“But Mad, don’t worry. In the eyes of the Turner family, you’ll always be the only daughter-in-law we recognize,” Rebecca said gently, her tone soothing.

“Now that Sebastian is back in the country, your father has decided not to send him on another overseas assignment. Instead, he’ll stay here in Notadel City, gradually taking over the family business. This will also give you two a chance to work on your relationship.”

Madeline looked at Rebecca, her thoughts drifting to the heart bypass surgery Rebecca had undergone three years ago. Perhaps this was her way of ensuring there wouldn’t be any loose ends for her to worry over while her health was still fragile.

So she replied, “I understand, Mom.”

While the words were an agreement on the surface, they carried a trace of nonchalance, a perfunctory nod to the conversation. Rebecca, however, took her response seriously.

A week later, Rebecca called Madeline again. “Mad, has Sebastian been staying out lately? He hasn’t been coming home, has he?”

“…” This was true.

More often than not, Madeline forgot that Sebastian had even returned to the country at all.

“Maybe he’s been busy with work. I’ve also been swamped lately with surgeries…” she began, already anticipating that Rebecca might suggest she coax Sebastian back home. Before she could finish the thought, however, Rebecca cut in:

“I heard he’s going out tonight with Spencer Young and the others to the Campbell Club. You’ve been working so hard lately—it’d be good for you to leave the hospital early today and unwind with some friends. Don’t worry, Mom will cover the bill.”

“…………”

You had to hand it to her. Rebecca, the woman who had once conquered the business world alongside Mr. Turner, had defenses like Fort Knox. She knew where Sebastian would be. She knew Madeline didn’t have surgery tonight. But instead of ordering her to fetch Sebastian home outright, she framed it as a suggestion for relaxation, deftly eliminating any potential excuses Madeline might have had.

With no way out, Madeline could only agree. “Alright, Mom.”

After ending the call with Rebecca, she texted Sarah. Got plans tonight?

Not really, what’s up?

Come with me to Campbell Club.

*****

Campbell Club was a five-story boutique building, its facade steeped in a nostalgic, Art Deco charm that evoked the glamour of days gone by.

The club had been constructed on the estate of a former government official—incidentally surnamed Campbell—and its name paid homage to this legacy. Fittingly, only the city’s wealthiest and most influential could afford to frequent its halls. Rumor had it that on any given night, patrons could spend the equivalent of a sports car without so much as a raised eyebrow.

“I heard the owner of Campbell Club is some mystery figure,” Sarah said as they settled into a booth in the grand first-floor lounge. “No one’s been able to dig up their identity. I’m guessing it’s some spoiled politician’s kid. How else could they stay hidden? With all the big shots in Notadel, no one’s dared to mess with Campbell Club. Whoever’s behind it is definitely ‘untouchable.’”

Shortly after, a young waiter approached their table. “Ms. Smith, Ms. Campbell, what can I get you tonight?”

Sarah tilted her head, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “This is our first time here—how do you already know us?”

The server, youthful and impeccably groomed, offered a knowing smile. “Ms. Smith, you’re renowned as one of the city’s top cardiac surgeons—‘the queen of the scalpel.’ And Ms. Campbell, you’re making waves in obstetrics. You’re both highly respected doctors; of course, we’ve heard of you.”

Sarah propped her chin on her hand, her eyeliner accentuating her naturally mischievous expression as she leaned in, playing up the atmosphere. “Well then, bring us three of your most expensive drinks—two for us and one on us, just for you.”

The waiter’s smile widened. “Thank you, ladies.” He left to fulfill the order.

Sarah smirked, shaking her head in amused disbelief. “This place doesn’t mess around. They must drill the staff on the names of every VIP in Notadel City to ensure no one important feels slighted. No wonder they’re raking it in.”

Madeline nodded in agreement. “Makes sense.”

“And you can’t deny, the little cubs they hire here are delightful. Did you hear how he called me ‘sister’? Adorable.”

Madeline had kept her appearance understated tonight; she’d simply let down her ponytail, the soft waves framing her face and tempering her usual no-nonsense exterior. Smiling, she teased, “Why not date one if you’re so taken by them?”

Sarah waved a dismissive hand, her other fingers wagging playfully. “Oh, I like teasing cubs, but my real type? A wolf in sheep’s clothing. I want someone fierce—possessive, even. Someone who makes it thrillingly dangerous, who takes control.”

“…How many times do I have to tell you to stop reading those over-the-top, trashy romances?” Madeline said, arching a brow.

Her gaze wandered casually around the room as she spoke, but despite being here, she had no intention of actually looking for Sebastian. Madeline was a master of “strategic slacking”—a Level 100 shirker. Her motto? As long as the superficial effort satisfied management (in this case, Rebecca), the job was done.

The waiter set down two vibrant cocktails on the table. "Ms. Smith, Ms. Campbell, these are fresh off the menu today. They’re supposed to taste excellent—please, give them a try."

As he placed the glasses down, he leaned slightly toward Madeline, his voice low. "Mr. Turner is in Private Room 1 on the second floor."

Madeline froze for a beat.

She sighed inwardly. The service was overly thorough. She had no intention of seeking out Sebastian.

But someone else heard it.

A shrill, piercing voice erupted, cutting through the ambient music. "Old hag! Do you have no shame? Chasing after Sebby all the way to Campbell Club—you're just as desperate and pathetic as you were growing up—ugh!"

The tirade dissolved into a sharp scream—but not from indignation. Sarah had thrown the cocktail straight into Scarlett's face.

"An old hag at twenty-four? Will you even live to twenty-four yourself? Oh wait—homewreckers like you should be torn apart the very moment they’re caught. What are you now, twenty? Just think—whatever age you are when you die, you’ll never make it beyond that pathetic number."

Scarlett stared, stunned and dripping, her face a mask of disbelief. Then, screeching, she pointed a finger at them. "You dare throw a drink at me?!"

"And do you know how much Sebby loves me? A thirty-million-dollar diamond necklace. I glanced at it once, and he bought it for me immediately. Keep this up, and believe me, I’ll have him tear you to pieces!"

She lunged toward Sarah, but an attentive waiter stepped in to block her path.

Madeline shifted, placing herself between Sarah and Scarlett. A faint, detached smile lingered on her lips. "Let her go. Didn’t someone just say Sebastian’s upstairs? Let’s go. I’d love to see how he plans to tear us apart."

Scarlett’s defiance flared. "Then let’s go! Whoever backs out is a coward!"

She turned with a sharp pivot, heels clicking furiously as she stormed toward the staircase. She didn’t falter; her confidence came not from bluster but conviction—borne from certainty that Sebastian, ever by her side, would protect her.

Of course. Thirty-million-dollar necklace aside, he’d repaid Madeline her three thousand dollars with not a cent more. If she wore Scarlett’s shoes, she, too, might have believed he loved her to pieces.

Madeline’s mind shifted briefly to Rebecca, who had assured her Scarlett had been exiled from Notadel City. Yet here Scarlett stood, unabashed. Clearly, Sebastian had brought her back.

Sarah, too, was connecting the dots. Her expression flickered—less anger than worry—and she cast a fretful glance at Madeline. "Mad—"

Madeline stopped her with a quiet smile, one that seemed to carry a weight Sarah couldn’t argue against. Then, without hesitation, she ascended the staircase.

The Campbell Club was a masterclass in vintage grandeur, its décor as sultry as its reputation. Crystal chandeliers spilled pools of amber light onto polished walnut floors, while lazy strains of jazz wove through the air. Beneath the melodies lingered the scent of cedarwood mingled with the smooth burn of whiskey.

The door to the private room swung open under Madeline’s firm push, the sound sharp—a deliberate interruption.

Eyes turned toward her in unison.

In the room’s dim light, she immediately found him. Sebastian reclined in a single armchair, one long leg crossed over the other, a cigarette idling between his fingers. The ember flared faintly as he inhaled, shadowing the inscrutable depths of his gaze. A man of cultivated insouciance, he exuded a careless magnetism, a kind of lethargic charm reserved for those who played life like a game.

Madeline’s chest tightened, her memories betraying her with flashes of tender, intimate moments that now felt like intricate forgeries.

Scarlett sat on the floor at his feet, her presence overly intimate, cloying. She looked up at him with a schoolgirl’s pout, her voice pitched with theatrical delicacy. "Sebby," she murmured. Her tone inked the word with both grievance and seduction.

Sarah, despite herself, surged forward. Fear didn’t stop her—it rarely did when indignation ran hotter.

She breezed into the room, chin high. "Well, well, isn’t this a surprise—Mr. Turner himself! Long time no see. When did you get back? Come on now, let me toast to you."

Reaching for a glass from the table, she raised it half-heartedly—and then emptied its contents over Scarlett.

"Oh dear!" Sarah gasped, her faux apology operatic. "Was someone crouching on the carpet? I could’ve sworn I was looking at a stray dog."

Scarlett sprang up, fury snapping like static. "You little—!"

But Sebastian didn’t so much as flick his gaze toward the commotion. With the composure of a man undisturbed by chaos, he tapped ashes carelessly onto a nearby tray, his focus landing squarely on Madeline. Through half-lidded eyes, he regarded her with practiced boredom.

"Dr. Smith," he drawled, his voice smooth, tinged with amusement, "also out for a good time, are we?"