Destined to Meet Mr. Green

The Scott Family's name in G City could silence a crying child on the streets. Born into such a family, I was used to simply reaching out and taking what I wanted—no one ever dared to say no. That afternoon, I slipped into a corner cafe to shelter from the rain. By the window sat a young man, his head bowed as he wiped a coffee cup; sunlight caught the crown of his dark hair, his profile sharp and defined. His movements were steady, the pressure of his wiping even—entirely unlike the sycophants I'd encountered before. "You, come here." I raised my hand and tapped the bar. He looked up, a trace of confusion in his eyes, but still came over. "What do you need?" His voice was clear and crisp, like a mountain spring. "Do you know who I am?" My fingertips brushed the cold rim of the glass. He shook his head. "Not sure." "The Scott Family. Catherine Scott." I held his gaze. "I want you to marry me." He clearly flinched, then frowned. "Miss, this is no time for jokes." "I don't joke." I took out my phone, pulled up a photo, and handed it to him. "Your mother is in the ICU at the city hospital. I've already paid today's bill, and I will cover all future medical expenses." His face instantly paled, his fingertips trembling slightly: "You're investigating me?" "If you want something, you have to pay a price." I put my phone away, my tone steady: "Your price is marrying me." He stayed silent for a long time — so long I thought he would refuse. Finally, his Adam's apple bobbed as he said, "Fine." Three days later, we stood outside the Marriage Registration Office. When the marriage certificate was handed over, his fingertips were ice-cold, and he didn't look at me once. The days after the wedding were as still as stagnant water. He moved into the Scott Family's Residence but kept his distance from me at all times. I arranged a light job for him, but he insisted on starting from the bottom at the company, leaving early and coming home late every day, then retreating to his room. He never initiated conversation with me; when I spoke, he only gave brief responses. A year passed like this, and I gradually found it dull. This forced marriage felt like a useless piece of meat on the bone—tasteless to eat, yet too wasteful to discard. Until that day, when I felt nauseous and went to the hospital for a check-up; the doctor said I was pregnant. Seeing the word 'positive' on the test result, I felt no joy—only irritation. "Doctor, terminate it." I sat in the consultation room, my tone firm. On the operating table, as the anesthesia took hold and my consciousness grew faint, I vaguely heard the nurses whispering, but I paid no attention. Catherine Scott's life had never been anyone else's to control. On the day I was discharged, I placed the divorce papers before him. "Daniel Green, sign here." He took the agreement, flipping through the pages, his fingertips pressing harder with each one. "Why?" He asked, his voice hoarse. "I'm tired of it." I leaned back on the sofa, playing with my nails. "Daniel Green, you should know our marriage was always a transaction. Now that the deal is over." "What about the child?" He suddenly looked up, his eyes bloodshot. "Our child, and you say we can just discard him like that?" A sudden pang tightened my chest, but I forced myself: "It was just an accident; keeping him is useless." He stared at me for a long time, his gaze so complex it unsettled me. In the end, he picked up the pen and signed his name. "Catherine Scott," he put down the pen, his voice cold as ice, "From now on, we owe each other nothing." The moment he turned and walked away, my heart felt empty, yet I stubbornly said nothing to stop him. Three months after the divorce, late at night. The sharp crack of gunfire shattered the quiet of the Scott Family's Residence. Enemies had come, and the courtyard's cobblestones were stained red with blood. The steward pushed me into a secret passage as I watched my parents collapse in a pool of blood, seeing the home I once knew turn into a living nightmare. The secret passage opened in the outskirts. I ran frantically, my face cut and bleeding from branches. After escaping with my life, standing before the mirror and looking at my scarred face, I finally understood how much I had lost—far more than I ever imagined.