When Elara Vance dialed Sebastian Thorne’s cell phone, she heard a charming, “Hey~~~?” Elara immediately understood where Sebastian, who had missed their dinner appointment tonight, was at this time.

He was in the Platinum District.

Of course, this Platinum District wasn’t like the seedy red-light districts where male strip joints lined the streets. But—perhaps because any place with such a reputation carries a certain hedonistic temperament—the Platinum District of this city was known as the high-end Pleasure District. As the name suggests, a “high-end Pleasure District” implies first-class liquor, first-class ladies, and these ladies... were not cheap.

Therefore, the Platinum District was recognized as the city’s gray-market luxury hub. The local authorities obviously understood marketing very well; adhering to the principle of customer segmentation, the nightlife venues were subdivided into first, second, and third tiers. When Elara was Harrison Cole’s fiancée, she had once followed Harrison to a third-tier nightclub. Even for a third-tier spot, the prices on the wine list made Elara smack her tongue. Her temples had twitched violently as she wondered why it was so ridiculously expensive—wasn’t the alcohol in this hellish place just ethanol?

And now, Elara was holding her phone, but her mood was far more complicated than back then. Many years ago, a senior entertainment reporter, boasting of powerful backstage support, had published unauthorized photos of Sebastian partying in a nightclub to boost ratings. The result? He vanished from the press overnight, along with his "backstage support." Since then, no one dared to cross Sebastian Thorne’s boundaries.

This man was a VIP frequent visitor to the Platinum District’s top nightclubs. This was no secret when Sebastian was single. Therefore, the rumors said that Mrs. Thorne, born into an ordinary family, was delusional to think she could control the heart of such a man. The marriage was seen as a sham from the start—an almost universally recognized fact by the outside world.

Elara sighed.

Obviously, Sebastian’s baggage was much heavier than Harrison Cole’s.

It is said there are many kinds of women: some are rational and calm, some are emotional and gentle, and some are very controlling. And then there was Elara Vance... who had no "wife momentum" at all.

Faced with her husband breaking their appointment, she didn’t even know how to make an angry face.

Listening to the loud, noisy background on the other end of the line, Elara pressed her temples, nursing a slight headache. But her breeding was too good, and her voice remained polite: "Excuse me, I'm looking for Sebastian Thorne. Can you let him answer the phone?"

"Yo~~ Looking for Mr. Thorne? Who are you?"

Elara: "......"

Obviously, the lady on the other end was already drinking.

In a place like a nightclub, the most important rule for survival is to read the room. People who knew Sebastian secretly knew one thing: no one dared to call him by his full name. And as for those who looked plain on the surface but didn't take Sebastian seriously at all? Except for Elara Vance, no one dared to do that.

As Felix once said: "Actually, if you just use a little brain power and think about it, you’ll understand one thing: Elara dares for only one reason—Sebastian gave her the right to be presumptuous with him."

"Hey! Talk when you call! Are you dumb or stupid?! Who are you?" A sharp shout pulled Elara’s wandering thoughts back.

Cough. Our classmate Elara was worthy of having been the student director in her college library; she had a good temper and could answer naturally even in the face of such aggressive questions: "Ah, I am his wife."

...Formal wife.

Definitely. People who could afford to come here were either rich or noble. Who didn't want to climb the ladder and live a Cinderella story? But unfortunately, most wives married to men of status were tough, with powerful families backing them. If the backyard caught fire while the man was out, the wife's family would intervene, so even if the man had the intention to stray, he didn't dare to start.

Only Elara was an exception.

Sebastian Thorne’s background spoke for itself, but Elara, the wife of the Thorne family, was recognized as a "Nobody." No background, no backstage support, no power—an innocent member of the working class. What was even more amazing was that Elara not only inherited the class tradition of having nothing, but she also spontaneously formed a backbone that disdained argument.

For example, when Sebastian sometimes set aside his chivalry because she provoked him, increasing the intensity of his actions after throwing her onto the bed, Elara wouldn't deign to explain, let alone beg for mercy. That spineless behavior wasn't for her. Instead, she would raise her chin with the momentum of a defiant martyr. In the end, it put our classmate Sebastian under a lot of psychological pressure; being the oppressor wasn't easy. Therefore, a wife like Elara—rumored to have a title that was merely hollow—was the most suitable target for a nightclub girl to bully.

"Looking for Mr. Thorne, right? Miss Vance, why don't you come over in person? It's already this late. Miss Vance has had dinner, right?"

"......"

Was this woman trying to become family with her or what?

Given her relationship with this strange lady, it seemed they hadn't reached the point of idle chit-chat. Elara coughed and repeated with a good temper: "Trouble you, but can you hand the phone to Sebastian Thorne? I'll just speak to him, it won't take long."

Elara didn't know that the more she showed the desire to contact Sebastian, the more the other party felt a sense of dominance and wouldn't let her get her wish.

"Why, Miss Vance, don't you know that Mr. Thorne is busy now? Tonight, we all saw it; Mr. Thorne arrived at five o'clock, straight from the airport, they say. Miss Vance, I'm being kind here, so I advise you: most wives these days who want to drag men home from us need background and strength. For some people who only have a title and sit in a virtual position, it is better to have a little self-knowledge. It is better to do fewer things that exceed one's own strength..."

"......"

A speech that made Elara sigh. She had long heard that the level of education in the country was improving rapidly. Looking at it now, it seemed true—even the girls in the service industry were different from the past, using irony more cleverly than she did with her Master’s degree in Literature.

Elara listened slowly, holding the cell phone in her left hand. She walked to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, picked it up with her right hand, and drank it unhurriedly.

The woman on the other end probably got a dry mouth, or perhaps she didn't sense the slightest anger from Elara, so she stopped and shouted: "Hello."

Elara immediately stated her position, her attitude that of a very good person: "Ah, you speak, I'm listening."

"......"

Was she possessed? What about the anger of being a wife? What about the tears? What about screaming, crying, and threatening suicide? She was so calm that it made the lady on the other end feel like she was punching cotton.

Then the woman said some stinging words, ending with a sonorous and powerful sentence: "What a useless woman." Then she hung up the phone with a triumphant shake.

Elara looked at the disconnected phone in her hand, put it down, and finally smiled slightly.

Fortunately. Fortunately, she didn't love him.

So everything in the outside world came and went; nothing could hurt her.

In fact, she had always felt ashamed because she knew in her heart that she had always been very indifferent to the man named Sebastian Thorne. Every time she thought about the entirety of this marriage, she felt dumb and speechless.

Speaking of which, maybe she really had to thank Harrison Cole. Many years ago, Harrison single-handedly taught her what kind of life was most important: talking about love without moving her heart, talking about love without digging into her soul. Not hurting anyone's heart, not cherishing anyone—only in this way could she live her life wisely. No longer hiding under the quilt late at night, losing sleep until morning. No longer daring to cry loudly only in the shower, because she knew that was the only place she wouldn't be heard.

Elara raised her eyes, saw the table of dishes she had prepared, and saw the fresh cream cake she had made with her own hands. She remembered a call he made three hours ago, hurriedly saying: "Give me two hours, and I'll be back in two hours." The voice quality was gorgeous, the momentum unquestionable.

She knew that Sebastian had always been a person used to making decisions, holding great power, and standing at the peak. Even his appearance radiated an atmosphere that warned strangers to keep away. Elara remembered the young lady who answered the phone just now, with that disdainful tone, asking if she had eaten. Heh, she thought, even the nightclub girl knew that she, Mrs. Thorne, had made a table of food on her wedding anniversary and was just waiting in vain.

Elara smiled self-deprecatingly. Marrying him, judging from the heart, was indeed a climb. She had already expected that Sebastian Thorne, this man, was definitely not something she could control. You see, even on the cell phone she gave him, the person who picked up could be a strange lady from the red-light district.

Elara was silent for five minutes.

Five minutes later, Elara suddenly took her coat from the sofa, picked up her keys from the table, put them in her coat pocket, and walked out.

She needed to get out and get some air. She thought, no, she's not angry. She just felt that such a self-deceptive life was a little boring.

What Elara would never have expected was that, just because of her phone call, the fate of some people on the other side of the city would be changed.

The Platinum District. The Nightclub.

At nine o'clock in the evening, the bar's nightlife should have been gradually entering its climax. But tonight, in a club bar in the Platinum District, the scene was unusual. The whole bar was dead silent.

It wasn't that there was no one in it.

On the contrary, the bar was crowded with people, almost all standing neatly. At a glance, most were wearing the uniforms of bar waiters, and some girls were wearing deep-V outfits, their line of work self-explanatory. The foreman knew that there was a young lady here tonight who had run her mouth, caused a disaster, and angered someone. The current situation was definitely not something a little foreman could clean up, so he had cleverly winked at his assistant in advance to invite the club's Senior General Manager to the scene.