Chapter 06- fate

No matter how much Anila had objected back then, Harold was determined to bring that child into their home. He treated her like she belonged, while in young Janet's heart, she always knew she didn't. But her mother—warm, soft-spoken, and full of love—had told her once,

"No matter how hard life gets, you survive. You live. And you live well."

After that, though Anila begrudgingly acknowledged Janet's place in the household—and even, at Harold's insistence, allowed Janet to call her "Mom"—she never treated her like a daughter. Not truly.

From the age of ten, Janet had to learn how to take care of herself. She didn't get the beautiful clothes Elvira wore, nor was she ever cradled in a warm embrace or spoiled with kisses.

Everything Elvira had was a dream Janet could never touch.

The only warmth she ever received in that cold, immaculate house was when Ternence, the eldest son of the prestigious Louis family, came home during college breaks. As Janet grew older, she blossomed into a striking young woman, but rather than gain affection, she became the target of her stepsister's bitter jealousy.

Elvira would secretly slash the clothes Harold bought for Janet, then tear her own clothes and lie to him, blaming Janet.

And when Harold wasn't home, Elvira would go even further—locking Janet in the storage room overnight without food, slapping her, kicking her, pinching her until she bruised. Janet endured it all in silence. Whenever she tried to tell Anila, she was scolded and told that Elvira had every right to "discipline" her. She was even threatened not to breathe a word to Harold.

The more Janet resisted, the worse Elvira's cruelty became—ranging from stolen meals to full-on beatings.

So, over time, the girl who had once been gentle but strong-willed learned to endure, to hide. She concealed every part of herself that might provoke jealousy—every talent, every compliment, every sign she might shine brighter than Elvira.

Only then could she avoid the punishments of the past.

And in front of Harold, when both Anila and Elvira sneered or mocked her, he would only sigh—tired, helpless. That silence chipped away at Janet's once warm heart, until there was nothing left. No love for this home. No longing. Only cold resolve.

Everything those two women had carved into her—every scar, every wound—Janet swore she would one day return, one by one.

After her shower, Janet stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in soft pajamas. Her freshly washed skin glowed with a milk-like sheen, hiding the usual pallor of her face. She stood before the full-length mirror and stared at her unadorned reflection.

Even before twenty, her features had begun to resemble Cornelia—her real mother—more and more with each passing year. That, above all, was what Anila and Elvira hated most about her.

On her back, the bruises and welts still lingered. Bite marks, whip lines, fingertip bruises—all Elvira's work. Most had been left untreated, and now they etched her skin with uneven scars.

She reached up and gently touched her shoulder blade. A bitter smile tugged at her lips.

The terrifying memories of growing up in the Louis household had sunk into her heart like fangs—sharp, unrelenting, impossible to pull out. There was no escaping them. All she could do was accept her fate and survive.

So, after just one year of college, Janet made a bold choice: she dropped out. She refused to follow Harold's plan for her to join the Louis Corporation, because she knew—so long as Anila remained a part of that world—she would never know peace.

But fate, for once, showed her some kindness.

On a whim, she auditioned for a position at Black Rock Co., not expecting anything to come of it. But she caught Amos's attention immediately. There was something about her—an elegance, a quiet strength—that made him break protocol and offer her the position on the spot.

He saw it in her from the start: the promise of a swan, hidden inside the awkward shadow of a mistreated girl.

Now, standing in front of the mirror, Janet clenched her fists tight.

She had endured in the past only because she had no power to fight back. But now, she was no longer that helpless girl.

She was done being their victim.

She was Cornelia's daughter—her mother's treasure. And she was ready to take back everything that had ever been stolen from her.

The next morning, as Janet came downstairs, she was immediately hit with a sense of foreboding.

Anila and Elvira greeted her—not with their usual cold indifference, but with plastic smiles. Normally, they treated her like she didn't even exist at this time of day. But today, something felt... off.

Janet, dressed in her usual modest work outfit—simple slacks, a blouse, hair tied up neatly, and her signature black-rimmed glasses—barely had time to react before Anila stepped forward, overly friendly, grabbing her hand.

"Janet, sweetie, I've just been so busy lately, I haven't had the chance to take care of you. Look how thin you've gotten!" she said with fake concern, sizing her up from head to toe, her eyes betraying a clear disgust.

Elvira, sitting nearby with the same disdain in her gaze, chimed in with a few forced pleasantries. Janet instinctively pulled her hand back and took a step away.

In all the years they'd lived together, the number of times they had shared a meal could be counted on two hands. When Harold was still around, they'd include her out of obligation. But over time, even Harold's presence wasn't enough to shield her. Watching him obey Anila without question had completely eroded the last shred of warmth Janet had felt for him.

"I'm heading to work," she said flatly.

In private, she had never called Anila "Mom"—only when Harold was present did she force herself to say it. In her heart, there was only one mother—Cornelia—and no one could ever take her place.

"Oh? Well, have some breakfast before you go. I'll drive you to work. Which company are you at again?" Anila asked with a smile that made Janet want to laugh. Since when had this woman ever cared where she worked?

"No need. I'm running late," Janet replied curtly, ducking past Anila's reaching hand. She ignored Elvira, who was now leisurely picking at her food, and walked quickly out the door.

As she reached the edge of the driveway, she paused and looked back at the mansion—elegant, polished, soulless.

Peggy was right.

It was time to move out.

When Janet arrived at the office, the energy was strange.

Normally the women at Black Rock Co. dressed to impress, but today it was something else entirely. Bright lipstick, plunging necklines, overly short skirts, layers of heavy foundation—it was obvious they were all gearing up for something.

Or rather, someone.

And she didn't even need to ask. It was all because of yesterday's mystery CEO.

Unbothered, Janet checked the time and stepped into the elevator, heading to her desk like usual.

At exactly nine o'clock, a matte black Bugatti Veyron rolled up to the front of the building.

Charles stepped out, dressed in a sharply tailored black suit. Without breaking stride, he tossed the car keys to Giles, his assistant, who wordlessly took the car to the nearby lot.

The moment Charles entered the building, the scent of his cologne preceded him—and so did the crowd. Nearly two dozen women were clustered around the elevator like it was the red carpet at the Oscars.

With a cold glance and arched brow, Charles swept his eyes over the crowd—slim, curvy, flirtatious, sultry... all lined up like a casting call.

His expression darkened.

Then, in a voice as sharp and cold as ice, he said, "Black Rock Co. does not employ socialites. If this happens again tomorrow, you can all start job hunting."

The elevator doors slid shut behind him.

There was a moment of stunned silence—followed by a wave of dreamy sighs.

"He's so cool. So manly!"

"Even when he's mad, he's drop-dead gorgeous."

"I wouldn't mind getting fired if I could just see him every day!"