Chapter 3
The field that was now ablaze belonged to the village chief. His crops were seconds from being completely swallowed by the fire, and the fire trucks still hadn’t arrived.
The villagers rushed to help, but the flames were spreading too fast-every bucket of water they carried felt like a drop in the ocean.
In front of the wrecked Rolls-Royce, its owner stood stiffly, face dark with barely contained rage. My sister had already transformed herself-perfect makeup, a carefully chosen dress that made her look soft and pitiful. She minced toward him, voice trembling just enough to sound sincere.
“Sir, I’m so sorry. My son was playing with firecrackers and accidentally threw them into the manhole, which caused… this.”
She even squeezed out a few tears. “His father passed away early, and I’ve raised him alone. This was my negligence. I’ll compensate you for the car, no matter what it costs. Even if I have to sell everything I own, I’ll make it right!”
She handed him a slip of paper with her phone number. “Here’s my number. Call me once you’ve calculated the damage.”
The man glanced at the note, then said flatly, “Let’s exchange numbers. It’ll be easier to stay in touch.”
My sister lit up instantly, whipped out her phone, and added him on the spot.
When she got home, she strutted in like a peacock. “See? He added me on WhatsApp. That proves he’s interested!”
Her smug grin made me want to laugh. “You do realize he just added you for payment details, right? And now we’re not just talking about a car-you blew up the road and hundreds of acres of crops. How are you going to pay for all that?”
My mother spun around and slapped me hard. “Shut up! You just can’t stand seeing your sister doing well!”
My sister smirked, rubbing her cheek like she was enjoying the drama. “Exactly. Talia, you’re jealous. I’m about to marry into a wealthy family-of course I can afford a few measly crops and a patch of road.”
Then her phone pinged. She shrieked, “Adrian sent me a message!”
My mother nearly jumped out of her seat. “What did he say?”
“It’s a picture-of the damage estimate.” She beamed. “This must be his way of starting a conversation with me. He probably doesn’t even want me to pay, he just wants an excuse to
talk.”
She quickly sent him a syrupy voice message: “How about we meet at a restaurant to discuss compensation? Or you could come to my place-26 Willow Lane.”
The reply came seconds later:
No need. Just transfer the money directly to this card.
My sister’s smile faltered. “Forget it. I won’t reply right away. I have to be reserved. Make him chase me.”
I knew exactly why she was sulking. In my previous life, after the neighbor’s child blew up that Rolls-Royce, Adrian Beckett had personally visited the mother and son every day with gifts in hand. My sister must have thought history would repeat itself.
She muttered under her breath, half-dreamy, half-bitter. “He must be intimidated by my beauty. That’s why he’s acting so distant. He probably thinks he’s not good enough for me. Poor man.” Then she sighed dramatically. “Oh, it’s so hard being this beautiful-men just can’t handle it.”
I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. “So… you’re not going to pay him back?”
“What’s there to pay for? We’re practically family already.”
Before I could answer, her phone rang.
She shot me a smug look. “See? He couldn’t stand it when I didn’t reply.”
She put the phone on speaker, chin high.
‘Ms. Wynn,” a deep voice said, completely emotionless, “I don’t know what game you’re playing, out if you don’t transfer the compensation within three days, I’ll call the police.”
My sister blinked, stunned. “Didn’t I tell you to come to my house?”
‘I don’t have time for nonsense,” he said curtly. “If I don’t receive the payment, we’ll settle this egally.”
And with that, he hung up.
My sister’s triumphant expression froze on her face.
Adrian hung up, and my sister just tossed her hair, unfazed.
‘He’s just playing hard to get. You’ll see-he’ll be back.”
Right on cue, there was a knock on the door.
My sister’s face lit up. “See? I told you!”
She practically skipped to the door, flung it open-
-only to find the village chief and a crowd of angry villagers glaring at her.
They shoved their way inside. The village chief’s face was dark with fury.
‘Maris! Your son blew up the sewer, set the fields on fire, and destroyed the road. While the rest of us were out there trying to save the crops, you hid in here without lifting a finger. Do you have any conscience at all?”
The villagers shouted over one another:
‘You’d better pay for the losses!”
‘My field was ruined!”
‘Mine too!”
“You owe us all compensation!”
My sister planted her hands on her hips, chin raised high.
“It’s just a few measly plots of land! Fine-I’ll pay! My husband is a billionaire, you think we care about pocket change?”
2069
My mother chimed in proudly, “Exactly! My daughter is about to marry rich. Soon, you’ll all be
lining up to curry favor with us!”
The villagers exchanged looks, some scoffing, some sneering.
The village chief crossed his arms. “A billionaire husband, huh? Let’s see him. Call him out here.”
And as if summoned by fate, Adrian appeared at the door.
My sister’s face lit up like fireworks. “He’s here! My husband’s here!”
But Adrian stepped aside, revealing two uniformed police officers behind him.
The room went dead silent.
“Who is Maris?” one of the officers asked. “You’ll need to come with us.”
