Los Angeles, Midsummer

At five in the morning, the sky was just beginning to lighten. Jenna Roland slipped out of bed with practiced quiet.

She tied her apron with ease and moved deftly in the cramped kitchen. The clinking of the spatula against the pan was barely audible—she didn’t want to wake her uncle’s family next door.

By six-thirty, steaming soy milk and freshly made pancakes were neatly arranged on the dining table.

Wiping sweat from her brow, Jenna pulled the household register from the drawer and tucked it carefully into her bag.

"Jenna, leaving so early?" Fiona Roland yawned as she emerged from the bedroom.

"Yes, I have some business to take care of." Jenna kept her head down and hurried toward the door.

Her e-bike cut through the morning light. With every block closer to the city hall, her heartbeat quickened.

"Jenna!"

The familiar voice made her brake sharply. She looked up to see Grandma Blanche waving at her from the steps of the building.

Beside the elderly woman stood a tall man in a crisp white shirt that gleamed blindingly under the sun.

Jenna took a deep breath, parked her bike, and approached them.

"This is my grandson, Ethan Roscente." Grandma Blanche beamed. "Vice President of HM Group."

The man turned. His sharp gaze swept over Jenna like a blade.

Her fingers tightened around the hem of her shirt. He was even taller than she’d imagined, his long legs outlined by tailored black trousers. An aura of unapproachable intensity radiated from him.

"Hello, Mr. Roscente." Jenna extended her hand, still flecked with flour from breakfast.

Ethan gave a slight nod, barely glancing at her.

"Go on inside and get your marriage license. I’ll wait in the car." Grandma Blanche patted Jenna’s shoulder with an encouraging smile.

As they entered the hall, Ethan suddenly stopped.

"Miss Roland." His voice was glacial. "Are you certain about this marriage?"

Jenna looked up. Sunlight slanted across his sharply defined features, casting half his face in shadow.

"I’m certain." Her voice was soft but unwavering.

Ten minutes later, Jenna clutched the freshly printed marriage certificate, feeling like she was in a dream.

"Take this." Ethan held out a black card. "Twenty thousand monthly. Ask if you need more."

Jenna stepped back. "No, Mr. Roscente, I couldn’t—"

"Don’t make me repeat myself." He shoved the card into her hand and walked away.

As the black Maybach pulled off, Jenna remained frozen on the sidewalk.

"That girl has a good heart. Must you always be so cold?" Grandma Blanche chided in the car.

Ethan loosened his tie with a scoff. "What kind of woman marries for money?"

"Nonsense!" The elderly woman smacked the seat in frustration. "She’s doing this to reclaim her parents’ orchard! That poor child’s brother is still hospitalized!"

Ethan glanced out the window. Jenna was pushing her e-bike into the distance, her slight frame almost translucent in the harsh sunlight.

"Time will tell," he said flatly.

"Stubborn boy!" Grandma Blanche glared. "In all my years, I’ve never misjudged a person!"

Ethan closed his eyes and said nothing more.

In the rearview mirror, the girl with the ponytail grew smaller until she disappeared into the morning traffic.