Shirley Grant didn’t expect him to resort to such drastic measures to silence her. Taken by surprise, she felt completely powerless. She couldn’t push him away, forced to let him assault her lips. After a long while, Alan Morgan lifted his head and let her go. Shirley Grant pushed Alan Morgan off her and sat up on the large red bed. Everywhere she looked, all she could see was a blinding red. On the wall, a faded paper cutout of the character for ’Happiness’ still clung—clearly, this was a bridal suite. In the bedroom, the most noticeable item was the wedding photo at the head of the bed. The man was tall and looked exceptionally handsome in his suit; the woman was dreamy in a long white wedding gown, and both wore sweet smiles. The people in the photo were none other than Shirley Grant and Alan Morgan. Shirley Grant averted her gaze, unconsciously flexing her hands where he had restrained her. The red marks on her wrists were particularly glaring. "Alan Morgan, you were the one who didn’t want me! Why are you playing the victim now and disgusting me?" Tears fell, blooming on the bright red bedsheets in spreading circles. Alan Morgan stood up, adjusted his clothes, and turned to look at Shirley Grant on the bed. "Shirley Grant, good for you. I won’t bother you anymore. And please, stay out of my sight." Alan Morgan walked over to the dressing table, took out a file, and tossed it onto the large bed with a RUSTLE. "I’ll pay the penalty for your resignation. Consider it payment for warming my bed these past few days." With that, Alan Morgan turned and left. With a loud BANG, the bedroom door was brutally slammed shut. Shirley Grant fought back tears, her hands trembling as she reached for the file and opened it. Seeing those words, Shirley Grant could no longer hold back her sobs. This was their bridal suite, though from many years ago. Now he was giving her the villa... He really doesn’t want anything more to do with the past, does he? Shirley Grant clenched the contract, cursing her own weakness. "Why are you crying, Shirley Grant?" she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "It’s not like you haven’t slept with him before. A few days warming his bed, and you get a villa. See how worthwhile it is... so worthwhile..." Curling her legs to her chest, Shirley Grant buried her face in her knees and wept, her whole body trembling. Phoebe Walker rushed to the hospital. Liam Walker was still in the Emergency Room, and the butler was waiting outside. "Butler, where’s my father? What did the doctors say about him?" Phoebe Walker hurried over, her high heels clattering loudly, the sound echoing relentlessly in the corridor. "Miss Walker, you’re finally here. We’re still not sure about the Master’s condition," the butler said, stepping forward to greet her. Phoebe Walker’s eyes were red with anxiety, looking as if she might burst into tears at any moment. Her usual arrogance and innate haughtiness were gone. "This morning, when I left for work, Dad said he had nothing planned and would be home all day. He even asked me to come back early to spend time with him. How could he have gotten into a car accident?" Hearing this, the butler sighed repeatedly in sorrow. "Young Master Peary called the house and invited the Master out. We don’t know what they were going to discuss, but the Master was overjoyed and hurried off." This was fate. An invitation from Young Master Peary was such an honor. If they could establish a connection with him through this, the Walker family’s fortunes would surely soar even higher. But for the Master to meet with such a disaster... Could it truly be that extreme joy breeds sorrow? The butler continued to lament the Master’s misfortune, completely unaware that Phoebe Walker’s face had turned deathly pale the moment she heard his words.