You Sent Me to Prison. Why Cry After I Divorced You with Our Child

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Olive Lane walked out of the prison gates into a biting wind.

She quickly drew her arm up to shield the bundle against her chest.

Only when the gust died down did she carefully fold back one corner of the swaddling blanket, revealing a baby's soft, pink little face.

A wet, gurgling coo.

The tiny dumpling lay in Olive's arms blowing bubbles, big grape-round eyes blinking up at her mother.

"Easy now, Hazel," Olive soothed, her voice gentle.

The six-month-old didn't fuss or cry. As long as she was in her mother's arms, anywhere felt like a warm harbor.

In the distance, a bus pulled up.

Olive held Hazel tight, dropped two coins into the fare box, found a seat, and sat down.

A limited-edition Bentley eased to a stop at the prison gates just then.

Inside, the man in the back seat sat with his profile cold and his deep-set features half-shadowed, eyes lidded low.

Now he opened them, a pair of frigid eyes settling without a sound on the prison entrance.

The four large characters, "Quincy City Women's Prison," were carved into a stone slab gone gray with age.

Harrison Locke gave it a single sidelong glance, then lifted his wrist and checked the dial of his watch.

"Why isn't she out yet?"

His voice was crisp and remote, like raindrops scattering on blue floor tiles, cool and without warmth.

The driver in the front seat heard him and answered at once.

"Maybe the release paperwork isn't finished. Probably held her up."

He paused, then added, "Don't worry, sir. Today's the day Mrs. Locke completes her sentence and gets out. When she finds out you came in person to pick her up, she'll be overjoyed."

"Is that so?"

Harrison's slightly lowered lids hid the cold light beneath them.

"A year and a half ago, when she conspired with the Sawyers to sell Locke Group's confidential files, I doubt she pictured a day like this. She had a perfectly good life as Mrs. Locke, but no, she had to play corporate spy. She brought this on herself."

"I'd like to see whether she still has the nerve to face me when she comes out."

The chill in the car spread until it was nearly suffocating.

The driver didn't dare make a sound.

After a long moment, he lowered the window a crack for some air.

And happened, by accident, to catch sight of the bus beside them just starting its engine.

"Huh..."

The driver let out a startled noise. "Isn't that... Mrs. Locke..."

In the back seat, the man pinched the ridge of his brow.

He'd stayed up the night before running a transnational meeting, handling business into the small hours, and now he was worn out.

At the driver's words, he didn't open his eyes.

"What? Who did you say?"

"Oh, I was mistaken, sir." The bus had already pulled away, and the driver shook his head, mumbling. "I thought Mrs. Locke had come out..."

Turned out it was just some woman who already had a child.

Mrs. Locke had only been twenty-two when she went in, and her marriage to the master had been so wretched, the two of them constantly out of tune. They'd never even shared a bed...

He really was muddled, mistaking a woman holding a baby for Mrs. Locke.

Harrison opened his eyes now.

The gates of Quincy City Women's Prison were still shut tight.

What flickered past was a slender, lovely profile in the bus window.

Through the half-open window of his own car, he saw a woman bent low, gently coaxing the baby in her arms.

Loose strands of hair fell across half of her small face, so he couldn't make out her features. He saw only the tenderness in her eyes, as though she were gazing at the most precious treasure in the world.

It made Harrison think, all at once, of that night a year and a half ago...

He'd gotten drunk at a function.

And in his head, his grandmother's words had kept echoing, pressing him to consummate the marriage, to give her a great-grandchild.

That woman had taken off his shoes and his coat, wiped his face and hands, fed him water, and finally half-dragged, half-carried him into bed.

The moment she pulled the covers over him, he reached out and seized that slim, pale wrist...

"You've always wanted to bind me to you for life, haven't you? Getting Grandmother to pressure me for a child. Fine. Today I'll give you exactly what you want."

With that, he dragged her into his arms.

She was small, and lying beneath him her cheeks flushed crimson all at once, like the crabapple blossoms in the courtyard. Up close there was a pleasant scent on her, fraying what was left of his crumbling restraint.

As if possessed, he bent down over her.

The buildup went on for a long while, and in his haze he took her, dimly hearing her crying as she said.

"Harrison Locke, I don't want it like this..."

Hm. Playing hard to get, was she?

If she truly didn't want it, why have his grandmother apply the pressure? What a hypocrite.

Anger rose in him despite himself, and the second time he came at her he pinned both her wrists crossed above her head, his kiss almost brutal as it came down.

"Olive Lane, you brought this on yourself."

In the morning, buttoning up his shirt, he spoke without turning his head to the woman sobbing under the covers.

But he'd barely left the courtyard when he ran into the people who'd come to take her.

"Mr. Locke, we've secured evidence. Your employee Olive Lane is suspected of stealing trade secrets, and we're placing her under arrest..."

"If our findings are correct, she's also your wife..."

Harrison narrowed his frigid eyes, his jawline going taut.

"There's no need to spare my reputation. I've already said it. Once you have her, press for the heaviest sentence possible."

They dragged her up out of bed. She was wearing only a thin camisole, and she'd thrown a coat over it in disarray.

In the courtyard, where rain had just fallen, she knelt on the ground and wept as she spoke to him.

"Harrison Locke, you have to believe me. I didn't..."

"If I believed you, what would I need the police for?"

He stood beneath the blue eaves, hands in his trouser pockets.

"I won't agree to any form of settlement. Not even a heavy payout. I want whoever did wrong to pay the price."

They dragged her away.

She looked back every few steps, her reddened, swollen eyes blurred, the faint marks of red still on her neck, tears falling drop by drop onto the rain-soaked stone.

Harrison pressed his dry, thin lips together, and soon chose to look away.

"Bring the car around. I'm going to work."

Behind him the servants stood trembling, having watched the whole thing.

They whispered to one another, none daring to say much.

They had all seen it. As Mrs. Locke was dragged out at last, in the instant the gate shut, the woman who had loved Harrison Locke for ten years finally laughed even as she cried.

To laugh while crying meant her heart had truly died.

...

"Sir, are we still waiting?"

An hour had already passed, and the driver couldn't help asking.

Harrison's thoughts were clouded.

At last he pulled himself out of that distant memory.

His jawline was unusually sharp and tight.

"No. If she wants to walk back herself, she can crawl back on her own."

To think he'd shown such goodwill, even pushing back an important board meeting on purpose.

"Yes, sir."

The driver started the engine and drove off into the distance.

When the car had gone some way, the driver still couldn't help glancing into the rearview mirror.

The gates of the women's prison were still shut tight, and the person who should have come out was nowhere to be seen.

Strange, that.

What on earth was Mrs. Locke playing at?

Knowing full well the master had come in person to fetch her, deliberately dawdling inside instead of coming out.

Wasn't she plainly trying to provoke him?

She'd already done her time. Out here she was an ex-convict either way. Why dig her heels in like this?

Didn't she know that, once released, she had a record on her now? Did she really think she could still be the dazzling, glamorous chief attorney she once was?

The driver shook his head and pressed harder on the gas.

In the back seat, Harrison had already opened his slim tablet and begun handling important emails.

But the ridge of his brow stayed tightly furrowed, as if he were deeply displeased.

In the dead of night, in the courtyard of North Villa, Cedar Hills, crabapple blossoms had fallen all over the blue stone.

Harrison walked out of the study.

He wore a matching set of dark loungewear, and as he moved he saw a light on in the direction of the bedroom.

Despite himself, he quickened his steps.

A gust of wind kicked up, sending crabapple petals scattering across the slate-gray carpet.

When Harrison Locke pushed the door open, those streaks of crimson were the first thing to catch his eye.

The window stood inexplicably wide open, wind flooding the room. The crabapple blossoms were still there. The only thing missing was the person he'd thought would be inside.

Harrison crossed the room and shut the window with a careless flick of his hand.

The wind went still. His heart didn't.

His tall frame slowly came to a halt at the foot of the bed. One hand pressed into the dark gray bedding; the other dug into the space between his brows.

Just one dispensable person. What was he even waiting for.

If she died out there, it was no concern of his. She was the one who refused to come back.

Something faintly fragrant seemed to drift through the air. The cold wind thinned it further, yet Harrison's expression changed all at once.

"Who's been in this room? Get in here!"

At that same moment, at the hidden side door of North Villa, Cedar Hills.

Rosamond Chavez was hurrying a stumbling figure out the door, shielding her as they went.

The figure stumbled because she was cradling a swaddled bundle to her chest.

Hazel was sound asleep. The night air was probably cold, and she'd burrowed her soft pink little face deeper into her mother's arms.

Olive held her daughter gently.

She'd been afraid the baby would cry and draw that wolf right to them, but Hazel seemed to understand her heart, making no fuss at all.

Hitching the sleeping child higher against her, Olive turned to Rosamond.

"Thank you for tonight."

Rosamond was the maid who handled the cleaning at the villa.

Years ago, Olive had done her a kindness, and so tonight, when she came back for her things, Rosamond kept watch.

Over the years the staff had turned over again and again, new faces in, old ones out. Only Rosamond had stayed.

Rosamond had always imagined she'd spend the rest of her working life like this, head down and dutiful, saving up enough for retirement before she handed in her notice and left, a lifetime of looking the other way and letting things slide. She'd never imagined she'd get to do her mistress one last small favor.

"If you hadn't given me food back then, I'd have died a long time ago, alone in a strange city."

Rosamond wiped at her reddened eyes. "Ma'am, you've suffered so much." Then, unable to stop herself, "Ma'am, are you really not coming back?"

At that, Olive's gaze dropped slightly. Her silence was its own answer.

"He already destroyed the first half of my life. I don't want anything to do with him now. And I'll never let him lay eyes on Hazel!"

Rosamond sighed and nodded. "Did you get everything you came for?"

"Yes." Olive tucked away the documents in her bag, her ID, bank cards, and passport, all the essentials, along with the three million dollars she'd earned on her own as a lawyer over three years, money that was hers a year and a half ago.

These things had always been hers. She had every right to take them back. As for anything that belonged to Harrison, she wouldn't touch it, and she hadn't.

"I got it all. It's just..."

Her brow furrowed and wouldn't smooth out.

She'd only just retrieved the documents, with no time to put the rest of the things back where they belonged, when Harrison had come out of the study!

She and Rosamond had had no choice but to slip out through the window!

There was no telling whether, in all that rush, they'd left some slip behind.

She could only hope Harrison wouldn't notice the small details. All she and Hazel wanted now was a quiet, peaceful life. They never wanted to be disturbed again.

And there was this, too: getting these things had come almost too easily. Against her will, a thread of unease rose in Olive's chest...

Rosamond seemed to guess what she was thinking, and her nose nearly stung with tears.

She reached out and pushed Olive through the doorway, urging her on.

"Don't be afraid. Whatever happens, I'll take the blame."

"Back then he sent you to prison with his own hands. A heart that cruel, even an outsider like me couldn't stand to watch."

"Go quickly, ma'am. Take good care of the little miss."

"And take care of yourself."

Olive looked back at her, biting down hard on her lower lip. "Rosamond, I need to ask you..."

How could Rosamond not understand? "Don't you worry. As far as tonight goes, I never saw you at all!" With that, Rosamond resolutely shut the side door and turned the lock.

Through the crack, she waved a hand creased with the lines of a hard life, a flicker of reluctance crossing her face.

Back then, it was Harrison who'd hired the best lawyer and sent the mistress to prison with his own hands!

A man that cold, that heartless, didn't deserve a wife this good or a little miss this sweet.

Olive watched the crabapple petals drifting down a short distance away, and as the cold wind blew, an inexplicable shiver ran through her.

Even Hazel, dozing so sweetly in her arms, pursed her tiny lips as if about to cry.

Olive quickly drew her closer.

She picked up her pace and walked a few hundred yards, avoiding the cameras before turning to climb into the rideshare waiting at the curb. She never looked back again.

In the car, in her arms, Hazel nestled against her mother and slept on. Olive's gaze swept past the villa's front gate through the window and was gone.

Harrison. I only hope I never see you again in this life.

What she didn't know was that, at that very moment, in the bedroom of the villa at Cedar Hills.

The men who'd searched the place had returned, reporting back.

"Sir, we checked the cameras and every corner of the villa. There's no trace of the mistress. But we did find this."

A video clip was handed to Harrison.

"We've already got the person in custody."

"This is her background file."

A short while later, several guards knocked on the door of Rosamond's room, just as she'd returned to the servants' quarters.

"Rosamond, the cameras show you were the only one who went toward the master's bedroom. Ten minutes later, his bedroom was burgled!"

Their faces were ice-cold as two of them wrenched her arms behind her back. "The master is merciful. He's giving you two choices. Either you confess and hand over what was taken, or..."

A sinking feeling hit Rosamond, and the next second the guards suddenly stepped aside.

A figure came walking slowly out from between them, tall and upright, his face deep-set and grimly forbidding.

Harrison pinched at his weary temple and gave the maid before him a once-over.

He couldn't be bothered to tally up what had been taken from the room. He cared about only one thing.

Harrison crouched down slowly, his elegant frame radiating a thin edge of fury as he fixed his gaze on this brazen old servant.

"Tell me. Did she come back? And where did she go?"

Rosamond was stunned.

She froze for a moment, then shook her head firmly the next, her voice trembling. "What thing? What 'she'? I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't seen anyone tonight, and I haven't stolen a single thing from this villa."

"So you won't talk!" One of the guards moved to teach Rosamond a lesson, to make her understand the consequences.

But Harrison waved a hand. "Let her go."

The guard blinked, baffled, but obeyed and released her.

Rosamond thought she'd talked her way through it, and had just begun to breathe again.

Then came that voice, edged with menace and chillingly cold. "Rosamond, the file says you have a daughter, right here in Quincy City. Married five years, finally pregnant after all this time. Your son-in-law is a junior manager at an ordinary company. Worked diligently for six years to climb into that position."

"They say the two of them are happy. They invite you to spend the holidays together. But tell me. If I had him knocked out of that position, left him jobless, made sure no one would ever hire him again. And if he found out it was all because of you, his mother-in-law..."

"Your son-in-law, and your daughter. How do you think they'd feel?"

"Cut off their only source of income, and your daughter, the one who finally managed to get pregnant, might go into early labor out of sheer rage, that eight-month baby coming before its time. And you'd be sitting in prison for stealing a million dollars' worth of property from my villa, unable to even help her through her recovery."

"Your daughter, or keeping this secret. A smart person knows how to choose."

By the time the last words left his mouth, Rosamond had already broken.

Cold sweat poured from her forehead like a waterfall, her whole back soaked through.

She stared in terror at this man who could grind another family to dust as easily as crushing an ant, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

"I, I..."

"Tell me. Where did my wife go? Did you help her leave?"

The man smiled, cold and merciless to the bone.

As if one more second of Rosamond's hesitation, and there would be no second chance.

Facing the richest man in Quincy City, a man of overwhelming power and an unreadable temper, Rosamond's aged hands shook as she made a pleading gesture. She knew she had no choice at all.

She choked out, "I'm begging you, don't touch my daughter. I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything..."

Harrison's footsteps slowly came to a stop.

Ten minutes later.

Rosamond had collapsed to the floor. "I've told you everything. I hope you won't hurt the mistress. She's already so wretched, she..."

"Wretched? Being Mrs. Locke isn't enough for her? Play catch-me-if-you-can with me, and she thinks she can win?"

Harrison gave a cold laugh, then turned and strode away.

The crowd of guards receded like a retreating tide.

Rosamond sat slumped on the floor, her conscience torn apart by guilt.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. This is as far as I could help you. I told them nearly everything, but I kept one thing hidden for you..."

"The single most important thing."

The study.

"Sir, would you like us to bring the mistress back?"

The word "bring" carried an unspoken meaning that needed no explanation.

Harrison's eyes were grim and dark.

He waved a hand.

"No need. If she wants to run, let her run. Freeze every property in her name and all her liquid funds. I'd like to see just how long she can last out there with nothing!"

"Sooner or later she'll come crawling back to beg me."

Harrison pressed down, and the fountain pen snapped between his fingers.

His assistant shivered at the words.

"But Rosamond said the mistress seems to need money badly right now. Really... not even a cent? Then where will she sleep tonight, what will she eat?"

"What, are you pitying her? Sleeping on the street, living on nothing, that's all her own choice!"

"Pitying a convict. Joseph Fox, as my assistant, you've really outdone yourself!"

Joseph shook his head. "I wouldn't dare, sir. It's only, isn't this a bit too cruel?"

"Cruel? When she sold out my interests to Sterling Sawyer back then, did she stop to think he was my mortal enemy? If you ask me, she brought this on herself!"

Harrison flung the broken pen to the floor.

Black ink streamed out, staining the carpet and the wall.

Like the cold tide churning in his eyes.

Joseph lowered his head and couldn't help letting out a sigh.

The truth was, back then, the master had been rather fond of Miss Lane. It was just a pity...

"Miss, we've arrived at South Garden, Cedar Hills."

Across the city, the rideshare pulled to a stop outside an upscale community of luxury high-floor apartments.

It was the dead of night, and the baby in Olive's arms had begun squirming restlessly.

She reached down and felt that Hazel's diaper was already soaked through.

If she didn't change it now, it would seep into the baby's clothes.

In weather this cold, Olive couldn't bear to imagine Hazel catching a chill, falling sick, running a fever.

Before leaving, she'd discovered that the diapers she'd brought out of Quincy City Women's Prison were already gone.

There was still some formula at home, but only enough to last half a week.

Before going into the complex, she stepped into the imported baby supply store next door.

The clerk saw her coming in late at night with a child in her arms and hurried over to greet her.

"It's so cold out thereMiss Lane, why are you carrying the baby yourself to do your shopping? Come in, come in. Tell me what you need and I'll put it together and have it delivered right to your door!"

The young clerk was on the night shift. That afternoon, she'd seen with her own eyes Olive walk into South Garden, Cedar Hills next door.

South Garden, Cedar Hills was high-endluxury-tier high-floor apartments. The people who came and went were either wealthy or well-connected, or at the very least, top performers in some industry.

At the time, Olive had been holding her child, dressed in worn clothes, and the clerk and her coworker had gossiped, guessing she was some Cedar Hills tycoon's mistress, bringing a baby to demand recognition.

Who would have guessed she'd said her name was Lane, and that she was an owner in Building Three.

Building Threethat was the prime tower position in South Garden, Cedar Hills.

She really hadn't expected that a woman dressed in such shabby clothes, alone and forlorn with a baby in her arms, would actually be an owner in Building Three.

Watching the security guard respectfully swipe his card and usher her through the gate, the clerk had suddenly seen the woman in a whole new light, unable to keep from stealing a few more glances.

At the same time, she felt ashamed of the presumptuous assumptions she and her coworker had made earlier.

Though the woman wore a mask, her frame was slender, her little face delicate, and especially those luminous eyes that seemed almost to speaklike the moon, clear and serene.

"These few kinds of diapersgive me three packs of each, in size L."

"And this formulaI want stage one and stage two, two boxes of each."

"These little outfits, I want the all-cotton ones in 6-9 month size, this whole row of them, wrap them all up for me."

Olive selected a few more baby essentials, this and that.

Only then did she turn to look at the clerk, whose mouth had fallen open in astonishment.

"Sorryis that too much?"

Olive thought about how all those things would take several trips just to carry, and she suddenly hesitated.

Would it be too much trouble for them?

In the past, such things wouldn't have crossed her mind. But ever since someone had looked out for her in prison, she'd come to understand how hard life was for people at the bottom.

After all, back then she'd been at the very bottom of the prison hierarchythe one Quincy City's richest man, Mr. Locke, had given special instructions to "take good care of," which meant anyone and everyone could trample on her.

Now, she'd learned not to be a burden to anyone, not to draw too many eyes, because

Olive instinctively touched her own face. Behind the mask that covered it completely, she could faintly feel several scars, deep enough to reach the bone.

Her fingers trembled, and she lowered her gaze, the light gone dim in her eyes.

By then, the clerk had snapped out of it.

A windfall! Her sales quota for the month would be met with this one night shift alone! She could work this shift every single day!

"No, no, it's not too much at all. Whatever else you need, I'll wrap it all up for you."

"That's all for now, thank you."

"All right. How would you like to pay?"

"By bank card, thank you."

Olive dug out the gold-trimmed card from among the many documents in her bag.

As long as she had this card, her Hazel would never have to worry about getting by.

She rubbed her thumb across it before handing it over.

"That comes to nine thousand six hundred forty-five dollars. One moment, please, Miss Lane."

Beep. Beep.

The clerk's face suddenly clouded with confusion.

She tried several more times, and when she looked up, her expression was awkward.

"Um, Miss Lane, do you have another card? This one says it can't be usedinsufficient balance."

"What?"

A sudden unease gripped Olive's chest.

A strange feeling settled over her.

She suddenly remembered how easily she'd found those cards. Could it be

"Please try these instead!"

She hurriedly dug out several other cards.

If she remembered correctly, each of these held a few hundred thousandall bonuses from those few cases that had stunned Quincy City back in the day.

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

"I'm sorry, Miss Lane, none of them work"

The clerk's smile was barely holding on.

Wasn't this the owner from Building Three? How could she be like this?

"Do you have any other cards, Miss Lane?"

Olive shook her head, dazed and hollow. "No. There's nothing else."

"Then these things"

"I'll leave them. Thank you."

Olive forced out a faint, grateful smile, then turned and dragged herself toward the door.

How could this be happening? Her money, all frozen. That was her money, money she'd earned with her own two hands. By what right? By what right did he do this?

"Wait a moment, Miss Lane."

Just as she reached the door, someone called out to her.

"Your baby's cryingshe must be hungry or needs changing. We have trial-size packs here. Why don't you use one for her first?"

The clerk's reminder jolted Olive back to herself. She looked down.

Hazel

She held the baby tighter.

A moment later, she emerged from the store's nursing room.

Hazel had a fresh diaper now, and the clerk pressed a large bag into her hands. "There are trial sizes of all kinds of brands in here, and a few cans of formula we were giving away as promotional gifts. I packed it as full as I could. Take itfor the baby!"

Olive really shouldn't have accepted it, but the clerk had said it was for the baby.

That was right. She could go without eating, without anythingbut what about the child? What about Hazel?

"Thank you"

Olive's nose stung, and her eyes reddened in an instant.

Harrison Locke had driven her to this, and yet a stranger, a clerk, could reach out a hand to help her.

She'd loved the wrong man from the very start.

"Don't mention it. I don't have kids myself yet, but I just can't stand to see a baby cry. I can tell you love her so much. It's cold out therehurry home now."

"Whatever you're going through, Miss Lane, you have to hold on, for the baby's sake."

She guessed the woman must have had a fight with her family.

These rich people, honestlya wife who stays home keeping house, and the moment she displeases them, they freeze her bank cards.

Real bastards! Lowlife dogs of men!

Olive quickened her pace toward the complex.

Just as the young clerk had said, it really was cold, and she couldn't let Hazel freeze.

But with no income now, how were she and Hazel supposed to go on living

"Hold it! Who are you?"

The security guard suddenly called out sternly to her as she walked along, lost in thought.

Olive's brows knit together. "You saw me just this afternoon. I'm the owner of Building Three. Have you forgotten?"

The guard cleared his throat.

"Of course I rememberI'm the one who swiped you in. But we've just received word that your unit has been frozen. Your creditor has applied to freeze your apartment here at South Garden, Cedar Hills. Without their consent, you're not allowed inside."

"What? That's my home. Why can't I go in?"

Olive was stunned.

She'd paid for that apartment in full!

What did it have to do with Harrison Locke?

The guard looked her up and down. "Out of consideration for the fact that you've got a child with you, I won't make this hard on you. Off you go now."

"You! Then what about my things? All my luggage is in there!"

The guard spread his hands. "Documents. Without a court order lifting the freeze, you can't go innot for one minute." He paused. "Otherwise, give your creditor a call. If they agree and clear it with our higher-ups, we can let you in briefly. That would work."

"I don't know what creditor you're talking about" Olive's lips had gone pale as frost.

"You'd best think it over for yourself."

The guard shot her a cold glance, then turned and went back into the snug, warm, sealed-up guard booth.

Olive stood in the biting wind, and a wave of cold ran straight through her.

Legally, Harrison Locke could indeed use the records of her conviction and imprisonment to claim he was the injured party and apply to freeze her property and liquid assets.

In other words, with a single word, he could corner her with nowhere left to turn.

The money was gone. The home was off-limits.

Did he hate her that much?

She'd already gone to prison. Would he still not let her go?

"Harrison Locke, what a cruel, cruel heart you have."

Holding Hazel, Olive had nowhere to go.

The guard didn't want her standing at the gate to shelter from the wind, feeling she sullied the dignity of South Garden, Cedar Hills' luxury image, and drove her off again and again.

Left with no choice, Olive stood on the empty street, holding Hazel, trembling all over.

It wasn't from the cold. It was the surge of hatred.

She closed her eyes, knowing she had to find a way out for herself and Hazel.

Just then, a flyer for a cleaning job drifted to her feet

Olive crouched down and picked it up with hands gone blue with cold.

"Housing provided, two meals a day, $3,000 a month." She had a criminal recordno legitimate company would take her, not even a decent chain store as a waitress. But a cleaner

It seemed to be her best option.

Holding Hazel, Olive cast one last glance at the cold gates of South Garden, Cedar Hills. She hesitated no longer, and quickened her pace away.

In the small hours of the morning.

A luxury car pulled out of the main gate of North Villa, Cedar Hills.

Harrison Locke leaned back in the rear seat, eyes closed, half asleep.

Olive Sweeps the Street with Hazel in Her Arms Harrison Drives Past as if She's a Stranger?

Partway along the route, a passenger got in at Harborview Bay.

"Harrison, look what I brought you. Something good to eat."

The woman had a head of carefully styled light-brown curls and wore an impeccably tailored, well-cut business suit.

On her wrist sat a pre-release designer watch with a pale-gold band, its champagne dial set with diamonds.

There wasn't a single thing about her that wasn't refined and expensive.

Right now she was all smiles, holding out the dainty breakfast in her hands.

In the seat beside her, Harrison Locke's eyes were dark, his profile cut from ice.

When he ignored her, her smile faltered, a flicker of worry slipping through.

"Harrison, are you not in a good mood today?"

Her fingers drooped slightly, clenched tight on her knee.

"I heard you went to pick up Olive yesterday. Is she... still holding it against me, for reporting her back then?"

Harrison's fingers went still.

Several pages had already scrolled by on the tablet, but he hadn't taken in a single word.

The breakfast beside him gave off a faint, tempting aroma.

In his memory, before Olive went to prison, she'd made these same toast rolls for breakfast every single day.

Coming downstairs, he'd always find her there in her apron, bustling about.

He'd already eaten, and still he reached out and picked one up.

But the moment it touched his tongue, the flavor his mind remembered as delicious turned cloying, nauseating.

For some reason they looked exactly the same.

"She brought it all on herself. Joanna Lane, a year and a half ago, the legal brief you put together on that finance case crushed the Sawyers' famous senior attorney. You're a genius in the legal world. With you, Locke gains the strength of a tiger that's grown wings."

"As for her..."

Harrison set it down, picked up a bottle of water, twisted it open, and drank. Only once the taste had been rinsed away did his brow ease slightly, though the hard set of his mouth twisted into something more deeply contemptuous.

"Just an ex-convict. Not worth a second thought."

The costly watch threw back a cold gleam. When he finished, his lips were pressed tight.

"But Olive was my mentor, after all. She's the one who brought me in as an intern lawyer at Locke back then."

Joanna sighed, as though she were genuinely worried about this Olive she spoke of.

"If it weren't for her, why would you have been stuck in an intern lawyer's seat all those years? She envied your talent and your gifts, then turned around and rode the arguments you worked so hard on straight to the top."

"Her heart's that vicious, and you you're just too kind."

Harrison gave Joanna a faint, gentle smile, his eyes holding nothing but scorn and disdain for the woman he'd once known.

Seeing it, Joanna quietly let out a breath.

Then, as if it had only just occurred to her, she murmured with a sigh,

"It's true. Who would have thought Olive could do something like selling out the group's interests? She knew that man from the Sawyer family was your sworn enemy, and still she tried to scheme with him, to corner you so you'd have no choice but to lean on her..."

As she spoke, Joanna looked as if she were still shaken by it, and rested her hand on Harrison's knee.

"Yes. Thank goodness I had you."

Harrison patted the back of her hand, his thoughts drifting off without his meaning them to.

That woman where was she now?

Wasn't the title of Mrs. Locke the one thing she prized above everything?

She really hadn't come back all night. Could she actually be sleeping on the street? Digging food out of trash cans?

Or was she sitting on some big play, biding her time?

At the thought, a thread of cold amusement slipped from the corner of Harrison's mouth.

In the charged, intimate air, Joanna let her cheeks color quietly.

But her eyes carried a trace of contempt.

So what if she's out of prison? She's still nothing but my stepping stone.

An ex-convict with a record no matter how polished, no matter how peerless a lawyer she once was, she's worth less than the mud on the ground!

Olive, your place is mine! Your husband is mine too!

Screech!

A sudden hard brake.

Joanna pitched sideways into Harrison's arms.

He caught her, just averting an accident, his cold eyes boring forward. "What happened?"

The driver wiped a film of cold sweat from his forehead. "There's a street cleaner sweeping the road up ahead. I'm sorry, Mr. Locke, I nearly hit someone."

Harrison looked toward the front.

A woman holding a broom, her head and body bundled tight in a faded scarf and an oversized padded coat, was sweeping standing water and leaves off the road.

She was so small that the broom looked bigger than she was.

Clumsily but carefully, she swept the dead leaves.

The standing water had soaked the hems of her pants, and she didn't seem to mind the cold.

The screech of the brakes on the road seemed to startle her too. She glanced over, then in the next second, as if she'd seen something terrifying, she quickly ducked her head down.

Harrison's eyes narrowed.

That woman...

Her sweeping turned faster, and she didn't even seem to care that both feet were soaking in the water, as though some vengeful ghost or wild beast were chasing her.

Looking closer, there seemed to be something strapped to her chest...

"Is that a baby? Has this woman lost her mind?"

"Sweeping the road with a baby on her not fit to be a mother, so why have a kid at all!" Joanna had spotted it too, and her scorn flared at once. She crossed her arms and passed judgment.

Harrison's brow furrowed as well.

For some reason he couldn't shake the feeling that the woman's figure was familiar.

The color of that baby's clothes he'd seen it somewhere...

That was it the woman on the bus outside the prison gate, holding a child.

A ripple spread slowly across his brow.

"Mr. Locke, what do we do? Maybe I should get out and help her." The driver sounded sympathetic.

He had a child of his own; he couldn't stand to watch something like this.

Before Harrison said anything, Joanna frowned. "You're Harrison's driver. Doing street-sweeping work wouldn't that be a disgrace to him? Just go around her, isn't that enough?"

"It's... maybe we could wait another two minutes, Mr. Locke. Just two minutes and she'll be done." The driver said it because anyone with eyes could see the road was only so wide. Going around meant all the standing water she hadn't swept yet would splash straight onto the woman!

And that was water from a full night of rain.

Filthy, and in a cold like this...

She'd likely fall ill.

She had a child with her, too.

"If you want to blame someone, blame the rain that came down all night, and her for picking this flooded road to sweep of all places. It's not that we're out to get her it's heaven that can't stand the sight of her!"

Joanna pursed her lips.

Catching the silent look on Harrison's face beside her, her heart gave a jolt, and she quickly feigned reluctance.

"Harrison, it's not that I don't feel for her, it's just..."

Before she finished, the man's thin, cold voice cut in.

"She's just a woman sweeping the street. Drive through."

"I know, you're afraid we'll be late for the meeting." He patted the back of Joanna's hand tenderly, his face mild as he looked at her then he turned away, his voice gone cold. "What, can't you hear what I'm saying?"

The driver flinched, gritted his teeth, and stepped on the gas.

A sheet of standing water sprayed up into the air, only a few drops falling back to the ground.

The woman froze in place as if her whole body had gone stiff with cold, her hands managing only to shield what she held against her chest.

She didn't even seem to have the strength left to pick up the broom that had dropped.

The car roared past.

Joanna glanced in the rearview mirror, smugness written all over her face.

A filthy little street sweeper, daring to block her and Harrison's path. Hmph...

"Waaah, waaah"

The baby seemed frightened, suddenly bawling out across the vast, cold street.

The car had driven far off, and the sound still hadn't stopped.

The driver cried out inside that this was a sin.

In the back, Harrison went on reading his documents, seemingly indifferent.

But the page in his hands hadn't turned for a long while.

"There, there, Hazel, baby"

Olive's eyes were rimmed red as she watched the car disappear, soothing the baby in the carrier strapped to her front without pause. "Don't cry, don't cry"

Passersby watched the scene, and some pulled out their phones to film it, finding it amusing, sharing it online.

"Look at her this sweeper lady, drenched in dirty water. Too funny."

"Six out of six, send up the rockets, folks. Let me give you all a close-up look."

The voices around her reached her ears, but those words couldn't break her.

It was Hazel's frightened crying that sent Olive's tears suddenly falling.

By accident, they landed on Hazel's tightly wrapped swaddle.

Olive quickly reached up to wipe them away, afraid the tears would soak through and leave Hazel cold.

But the moment she touched it, she realized the dirty water on her hand had only smeared the swaddle worse.

Holding the wailing baby, looking at Hazel's little face flushed red, crying and impossible to quiet, Olive suddenly bent forward, no longer able to hold herself up.

In that car, the scene of a man and woman in each other's arms it wasn't that Olive hadn't seen it.

A protge she'd trained with her own hands, her dear little sister, and the man who'd once been her husband...

She'd fallen into the mire in a single day, while they climbed onto their high seats by trampling her glory and her dignity.

Loving the wrong man that she'd brought on herself. Giving everything to that man, and now finally getting her due. Who was there to blame?

It was only Hazel. Olive held her daughter tight against her.

The scarf that had hidden half her face slipped loose now, baring her features.

A very beautiful face, like an ink wash painting on white paper a pair of eyes that seemed to speak, a slender straight nose, thin lips tinged red only, a scar ran clear across her entire left cheek, ruining all of it, a sight that made onlookers wince.

A mother holding her baby, crouched in the standing water, weeping without a sound.

The scene was silent, yet deafening!

The video blogger who'd just been shouting "Six out of six, send up the gifts" suddenly let his hand drop, mumbling, both cheeks burning hot enough to steam.

"Look I'm sorry, okay. I was only trying to get attention."

"That car was the one out of line. Let me put them on blast for you."

Olive stopped crying soon enough, though her voice was still a little hoarse.

She shook her head, pulling the scarf back to cover her face more completely. "Please delete the video, would you?"

He looked at those tear-bright almond eyes what beautiful eyes, what a pity...

Under that clear gaze, it felt like there was no request he wouldn't grant her.

He hurriedly fumbled out his phone. "Okay, okay, I deleted it, see!"

"Thank you."

The woman thanked him in a very low voice, then turned and picked up the broom again to sweep the standing water.

Once she'd cleared this patch of water, her work for the day would be done, and Hazel was surely hungry by now.

Hazel, even if Mama sweeps the streets, she'll work to hold up a whole sky for you.

A minute later, the woman silently pushed her cleaning cart away.

That retreating figure was slight, but unwavering.

Only then did the onlookers who'd just been watching come back to themselves.

"That woman's so young of all things to do, why street sweeping?"

"You think she's filming one of those slice-of-life short videos?"

It set off a wave of scorn at once.

"These days, people really will do anything for money."

"Maybe even that car was staged ahead of time."

"Stunts to grab eyeballs no bottom line at all!"

Only inside a car stopped not far off, Sterling Sawyer sat rigid, his eyes complicated as he watched the woman walk away. "That's... Olive?"

"How did she... end up like that?"

The man with the rippling peach-blossom eyes and the beauty mark beneath one of them murmured the question to himself, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

It wasn't clear whether he was asking someone else, or only himself.

Sterling Sawyer sat with his eyes lowered now, his lashes long as fans trembling faintly, his pale pink lips pressed into a hard line. Something like pain flickered through him.

He had never once regretted what he'd done back then.

The man he was now wore glory like a crown. He could give her a better life.

And the price had been nothing more than a year behind bars.

So she'd lost everything so what? So she'd done time so what? He didn't hold any of it against her. He could take care of her, make it all up to her.

"Mr. Sawyer, how could that woman with the baby possibly be Lawyer Lane?"

The driver sounded incredulous. "You must have mistaken her for someone else."

Privately he thought: after years of wanting Lawyer Lane and never having her, his boss saw her face in every stranger.

Even if Lawyer Lane had served time, there was no way she was the bundled-up street cleaner sweeping the gutters just now.

The Olive Lane of those days had been Quincy City's celebrated new-generation legal prodigy. One faint curl of her lip and defendants trembled; even prosecutors had to wipe away a quiet cold sweat.

Countless prestigious firms had clamored for her, holding out every olive branch they had. Yet she'd chosen to settle for the Lockes, taking the humble post of in-house chief lawyer.

Some said she was a fool ruled by her heart. No one ever knew what she'd really been thinking.

But whatever the case, surely a woman of such elegance could never be the one just now, splattered in mud, sweeping the street with a baby in her arms.

Sterling drew his long fingers in, slowly tightening them into a fist.

The half-lowered window of the luxury car rose smoothly back into place, and the man's almost unfairly beautiful profile took on a dim, shadowed allure.

"I hope I was mistaken too."

"Look into it. Find out whether she was released early."

"And that child find out whether it's Harrison Locke's."

Sterling's driver and assistant, Bruce Coleman, heard him and instantly let his smile fade.

His boss meant that woman really was Lawyer Lane?

Impossible.

He didn't buy it, and answered in a lazy drawl.

"Yes, Mr. Sawyer."

The car eased forward.

As if to see for himself whether the woman truly was Olive Lane, Bruce deliberately trailed her for a long stretch.

Along the narrow lane, the woman shielded the bundled infant in one arm while she pushed the heavy cleaning cart with her free hand.

A cold wind rattled past. She couldn't move fast. Wrapped in a worn, bulky padded coat with a thin, wind-cutting fluorescent work vest thrown over it, her body still shook with the cold.

The weight forced her to hunch her frail frame and shove with effort.

The car happened to roll over a stone, and the cart suddenly tipped.

She threw one hand over the bundle at her chest and reached out to catch it.

She couldn't. The cart dragged her down with it, and she crashed to the ground with a thud.

Her knee had probably scraped open. She knotted her brows together and lay there a long moment, unable to get up.

Only the infant in her arms was untouched, nuzzling its little head against its mother's chest as if rooting for something to eat.

The baby pursed its tiny mouth, looking famished, lower lip quivering as it geared up to wail.

The woman hurried to soothe her with soft murmurs, but it plainly did no good.

Soon the child realized her mother wasn't giving her milk. Starving and frightened both, she couldn't hold it in any longer and broke into hungry, wailing sobs.

Wah. Wah.

Nothing breaks the heart like a child crying.

Olive ground her teeth, threw every ounce of strength she had into it, and worked up a fine sweat across her brow before she finally managed to right the cart.

"I'm sorry, Hazel."

"Just a little longer."

"Wait for Mommy. There'll be something to eat soon," the woman murmured low.

The car had been following for a while now, and it caught her attention.

She cut a wary glance toward it.

Who was that? A car that happened to be passing?

Tch.

Could a woman in such a sorry state really be Lawyer Lane?

Bruce didn't think so.

He couldn't be bothered to waste any more time on a street cleaner. He stamped down hard on the gas and shot away.

In the back seat, Sterling had no idea what Bruce had done. A Bluetooth earpiece glowed blue in his ear as the man spoke elegant English, in the middle of a cross-border meeting. Not a speck on him, he gave off the rarefied air of a man above other men.

The tires sloshed through the thick standing water on the road, throwing up another high spray that drenched the woman.

Of course, people who drove cars like that generally couldn't be bothered to notice how much trouble their actions caused others.

Olive, on the other hand, had no choice but to turn around and take the spray full on her own back.

Because only that way was Hazel safe.

"Hazel, did Mommy just see things?"

"That car looked so familiar."

"No." A bewildered smile slipped from the corner of Olive's mouth. "How could it be."

How could it possibly be him.

Sterling Sawyer the man she'd treated like an older brother, the one she'd told everything, down to every last detail of how she'd once loved Harrison Locke, shared only with him.

Even though he was Harrison Locke's bitter rival, she'd never once doubted him.

Yet a year and a half ago, on the strength of that confidential document, he'd beaten Harrison Locke once and risen crowned in glory.

He'd won the Sawyer family's acceptance, climbed up from his place as an illegitimate son, and was now the Sawyers' official heir.

He stood radiant.

While she had fallen into the mud.

But why her?

Why use her, why grind her underfoot to rise?

The same Sterling Sawyer who, while she was in custody, had urged her to endure, swearing he'd serve as her defense lawyer himself and clear her name.

The same Sterling Sawyer who, when the court handed down its verdict, had turned on a dime and become the prosecution's witness.

Sterling Sawyer. The Sawyers' third young master.

You sent me to prison yourself with your perjury, and you'll probably never spare another thought for the Olive Lane you slammed behind bars.

When she thought of it again, the waters of her heart no longer stirred.

Olive hugged Hazel tight, pushed against the cold wind, and forced her steps faster.

Twenty minutes later, they were back at the staff dormitory.

With money she'd gotten by drawing her wages early, she'd bought Hazel a new bottle. She sterilized it in boiling water, then mixed the formula.

Hazel, finally getting her milk, was content, her plump little hand gripping her mother's finger and refusing to let go.

Olive wrung out a cloth and wiped Hazel's little face clean, and in it she saw the shadow of that man.

That man, grim and brooding in his looks, his expression cold and aloof, never one to smile.

Yet Hazel smiled so sweetly, her eyes curving like a crescent moon hung on the tip of a branch.

Watching her, Olive couldn't help drifting away for a moment.

The tiny baby girl already carried the faint outline of the beauty she would grow into.

Olive didn't care if life was hard, so long as she and Hazel were never separated.

But that depended on one thing only: that he never found out about Hazel.

If he ever discovered her, he would tear Hazel away from her without a second thought.

Hazel was the only reason Olive had to go on living now. If Hazel were taken from her a shudder ran through her at the thought.

The baby in her arms caught the fright too, her little mouth puckering before she dissolved into a wounded wail.

Olive quickly set down the bottle and lifted Hazel, pacing back and forth in the cramped space, humming a soft, slow tune.

The little one's eyes curved back into crescent moons, and listening to her mother hum, she stopped crying.

She opened her mouth, babbling along as if to join in.

Olive knew she was practicing her sounds. In a few more months, Hazel would be able to call her Mama.

"Olive, you're back? Finished sweeping that stretch of street?"

The older woman who shared the room came pushing her sanitation cart in too.

Seeing Olive soothing the baby, she peeled off the fluorescent-yellow work uniform, and a rare smile broke across her wrinkled face.

She washed her hands before coming over.

"Hazel's such a good girl."

"But are you really sure it's all right, taking Hazel out with you while you sweep? She's so tiny. Can she handle the wind and rain?"

The woman's last name was Carlson; everyone called her June Carlson.

June was good-natured and kind. They'd known each other less than a day, yet she'd already gone out of her way to look after Olive and her daughter.

She was already retired and had no need to be out sweeping streets, but her husband complained she was "loafing around at home," and her son was away in another city and couldn't help. Not wanting to put her son in an awkward spot, she'd come out to earn a little pocket money.

Olive smiled at that. "June, Hazel's particular about who holds her. She likes being with me."

June laughed, a little helpless. "That she is. I offered to swap shifts, said I'd watch the baby while you swept and you could sweep when I came back, but your Hazel wouldn't have it. The second she can't see you, she cries her little heart out."

Olive hugged the baby tighter, her nose stinging faintly. "Hazel's been with me since the day she was born. We've never been apart."

A silent poor thing crossed June's mind.

"And your man? You two, a mother and child on your own, and he doesn't pay a cent of support?"

Olive paused. That question.

"The baby's father... has someone else?"

June ventured the question, and seeing Olive falter and mumble, she slapped her own thigh, as if everything had suddenly become clear.

"Sweetheart, you've had it hard, and with a baby besides. Here, let's do this."

June held out a rattle toy she'd picked up while sweeping the streets.

She didn't know who'd dropped the rattle. The packaging hadn't even been opened.

June figured it was new, thought Hazel could use it, and had quietly picked it up.

"I'll dig out some little clothes from home later too. They're what my boy wore when he was small. A bit old, but clean as can be. For your Hazel to wear. Don't go turning your nose up at them, now."

A stranger's kindness was the rarest thing of all. Olive couldn't help saying gratefully, "Hand-me-downs are good. I can't thank you enough on Hazel's behalf."

"That's just the way of it. Children who wear hand-me-downs grow up healthy, no sickness, no trouble!"

June looked down at Hazel and teased her with the rattle, its sound crisp with a low undertone. Hazel babbled and reached out to grab it, and June couldn't help but praise her. "Hazel's such a good girl. A baby this sweet, and her father can't even act like a decent man. Hazel, oh Hazel, when you grow up, you make sure you take good care of your mama."

Something occurred to her, and she looked up at Olive again. "Sweetheart, are you and your man still in touch?"

Olive paused, then shook her head. "Not anymore."

June's eyes went wide. "So you're... thinking of getting a divorce?"

Divorce?

Something invisible struck Olive square in the chest.

Yes. Divorce.

She'd been Mrs. Locke in name only from the start.

As long as her marriage to Harrison Locke wasn't dissolved, she was still Mrs. Locke, and every single day she held that position, she felt she couldn't sit still in her own skin.

That title was no longer the happiness she'd once dreamed of. It was a shackle.

But to divorce, she had to obtain a signed divorce agreement.

A thought suddenly surfaced in her mind.

"Sweetheart, marriage isn't child's play. Why don't you and your man talk it over again? Hazel's so little. Don't leave her without a father this young." June was still trying to persuade her.

Olive had already made up her mind. She asked, "June, the civil affairs bureau here in Quincy City, it's nearby, isn't it?"

June was startled, then pointed in its direction. "Right over there, real close. But sweetheart, have you truly made up your mind?"

"Why not talk it through with your husband one more time?"

Olive pressed her lips together.

"What is it, doesn't he want to divorce you? Then there's still a chance to turn things around..."

Olive shook her head.

The truth was, she didn't want him to know about this at all.

"He doesn't know. But this time, I'm not going to ask for his consent again..."

Harrison Locke, you sent me to prison with your own hands. Now all I want is to take my baby and walk away.

Come to think of it, he'd probably been wanting to be rid of this marriage in name only for a long time, to be single again, so he could give Joanna a proper title.

"Your man doesn't even know? Then can you even get the divorce done?" June was astonished.

Olive lowered her lashes, a dim shadow falling across her face.

"I drafted the divorce agreement long ago. Back then, he should have signed it."

It was just that, that night, he'd been drunk, and she'd coaxed him, slipping it in among the company documents he needed to sign, hoping he'd put his name to it.

For some reason, he'd signed halfway through, then clamped down on her wrist.

That night he was badly drunk, and his strength was overwhelming. She couldn't break free, and he pulled her into his arms.

The documents scattered across the floor, his breath against her ear, scorching, searing hot.

He said, "Olive, didn't you want to bind yourself to me for life? I'll give you exactly what you wanted."

She'd realized what he meant.

She fought desperately to escape, but his tall frame pinned her down effortlessly, his large hands undoing her thin dress in a few motions.

She wept beneath him, begging, her voice breaking apart.

"Harrison Locke, I don't want it like this..."

That night, he did everything lovers do, all in the name of not loving her.

He'd probably never once thought of sharing a bed with her before that.

She just didn't understand why it had to be the very moment she wanted to leave.

She kept wondering whether, that night, he'd been punishing her, or whether he'd truly been drunk.

But none of that mattered anymore.

A few days ago, when she'd gone back to get her things, it wasn't only her documents she'd taken.

She'd brought back, along with them, that divorce agreement he'd signed halfway through with his own hand all that time ago.

She'd always kept a habit of storing documents carefully, and on the very day she'd been taken away, she had just happened to put that document safely in its place.

A year and a half had passed, and no one had touched it.

He probably couldn't even be bothered to go through her old belongings.

That was why it had all gone so smoothly for her.

It was just that the agreement would need him to sign it one more time...

June didn't understand the twists and turns of it, but seeing Olive grow so unusually quiet at the mention of the subject, she let it drop.

She only sighed, "It's just poor little Hazel, growing up without a father from the start."

Hazel nestled in her mother's arms, reaching for the rattle. She looked at the rattle, then turned to look at her mother.

Olive soothed her gently, "Mmm, Mama's right here, Hazel."

At that moment, in the heart of Quincy City's busiest district, on the top floor of a tower that soared into the clouds, inside a lavish office.

Harrison Locke signed one document after another.

He was tired. After finishing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, weariness coloring his face.

Joseph Fox stood to one side. Once he'd confirmed the documents were complete, he stacked them aside to hand off to the junior assistants to process the contracts.

Then he looked up at the CEO, whose eyes were half-closed in drowsiness. "Mr. Locke, the matter you instructed, donating supplies to the sanitation workers in that area, has all been arranged."

"The supplies should be in those workers' hands by now."

"As you instructed, we've set aside a thousand-dollar monthly subsidy specifically for that female sanitation worker with the baby, drawn from your personal account, with no time limit. That's all been seen to as well."

"And the other matter, we're already tracing Mrs. Locke's movements since her release. We should have word soon."

"Was there anything else you wanted to add, sir?"

Harrison said nothing. He only waved a hand, picking up another document, his gaze seemingly never leaving the page.

Seeing this, Joseph nodded and left.

What he didn't know was that the moment he stepped out, a woman with a lovely face and a meticulously polished appearance emerged from behind the office door.

Joanna had timed it well, catching the tail end of that conversation.

She folded her arms elegantly and couldn't hold back a cold scoff.

"All she did was get a little water splashed on her, and she gets money out of Harrison's personal account."

"A thousand dollars a month. Doesn't she even ask herself if she's worth it? She probably staked out the spot on purpose, putting on a pitiful act and faking a fender-bender to milk it!"

Things she didn't even have. By what right should a street cleaner get them?

Joanna turned thoughtful. After a moment she picked up her phone, walked to the side, and dialed a number.

The call connected quickly, a cold light pooling in her eyes.

"Uncle Lambert, do something for me."

"There's a female sanitation worker who faked an accident with Harrison's car this morning. Yes, Harrison couldn't be bothered to deal with her, so he sent someone to toss her a few handouts."

"You know how it is. Harrison's a born aristocrat. He doesn't like getting into it with those sneaky, thieving types. But I can't stand it, so I'll just mete out a little justice and teach her a lesson. Don't let Harrison find out, though. A trifle like this isn't worth disturbing his peace."

"How to teach her a lesson? She's got a baby, so dock her wages, let her go hungry for a few days, give her something to remember.

"And if there's a next time, make her lose the job altogether. Let her and that little bastard of hers freeze to death on the street."

Hanging up, the cold, vicious expression vanished abruptly from Joanna's lovely face.

She swept back her hair with a coquettish smile and turned toward Harrison's office.

Knock, knock, knock. She reached out and rapped on the door.

"Harrison~"

"Come in."

The man's elegant, cool voice drifted out from inside. Joanna pushed the door open with a sweet laugh, and at the sight of that dazzling figure, her lips curved in a faint smile, a flash of triumphant pride crossing them.

Whether it was Olive, or that street cleaner, no woman would ever get the slightest advantage out of Harrison.

Harrison was hers. No one else would ever steal his attention.

...

The dark clouds parted, and sunlight spilled across the earth.

That afternoon, Supervisor Abbott from the district office gathered all the sanitation workers for a general meeting.

Outside, several trucks pulled up one after another.

A few workers came and went, hauling things in.

In no time the run-down little courtyard was piled high with goods.

Among the rows of sanitation workers standing in line, a few of the women were leaning close, whispering to one another.

"I overheard Supervisor Abbott just now. Some rich man drove past the street we sweep this morning, and out of the goodness of his heart he donated all this stuff to us. Charity work, can you believe it."

"With the weather turning cold lately, he gave us plenty of bedding and thick down jackets. All good things, too."

"Now that's a real saint. My grandson needs a down jacket for school, just my luck!"

"This looks like a name brand, even. I could resell it secondhand and still get a good bit for it."

"But what's this great benefactor's name, doing good deeds out of nowhere? He hasn't gone and done something he feels guilty about, has he?"

"From what the supervisor said, sounds like his name's Locke or something?"

She's pitiable, raising a kid alone, so Harrison Locke gives a hundred dollars in aid?

Olive listened to the gossip, and despite herself she went a little blank.

June was standing right beside her, and asked, puzzled, "Where's Hazel?"

"Sleeping. It's cold out here, so I tucked her under the covers."

Even as she said it, Olive couldn't stop glancing back, and only after she'd confirmed no crying drifted out of the dormitory did she let out a faint breath of relief.

She lowered her head and turned it over carefully. A moment ago she'd caught it only half clearly. Had they said the man's name was Locke, or Locklin?

Locke was an unusual surname. But Locklin was common.

It was probably just a coincidence.

June hadn't noticed Olive drifting off; while handing out the supplies, she nudged her with an elbow.

"Olive, watch yourself. Supervisor Abbott's been eyeing you this whole time. Nothing good ever comes of that."

Olive looked up, just in time to see the male supervisor across from them, the one wearing the thick gold chain, dart his gaze away.

A chill ran through her.

The supplies reached the front of their line, and June passed her share to her.

"Olive, my son just mailed me a down jacket. You can have this old one of mine."

Olive came back to herself and quickly waved her hands. "June, I can't take that"

"No arguing. It's not for you, it's for Hazel! Cut it down into a little down coat for her. She'll get plenty of use out of it!"

Olive froze, about to say something more.

But June had already walked off. "I'll carry it up and put it on your bed. Hurry up and finish getting your things, then come up. Hazel'll cry if she wakes and doesn't see you."

Olive watched June's retreating figure, and warmth flowed quietly through her chest.

They'd known each other half a day, yet June already felt more like family.

Everyone collected their things and left, but when it was Olive's turn, she was held back.

"Hey, Olive, hold on."

Olive stopped short.

"Is there something you need, Supervisor Abbott?"

Supervisor Abbott was a middle-aged man, full name Wyatt Abbott, though everyone called him Wyatt. Rumor had it he'd once run with the rougher crowds, half in the underworld and half out. A thick gold chain hung permanently around his neck, a beer belly pushed out in front of him, and his face was heavy with coarse flesh.

He looked Olive over, the faint upward curl at the corner of his mouth coming and going, as if he'd spotted some fresh quarry.

Under Wyatt's appraising stare, Olive's fingers twisted tightly together.

"Olive, when someone's done a good deed, we ought to repay it, right?"

"I'm not asking you to throw yourself at anyone. I just want you to record a thank-you video. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

In truth, Wyatt's thinking was simple. The man was rich and after recognition, not money.

Having taken the supplies, of course they ought to show their gratitude properly. He'd decided this on his own, sure, but if he could get the man pleased, wouldn't there be more coming next time?

"Why me?"

Olive didn't understand. There were so many of the older women, every one of them older than her, every one of them better with sweet words.

She'd always been quiet, spare with what she said. Among those women she was the most wooden of them all.

So why single her out?

"I don't want them, then. So there's no need for any thanks, right?" Olive slowly set the supplies in her hands back where they'd been. She did need these things, but if it meant repaying anyone "like that," she could do without.

The man was startled, barely able to follow Olive's train of thought.

The next second he saw Olive turn and walk off. Wyatt snapped to and raised his voice:

"The CEO of Locke Group himself said it. He's giving you, specifically, a hundred dollars in aid every month!"

"Since the man's done a good thing, it'd be unreasonable for you not to record a little thank-you video, wouldn't it?"

Olive's footsteps halted.

A mocking smile tugged at Wyatt's lips. This woman, a hundred dollars and she couldn't take another step. If she knew it was actually more than a hundred... heh.

"You're saying that man is the CEO of Locke Group? Which Mr. Locke?"

Olive turned around, studying him closely, seeming to be afraid of something.

Seeing it, Wyatt gave a low cough, walked over, and dropped his voice. "Who else would it be? Harrison Locke, the richest man in Quincy City. You don't know him?"

Olive's voice began to tremble. "No. If he's the richest man in Quincy City, why would he suddenly donate supplies to us, and name me specifically for a hundred dollars in aid? He and I... we don't even know each other."

It can't be. It can't be. He can't have found out... Olive nearly swayed where she stood.

"If you hadn't happened to be sweeping this morning when he passed by, taking pity on you raising a kid alone, you think a scarred woman like you could ever catch a CEO's eye?" Wyatt sneered.

Olive's heart dropped abruptly back into place.

So that was all. He'd only pitied her for raising a child alone.

And here she'd thought...

"I understand now. But I don't want these things. Supervisor Abbott, record your own thank-you video and keep it for yourself."

Olive refused, her tone cool and clear.

Seeing that neither soft nor hard tactics worked on her, Wyatt narrowed his cloudy eyes, his gaze lingering over her body.

He hadn't expected her to have some bite to her.

He edged closer, drawing in the scent coming off the woman. "Be a good girl and do as you're told. I'll have someone set you up with your own private room. With me looking out for you from now on, you"

"Supervisor Abbott, I need to get back and look after my child!"

Olive took a step back, dodging him.

Wyatt blinked, and the next second fury flared up in him.

He seized a fistful of her hair. "You little bitch, I gave you a chance and this is how you take it?"

From inside the dormitory, Hazel's crying suddenly broke out.

Olive tried to wrench free of him.

But Wyatt was enormously strong, and she was forced violently backward, until it felt as if the skin were about to be torn from her scalp.

"Olive, don't think I don't know. You've done time!"

The man's lowered voice behind her was plainly not loud, yet it landed in Olive's mind like a thunderclap.

Her whole body went rigid.

"Whatwhat did you say?"

"You've been to prison. You've got a record. I had someone look into you. Olive, all I'm asking is a thank-you video, so quit putting on an act. An ex-con, and still playing the saint? Pah. What rotten luck."

"The baby's crying. Let go of me, or I'm calling the police"

"Ha, the police? You'd dare threaten me?"

"Unless you want me to have you and your kid thrown out of here, you'll go record it right now!"

Wyatt twisted his grip cruelly into the woman's long hair, dragging her the whole way into the little shed beside them.

Then the door slammed shut with a bang.