Chloe's revenge was like a precise surgical operation, cold and clean, removing all cancerous tissue. But for a perfect revenge, merely making the enemy "die" is far from enough.

One must make them experience the deepest, soul-striking fear and humiliation before death.


After Daniel signed the divorce agreement that left him penniless and was driven out of the hospital like a stray dog, Chloe casually said to Attorney Hamilton who had been waiting by her side:

"Arthur, I'm a bit tired. The remaining 'garbage'—I don't want to see it again, nor do I want to hear about it. You understand my meaning."

Arthur Hamilton smiled and gave a slight bow. "Understood, Miss Carter. I will handle all the 'aftermath' matters for you."


The so-called "aftermath," three days later, evolved into a dirty celebration that swept through the entire New York high society circle.

Daniel discovered that he had been abandoned by the entire world.


His bank accounts were frozen, credit cards suspended, and his mansions and sports cars sealed overnight. Those who once called him brother and shared cigars and champagne with him had blocked all his contacts, as if avoiding a plague.

The elite network he had carefully built for decades collapsed within just three days.

After spending his last hundred dollars, Daniel, having starved for two days, made a decision that made even himself feel utterly disgusted.

He was going to beg Julian.

Like a true vagrant, he waited for two whole days and nights at the foot of the Blake Group Tower, Julian's building that stood in the center of Manhattan symbolizing absolute power. He reeked of sourness, and his once-proud custom-made suit was now as wrinkled as a rag.

On the afternoon of the third day, Julian finally "condescended" to see him.

In that top-floor office overlooking all of New York, minimalist to the point of cruelty, Daniel set aside all dignity he had in this life and begged pitifully like a dog:

"Julian… Mr. Blake… please, give me a chance to survive. I'll take any job, I'm willing to do anything, as long as I can stay alive…"

Julian sat behind that enormous ebony desk, fingers interlaced, examining him with the cold gaze one would use to inspect a lifeless object.

"My company doesn't hire worthless people," he said, his voice calm yet carrying contempt sharp enough to flay a person alive.

The blood instantly drained from Daniel's face.

"However…" Julian changed his tone, the corner of his mouth curling into a cruel arc, "my stable on the west side of the city does need someone to clean up horse manure. Daily wages, and one meal at noon included."

He paused briefly, each word like a poisoned, red-hot iron pincer, branding Daniel's very soul.

"After all, you should be… quite experienced in handling 'dirty' things."

Daniel's body began to tremble violently. He wanted to roar, to resist, but when he met Julian's emotionless eyes that seemed capable of deciding his fate at any moment, all his words got stuck in his throat.

Finally, he squeezed out a single word through clenched teeth.

"…Fine."

From that day on, a widely circulated, tragic yet ridiculous legend emerged in New York's high society circles: Daniel Reed, once the illustrious and most handsome, elegant designer, now wore dirty work clothes every day, cleaning horse manure at Julian Blake's stable.

No one sympathized with him. They all thought he deserved it.

Leo's fate was even more apparent than Daniel's, and more tragic.

After being expelled by his family and left penniless on the streets, this spoiled boy tasted for the first time what true hunger and cold were. When he tried to use his pretty face to exchange for a dinner at some bars offering "special services," he discovered in horror that he was already "notorious."

Those indecent photos of him and Daniel had somehow been leaked throughout the entire circle of gay wealthy men in New York. He had become a public joke, a "soiled, used-up, and potentially troublesome cheap commodity."

He was driven away like a fly, with contemptuous and mocking glances, by every target he attempted to approach.

The desperation of having nowhere to turn drove him toward an even darker abyss.

In a back alley during a cold rain, he was spotted by several street thugs. They recognized him, that face which had once appeared on the inner pages of fashion magazines.

"Yo, isn't this the Young Master of the Carter family? How did you end up like this?"

Accompanying the vulgar insults were fists raining down like hailstones. They stole the last bit of money on him, but that wasn't enough.

The leader of the thugs pulled out a gleaming folding knife.

"I heard you make a living with this face?" He sneered, tapping Leo's handsome face—now distorted with fear and covered in mud and water—with the back of the knife. "Today, I'm gonna ruin your pretty face!"

"No——!"

With a piercing scream that cut through the rainy night, a deep bloody gash was carved from Leo's left eyebrow all the way to the corner of his mouth.

The excruciating pain and complete despair made him instantly pass out.

One week later.

Chloe was still in that suburban villa. She had just finished a private Pilates class and was now sitting in the sunlit glass conservatory, enjoying afternoon tea.

Attorney Hamilton walked in and respectfully placed a thin folder in front of her.

"Miss Carter, all 'aftermath' matters have been handled completely."

Chloe didn't open it immediately. She simply picked up the fragrant cup of tea, took a small sip, and then asked, "How are they doing?"

"Mr. Daniel Reed has, as of three days ago, accepted a cleaning position at the stable owned by Mr. Blake," Arthur's tone was as calm as if he were reporting the weather. "As for Mr. Leo Carter… he suffered severe facial lacerations in a street fight a few days ago, resulting in permanent disfigurement. Currently, he is receiving treatment in a public ward at City Hospital, with no life-threatening conditions."

Chloe's face showed no expression.

No satisfaction, no sympathy, not even a ripple of emotion.

She merely gave a soft "Hmm" and pushed aside the report she hadn't even opened.

"Understood."

She raised her eyes to look at the sea of blooming "Moon Goddess" roses outside the window. The sunlight was perfect, and the petals still carried the morning dew, beautiful like an unreal dream.

"Arthur," she suddenly spoke, "please change my flight to tomorrow. I want to go to Tuscany for a while."

A place that was once filled with nightmares had now become the place she most wanted to visit.

Because there, she had her first dream about the moon when she was eighteen.

And also because there was a man who remembered that dream for her.

Her revenge had ended.

And the story between her and him was just beginning.