s heart hammered.
This was supposed to be airtight—no one should have known.
So who talked?
Someone on the inside?
Summer watched Charles’s hurried retreat, her gaze cold and sharp—icy enough to make anyone shiver.
Because he’d always thought she was a fool, Charles had never bothered hiding anything from her.
Now, reborn and clear-minded, Summer remembered everything.
She knew all his secrets.
And this was only the beginning.
The tax leak was just the opening act.
Charles Knight, you’d better brace yourself.
“What’s wrong?
Missing him already?”
A warm breath brushed her ear, making it flush red.
Her heart skipped.
She looked up and met Alexander Barron’s dark, calm eyes—a teasing smile hiding just beneath the surface.
He had this strange pull—she couldn’t look away.
Pouting, her lips pursed and eyes glistening with unshed tears, she answered in a soft, sugary voice:
“Of course not.
There’s only one person I miss—my big brother.”
Quick to pledge her loyalty, Summer then did something that left everyone—even Alexander—stunned.
She slowly stood, then settled herself directly onto his lap.
Soft and snug, she curled into his arms and looked up, her voice sweet and just a little whiny:
“Big brother, are you mad at me?
You didn’t sleep with me last night…”
The nearby maids took the hint and quietly slipped away, leaving the couple to their moment.
He lifted two long fingers and poked her puffed-out cheek, fighting back a smile.
“Yeah.
I’m mad.
So—how are you going to make it up to me?”
Knowing he was teasing, Summer pouted even more.
After a long pause, she nervously twisted her fingers, blushing deeply.
“Um… how about a kiss?”
“Not enough.”
He kept his stern face, brow furrowed—at least until the very end, when his tone softened despite himself.
“Then… what do you want me to do?”
Summer gazed at him with wide, misty eyes, lips pushed out, her voice baby-soft and trembling—utterly charming.
Alexander finally broke.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as his smoldering eyes locked on hers.
He leaned in close, his warm breath brushing her ear, his lips nearly touching her skin as he whispered:
What he said next made Summer flush instantly—red as a ripe apple, ready to be picked.
He said he wanted to devour her.
Right then.
He couldn’t wait any longer.
As soon as Charles Knight arrived home, he walked straight into a media circus outside his estate.
Reporters swarmed the gate, cameras raised, microphones aimed at Margaret Blake as they fired relentless questions:
“Mrs.
Knight, is it true Mr.
Knight evaded taxes?”
“Did you know?
Were you involved?”
“Your eldest daughter Summer is engaged to Mr.
Barron—will he step in to clean this up?”
“And your second daughter, Isabella—where is she?
Can she comment?”
Each question cut deeper than the last.
Margaret was barely holding it together, nails digging into her palms as she repeated to herself:Just hang on a little longer.
So far, no scandal had touched Mr.
Barron, so she assumed Isabella’s plan was working.
Once Isabella married into the Barron family, everything would be fine—money, power, status, all hers.
Then Charles’s mess wouldn’t matter.
Let him clean it up himself.
Hiding in the shadows, Charles saw how bad it was.
He tried to slip away unnoticed, but Margaret’s sharp eyes caught him.
“Honey, you’re home!” she called out.
Every head turned.
Reporters spotted Charles and surged toward him, questions flying.
He was instantly surrounded, pressure mounting until he felt ready to burst.
Cursing Margaret inwardly for exposing him, he waved his bodyguards forward to block the crowd and yanked her inside. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Meanwhile, across the street from the chaos, a figure in white observed it all—Grace Hill.
Calm and detached, she turned and got into her car.
Inside, she texted Summer: “It’s done.
We’re even now.” Tossing her phone aside, she drove off.
There were still things she needed to do.
Inside the villa, Charles slammed the door and turned on Margaret, furious.
“What the hell is going on?”
Margaret crossed her arms, snapping back, “How should I know?
This is your mess—you deal with it.”
“No one was supposed to know!
Who talked?” he shouted, pacing wildly, fists clenched.
Margaret grew dizzy watching him spin.
“Alright, alright!
It’s not the end of the world.
Just go talk to Mr.
Barron,” she said, a smug note entering her voice.
“Weren’t you just at the island?
Doesn’t he do whatever our Isabella says?”
Charles shot her a look like she’d lost her mind.
“Have you gone senile?
Isabella?
Mr.
Barron’s fiancée is Summer.”
He paused, then added, “But you’re right about one thing.
At the island, he seemed completely taken with Summer.
As her future father-in-law, if I ask him personally, he’ll probably…”
But Margaret suddenly cut him off, her face stiffening.
“Wait—what did you just say?”
She rushed up, grabbing his collar, her voice shaking with rage.
“Wasn’t Isabella on the island?
What do you mean it was Summer?”
She’d handed Summer over to traffickers herself—there was no way she should’ve been on that island, alive and well.
So then… where was Isabella?
A terrifying thought crashed into her.
All the color drained from Margaret’s face in an instant.
She turned deathly pale.
No… it can’t be.