“Joy, call Mr. Robert right now! Your uncle has to bail my company out!”

Joy had just stepped into the apartment Mr. Robert paid for. The coffee table was buried under a dimming tablet and scattered documents spilling onto the floor and sofa.

The moment she walked in, Georgio shot up and rushed toward her. In just a single day, Joy barely recognized him. The man who was usually sleek and polished now looked disheveled—hair a mess, tie hanging loose, shirt wrinkled.

Joy’s heartbeat raced. This was the first time she’d seen Georgio so out of control. Not the attentive Gio who always asked about her or the baby she carried. Tonight, she wasn’t even in his eyes.

He didn’t notice the split at the corner of her lip. Joy turned her gaze away, toward the dim lighting. ‘Why feel sad? I chose this lighting myself—so neither Robert nor Gio would notice the bruises from my father’s abuse,’ she reminded herself, trying to push down the discomfort clawing at her chest.

She exhaled slowly, then placed her hands on Gio’s shoulders, gently lowering them.

“Gio, calm down. Uncle Robert’s overseas on urgent business until the weekend. I can’t bother him with something this sudden. Can’t we hold out with what’s left in the company account for now?” Joy stroked his chest, then wrapped her arms around him, feigning tenderness.

Of course, it was all a lie. Joy could never ask Robert for more money. Had Gio forgotten? Just last week she had squeezed the old man with a fake land investment scheme to buy Gio a new production machine. That was why the money she gave her family had shrunk so drastically, forcing her to endure another round of abuse.

But no matter how angry she was, Joy couldn’t vent it on Gio. He was her only path to the dream of a happy married life. All she had to do was calm him down. After all, this was the first real obstacle they’d faced—hadn’t Gio always treated her sweetly before?

“Survive?! The leftover funds aren’t even enough to cover next month’s vendor penalties for raw materials, Joy! If Celeste Mall really cuts us off, no other retailer will take us—everyone follows Celeste Group! We need that money now!” Gio shouted, his voice sharp with frustration.

Joy froze. For the first time, Gio had yelled at her—harshly, like her father’s cruelty echoing back. Her mind spun, her heart aching more than his rejection of her embrace.

“Y‑You yelled at me, Gio?” she whispered, voice trembling. Tears welled up, this time born purely of fear. “I’m carrying your child… and you yell at me over something I can’t even control?”

Gio flinched. A flicker of sanity returned as he saw her tears. He dragged his hands down his face in frustration, then pulled Joy into his arms—roughly, desperately—trying to hold together what was already beginning to crack.

“Sorry… forgive me, Joy. I can’t think straight right now. My head’s about to explode. The Celeste Mall contract is the lifeblood of Miller Cosmetics. If we get kicked out, our stock will tank and every investor will pull their money.”

Georgio tightened his hug, but his eyes stared blankly at the apartment wall. “I can’t go back to being poor, Joy. I swore I’d be at the top. Please, reach out to Robert. Email him, call his secretary, whatever it takes! Tell him we need his influence to guarantee us a way out.”

That gnawing discomfort hit Joy again. Why did Gio keep saying I instead of we?

One thing Joy knew—she was cornered in the tightest spot of her life. On one side, her family demanded money. On the other, Gio demanded connections. And the bitter truth was… Joy had neither. All she had left were lies running out of time.

While frustration tore through the luxury apartment, a completely different atmosphere filled Arthur’s study at the Fortisiano Mansion.

“All the termination documents for Miller Cosmetics have been processed,” Valerie said from the sofa across the desk, crossing her legs with effortless grace.

Arthur didn’t answer right away. He was busy signing another set of papers with his expensive pen.

“That’s just the first step, Val,” Arthur replied, his voice cold enough to freeze the room. “I’ve already ordered our legal team and health division to conduct a full forensic audit on the contract manufacturing plant out in the suburbs.”

Ashley, who had been standing quietly by the tall window sipping warm ginger‑honey tea, slowly turned around. Though her body still carried traces of weakness after the miscarriage, the simple house dress couldn’t hide the noble aura radiating from her once again.

“The factory owned by Joy’s family?” Ashley asked flatly.

Arthur looked up, protective eyes locking on his younger sister. “Yes. A mid‑scale contract factory Joy secretly built using Robert’s money. That cunning woman registered it under her unemployed brother’s name as a legal shield, while she hired undocumented workers to slash production costs.”

Arthur’s smile was cold. “That’s why Georgio could get insanely cheap production prices and rake in profits. They’re using dangerous chemicals and exploiting illegal labor.”

Ashley’s brow arched as she set her teacup down with a soft clink. Her gaze was straight ahead, icy and untouchable.

“Georgio always thought losing mall outlets was the worst thing that could happen to him.” Ashley’s lips curved into a chilling smile. “Soon, I won’t even let him produce a single bottle of serum in this country.”

Back at the apartment, the awkward silence after Gio and Joy’s spat was shattered by furious pounding on the front door. The relentless buzz of the bell, paired with the intimidating thuds, made them both jump. Gio stormed toward the door, ready to unleash his anger on whoever was behind it.

But the moment he yanked it open, his rage evaporated into confusion. Two broad‑shouldered men in jet‑black suits and dark sunglasses stood tall at the threshold. Their aura was dangerous—typical of men working for corrupt power.

“Who the hell are you?” Gio demanded, trying to sound firm though his heart was racing.

One of the men ignored him completely. His sharp gaze slid past Gio’s shoulder, locking onto Joy frozen in the middle of the living room. Without asking permission, he stepped inside and tossed a brown folder stamped with an official seal onto the coffee table, right on top of Gio’s scattered business papers.

“Miss Joy,” the man’s deep voice carried no emotion. “Mr. Robert requests that you vacate this apartment and return all car facility keys within twenty‑four hours. Your lease has been revoked, and your allowance account is frozen as of this hour.”

His eyes locked on Joy, who had gone rigid like a statue. “Message from Mr. Robert: your relationship with him is over.”

With that, the two men turned and walked out, slamming the door shut with a thunderous bang that rattled the room.

Inside, the air seemed to shrink, leaving behind a suffocating emptiness. Georgio slowly turned, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Joy—confused, dazed, and filled with a terrifying suspicion.

“Miss Joy? Relationship over?” Gio’s voice was low, trembling at the edges as he stepped closer. “What kind of relationship did you have with your foster uncle, Joy?!”

Joy stood frozen. It felt like every drop of blood drained from her face, leaving her skin paler than death. The ticking time bomb she feared most had just exploded right in front of her.