Chapter 3

The night I signed the papers, it was very dark, but the living room light remained on.

As I went upstairs, I looked back from the landing and saw my mother still sitting there.

Her eyes were red and swollen, like she'd been crying for hours, and she clutched the pencil case I used as a child.

On it were the stickers I’d used to spell out my name: Eleanor Vance.

She looked as though she wanted to say something, then closed her mouth, lowering her head, as if in a daze, or perhaps trying to convince herself of something.

I didn't say a word, turning and going back to my room.

The door closed, and silence instantly enveloped me.

But my heartbeat roared in my ears.

I lay on my bed, eyes closed, counting to five hundred. The moon outside remained still, and she hadn't slept either.

I heard rustling from her room, the soft clink of pill bottles, the sound of a glass hitting the floor, and a whisper so faint I could barely make it out:

"She's changed…"

She, of course, had no idea that what changed in me was an entire lifetime of regret and tears.

At 2 AM, I crept downstairs.

She was still on the sofa, propped against a cushion, eyes wide open, like a doll whose batteries had run out.

I walked over and gently draped a thin blanket over her.

She seemed startled, lifting her head slightly.

"You're still awake?" Her voice was a raw whisper, barely audible.

"Writing applications," I paused, telling a small lie.

She nodded.

I looked at her, and she looked back at me, as if searching my face for a hint of softening, a flicker of hesitation.

But there was none.

The hope in her eyes slowly extinguished, like the final drizzle of a fading summer.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked, her voice strained.

"No," I said.

She gave a bitter laugh. "Your father didn't just suddenly offer you two hundred million. He doesn't want to send you abroad; he wants to send you away."

"I know."

She looked up at me, her eyes frighteningly bright. "Then why did you sign it?"

I didn't answer.

Because I couldn't explain it to her—explain that I'd already lived through how she lost, explain that if I didn't leave now, it would be too late for everything.

She clutched a copy of the agreement, and tears splattered onto the paper, pinning me to the spot.

"It's not that I didn't try," she murmured. "I truly fought with all my might, but he never intended to let me win."

In that moment, I truly wanted to hug her, to tell her that this time, I would protect her.

But I didn't move.

I just watched her slowly curl back onto the sofa, wiping away tears and biting her lip, living like a child thrown out of their home.

My chest tightened.

But I couldn't afford to be soft.

I knew, in my past life, it was a hug on this very night that pulled me back into an emotional quicksand.

I let her emotions guide me, and the result was her eventually jumping from the building, while I had to work odd jobs to save up for a flight ticket home just to attend her funeral.

This time, I couldn't give in.

I turned and went back to my room.

At 4:30 AM, she finally fell asleep.

But I wasn't sleepy at all.

I opened my email and began preparing my documents for going abroad: transfer applications, visa materials, transfer plans before account freezing, and the Plan B list my mother never knew about:

* List of executives for Vance Group's subsidiary companies;

* Records of property transfers;

* Contract loopholes;

* Offshore asset management trust windows;

* And – the future heir training program list, first entry: Dominic Hayes, 3, slated for a prestigious New York prep school.

I gently bit the end of my pen, circling "Dominic" three times.

Dominic. How utterly pathetic. To think that years from now, the renowned Vance Group, publicly boasting only one child, cherished by its father, would secretly be grooming *him*. It made me want to vomit.

In my past life, I watched him join the group, sign contracts, lead projects, and be praised by the media as a young prodigy, all while the public ignored the fact that he was illegitimate.

This life, he'd have to deal with me first.

At 7 AM, my mom woke up, her eyes puffy, her face a sallow yellow.

I finished getting ready to leave, but she stood by the door, blocking me.

"Eleanor," she called, her voice trembling slightly, "It's not too late to change your mind."

I stopped and turned back.

"Not this time," I said. "I'm going out to win, and then I'll bring you back."

She looked at me for a long time without speaking.

Finally, she nodded, not a single tear falling from her eyes. She simply said, "Then don't lose."

I smiled.

"Don't worry, I won't."

I closed the door. The moment I stepped out of the Vance family home, the sun was bright, the sky was blue, and the wind was a little cold.