Love Burned, She Rose Unscathed

His way was way broader than what's-his-name, Chen something or other.

Leda eyed him for a moment, a mix of amusement and disbelief in her gaze, as he stood there puffing his chest, the embodiment of confidence. "You sure you want to talk business with me?" she asked, an eyebrow raised. "Of course. What's with that look? You doubting me or something?"

Leda gave him a once-over, her gaze traveling from his head to his toes and back up again.

No need to even mention the Gibsons. In Lumina City's hierarchy of elite families, they were leagues above the Smiths.

Then there was York. A guy who took a slap without hitting back was a guy with a steady temper, a gentleman of sorts.

Sure, he was a bit of a playboy, surrounded by rumors, but it wasn't as if she was planning to marry the guy. Besides... She wasn't exactly a saint herself. Perfect. There were no judgments and no strings attached.

Meeting at a club, they might even end up partying together.

The most important thing was, this man knew how to make a clean break. Sure, it made him a bit of a jerk, but in a way, it also meant he could let go easily.

No worries about messy breakups or lingering attachments.

The more Leda thought about it, the more suitable he seemed.

"Alright, let's talk inside?" she suggested.

York snorted, "Talk? Let's do it. Scared? Not me."

Leda smiled, satisfied. "What are you waiting for? Let's go." She grabbed his tie and gave it a tug.

York stumbled forward. "Hey!" he protested.

What's with the rough handling? Not exactly his idea of gentle.

...

Beverley was down for a couple of days after losing her grandson.

But it was just for a couple of days.

The thought of no longer having to deal with Millie, that wench, and never having to see her again lifted her spirits.

She returned to her carefree days of social gatherings and card games.

One day, she was invited to a ladies' tea party.

Sipping on exquisite tea and nibbling on delicate pastries, Beverley, dressed in the latest Chanel, lounged on a plush leather sofa, enjoying the music and idle chatter with the other ladies.

"Mrs. Sherwood, you seem a bit off lately. You look worn out. Is

everything okay at home?" Mrs. Clark, a woman of substance with a stake in the investment world, asked. Her chubby cheeks dimpled as she spoke, but her words carried a sharp edge. Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

Beverley's smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered, her smile widening. "Oh, everything's fine at home. It's just me not coping well with the heat. It's been affecting my sleep and my skin."

"Really?" Mrs. Clark pursed her lips.

As if they didn't know.

The story involved a miscarriage, a woman left alone in the hospital, and Beverley, who didn't even bother to check in.

Needing people when it suited her and discarding them when it didn't, Beverley was known for that.

"Skin issues can be fixed, but a rotten heart, now that's a real problem, don't you think, Mrs. Sherwood?"

Beverley frowned, sensing the hidden barb but dared not retaliate, fearing it might escalate and expose more than just a chink in her armor.

"I need some air; it's a bit stuffy in here," Beverley said gracefully, nodding to the ladies as she stood up.

After she left-

"Putting on airs, who does she think she's fooling? We all know the dirty laundry of her household." "Well, you can't blame her for not sleeping well these past few days, considering the situation."

"Serves her right! Who treats a decent girl like that?"

"These matters, well, they're like a bad joke to us bystanders."

Indeed.

Beverley, blissfully unaware of their opinions, stepped into the lobby, about to ask for a glass of water when a commotion at the front desk caught her attention. "Ma'am, I'm afraid we can't let you in without a reservation!"

"Reservation, my foot! It's not like I'm here to see a doctor. Move it, or I'll make you regret blocking my way!"