Chapter 1

The fireworks factory of my fiancé caused a death and incurred millions in compensation.

I sold our wedding house and worked day and night to help him pay off the debt.

Yet, I stumbled upon my fiancé, who should have been working hard alongside me.

He was dressed in an expensive suit, embracing a four or five-year-old girl from behind as the two of them sliced a tall golden cake together.

The cheers almost lifted the ceiling, "President Song is such a doting father, even the birthday cake is covered in gold leaf. The batch of fireworks displayed just now cost over a million."

I stood frozen at the door, holding a fruit platter.

If that's Song Yanting's daughter inside, then whose cold corpse is it at the hospital?

...

Before my daughter took her last breath, she was so ill she couldn't even sit up.

Yet, the little child was painfully considerate:

"Mommy, Nian Nian hurts so much… Nian Nian doesn't want another injection…"

"If Nian Nian weren't sick, would daddy and mommy not have to work so hard?"

In my panic, I was at my wit's end, calling Song Yanting while kneeling on the ground begging the doctors to save my child.

By the thirtieth call, Nian Nian had stopped breathing.

Her small body, thin as skin and bones, was alarmingly light in my arms.

Song Yanting still hadn't answered my calls, and I thought he was perhaps being troubled by his boss again.

And that's why he couldn't come to the hospital morgue to see Nian Nian one last time.

But now, I have finally seen him.

Yet it's under such circumstances.

Dressed to the nines, a casually shattered wine glass in his hand equaled a month's living expenses for our family.

And just days ago, he squished with me in a rental room, happy over saving fifty cents on bean sprouts.

The birthday song mingled with cheers drifted out from the hall.

I reached for my phone to call Song Yanting's number.

Under the spotlight, he glanced at his phone, furrowed his brow for a moment, then hung up my call again.

I returned to the break room in a daze.

Seeing my distracted state, a colleague followed me.

"What's wrong with you? You look terrible."

"Delivering the fruit plate is a fat job, if you run into President Song, there's bound to be a big tip for you."

Having said that, she took the fruit plate from my hand with frustration and walked away.

The noise in the hall didn't settle down until the early hours.

A few colleagues and I were assigned to the door to see the guests off.

As the guests were almost gone, the supervisor handed me a paper bag mysteriously.

"Isn't your daughter's birthday soon too? This is the dress that Miss Song changed out of earlier. Some champagne was spilled on it, but the rich are like this, never wearing clothes more than once. Take it home, wash it well, and it'll be as good as new."

I subconsciously took the paper bag.

Inside was a puffy princess dress.

It was Nian Nian's favorite pink color.

Last month when I took her for a check-up, we passed by a children's clothing store and she looked through the window for a long time.

I held her hand, wanting to take her inside to try it on.

But she refused, saying she wanted to save the money for the dress to buy good food for mommy and daddy.

Now, this dress, she will never wear it.

A belated pain swept through my heart, my hand trembled, and the paper bag dropped, spilling the dress onto the floor.

"Mommy, that's my dress!"

A little girl shouted.

Immediately, the gaze of those around me fell on me, with contempt and disdain.

An indescribable embarrassment surged within me.

The supervisor came over smiling apologetically, "Yes, yes, that's Miss Song's dress, I told her to bring it over, give it back to Miss Song."

Saying that, he gave me several knowing glances.

I quickly picked up the dress from the floor and was about to return it to the little girl before me.

A gentle and elegant voice spoke up, "You can keep this dress."