Chapter 2

My name is Chloe Miller. I used to be the youngest top fashion designer in the country.

In five years, I had won countless awards and founded my own brand, Zephyr.

But today, my reputation was ruined.

At Zephyr's Autumn Couture Show, the big screen wasn't playing my designs. Instead, it showed the "original sketches" of my half-sister, Serena Miller.

The two designs were identical.

The only difference was that Serena's sketches were dated a full three months earlier than mine.

"Chloe Miller, have you no shame? Plagiarizing your own sister's work!"

"Boycott the copycat! Get out of the design world!"

The media and audience below the stage surged forward. Flashes went off like daggers, ready to tear me to pieces.

I stared at the two people standing center stage.

One was Serena Miller, currently nestled in a man's arms, sobbing.

That man was Ethan Hayes, CEO of Hayes Corporation.

He was also my fiancé of five years, whom I was supposed to marry next month.

"Ethan, please don't blame Chloe. She probably just wanted to win too badly..." Serena tugged at Ethan's sleeve, her voice soft.

Ethan pulled her closer, then looked at me with disgust.

"Chloe Miller, I never thought you would be this kind of person." Ethan's voice was cold. "Serena treated you like family, and you stole her life's work. From today on, our engagement is off. Hayes Corporation will withdraw its investment from Zephyr and sue you."

The entire hall gasped.

I stood on stage, my body going numb.

Three months ago, Ethan said he wanted to give me a surprise and took all my rough drafts and initial designs.

It turned out his surprise was to put Serena's name on my work and then publicly push me into hell.

"Ethan Hayes, you will pay for this." I gritted my teeth, my eyes red, but I didn't cry.

"Pay for this?" Ethan sneered. "You should worry about yourself."

The moment he finished speaking, a crazed fan suddenly rushed onto the stage, holding a water bottle, and lunged at me.

"Die, plagiarist!"

A sharp chemical smell filled the air.

It was acid.

I couldn't dodge. My mind went blank. I closed my eyes in despair.

But the pain never came.

A hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me into an embrace that smelled faintly of tobacco.

Then came a loud bang.

The attacker was kicked away, crashing against the backdrop.

The acid splashed onto the floor, instantly corroding a large, blackened hole.

The entire hall fell silent.

Still shaking, I looked up.

I saw an extremely arrogant, impossibly handsome face.

Jaxson King.

My bodyguard and personal assistant.

His main activities: sleeping and playing video games.

He slept until noon every day, woke up to play games, ate the meals I cooked, and went back to sleep.

When I asked why he didn't get a real job, he would always lean lazily on the couch and say, "Work? Start a business? My sister supports me."

I paid him three thousand dollars a month, and he often complained I wasn't generous enough.

But at this moment, he held my waist with one hand and ran the other through his messy black hair.

He looked down, his deep eyes slightly narrowed, a cold ferocity in them.

"Touch her? Who do you think you are?"