He glanced at the time. It was 8:00 AM. Leon Sterling grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom to wash up.
By the time he came out of the bathroom, the alarm Hazel Sinclair had set on her phone went off.
He walked over, silenced the alarm, and then headed for the kitchen.
Staring at the spotless kitchen, Leon Sterling froze in place.
’He’d just passed out after getting drunk last night. Did Hazel Sinclair clean up the dishes and the kitchen?’
A pang of guilt hit Leon Sterling. ’I can’t drink that much anymore,’ he silently vowed. ’Getting drunk and making Hazel take care of me...’
He washed a pan, turned on the burner, and cracked three eggs into it. Then he lit another burner.
He set another pot on it, filled it with water, and brought it to a boil. From the refrigerator, he took out noodles, a tomato, and a couple of eggs.
’Something simple today,’ he thought. ’Tomato and egg noodles.’
Just then, Hazel Sinclair’s alarm went off again. In the bedroom, she snapped her eyes open.
’What time is it?’
’I’m not late, am I?’
Hazel Sinclair scrambled out of bed, found a dress, and quickly changed.
Once changed, Hazel Sinclair rushed into the bathroom to get ready. After she was done, she ran out and saw Leon Sterling in the kitchen, busy making breakfast.
She blurted out, "What time is it?"
"Eight-forty," Leon Sterling said, glancing at his phone.
"Crap, I’m going to be late!" Hazel Sinclair cried out in despair when she heard the time.
She grabbed her phone, threw on a pair of shoes, and opened the door to leave.
"You’re not eating breakfast?" Seeing her mad dash, Leon Sterling rushed out from the kitchen to ask.
"No time!" Hazel Sinclair yelled back as she slammed the door and bolted.
Staring at the closed door, Leon Sterling’s expression darkened, his thoughts unreadable.
After rushing to the office, Hazel Sinclair finally breathed a sigh of relief. Jill Kensington took one look at her scrapes and bruises and asked quietly, "What did you get up to last night? You’re so late, and what happened to you?"
Recalling the previous night’s events, Hazel Sinclair touched her cheek and said with a wry smile, "Last night was... eventful. The scrapes are from a fall I took after work yesterday."
"You wouldn’t believe it even if I told you."
Jill Kensington scoffed. "What could have possibly happened?"
"That must have been a nasty fall."
"Your arms and legs are all scraped up."
"Did you guys see the news? The police busted a huge vice den last night and arrested a ton of people."
"I saw that. All I can say is, the rich have some wild hobbies."
Hearing their discussion, Jill Kensington walked over. "What news?"
"This," said Chloe, one of the streamers, handing Jill her phone.
The video showed police dragging people out of a luxurious villa and hustling them into patrol cars.
The caption read: "On the evening of August 25, at 9:48 PM, our forces dismantled the city’s largest vice den, apprehending a total of fifteen suspects and rescuing ten victims."
"Reject vice, gambling, and drugs. It starts with you."
The faces of the people in the video were blurred out, but their suits looked incredibly expensive—far beyond what an ordinary person could afford.
After watching the video, something seemed to click for Jill Kensington. She whipped around to stare at Hazel Sinclair.
She strode over, grabbed Hazel Sinclair’s hand, and pulled her toward the breakroom.
Closing the breakroom door, Jill Kensington stared at her. "You were in that villa last night, weren’t you?"
Hazel Sinclair raised an eyebrow at the question.
’She’s sharp.’
"Yes."
At her confirmation, Jill Kensington’s jaw dropped, her face a mask of disbelief.
"Are you insane?" Jill Kensington’s voice was laced with incredulity. "You’re a Sinclair! Have you really sunk so low?"
"You’ll get yourself killed!" Thinking of what happened in her past life, Jill Kensington’s voice grew agitated.
She had heard from others how Hazel Sinclair died: she’d contracted a venereal disease and was later beaten to death in an alley with no security cameras, on the orders of a wealthy CEO’s wife.
That CEO’s wife was unhinged, convinced every woman in the world was trying to steal her husband. She was incredibly controlling.
Someone must have told her that Hazel Sinclair had seduced her husband, and in a fit of jealousy, she’d had her killed.
Looking at the woman before her, still in the prime of her life, Jill Kensington felt a pang. Even though she was adamant that Hazel should divorce Leon Sterling, she didn’t want her to die.
She didn’t know why Hazel Sinclair had ended up in that villa, but she knew her death had been a terrible injustice.
"Have you been to a hospital? You need to go get tested, now! It hasn’t been 24 hours, you can still get preventative treatment!" Jill Kensington said, grabbing her wrist and trying to pull her out of the breakroom.
Hazel Sinclair could see the worry on her face as clear as day. ’Okay, so I misjudged the female lead.’
"I’m fine," Hazel Sinclair explained, looking at her.
"I didn’t debase myself. Someone threatened me and forced me to go."
Hearing this, Jill Kensington let out a laugh. "I knew it. How could someone like you ever go to a place like that?"
But then her tone shifted, and she immediately went back to her old argument. "Still, you should divorce Leon Sterling."
Hazel Sinclair: ???
’Why is she back to telling me to divorce Leon Sterling?’
"Why?"
"If you don’t get a divorce, how am I supposed to just give up and coast?" Jill Kensington explained.
"I don’t want to work so hard anymore! I don’t want to pay a five-thousand-a-month mortgage!" The mere thought of her thirty-year mortgage made Jill Kensington despair.
"You bought a house?" Hazel Sinclair asked, surprised.
’What a badass,’ Hazel thought. ’To actually buy a house in a place like Veridia, where every inch of land is worth its weight in gold. I’m impressed.’
The thought of her mortgage made Jill Kensington want to cry.
Thirty years. 1.8 million. She’d been so bold two years ago, daring to buy a house after saving up just a few hundred thousand.
"I did," Jill Kensington nodded.
"You can do it!" Hazel Sinclair patted her on the shoulder comfortingly. "It’s just five thousand a month. You’ve got this."
’I can’t do it!’
’I can’t—’
Jill Kensington screamed inwardly.
In the end, she had no choice but to accept reality. Since Hazel Sinclair wasn’t following the same path as her last life, it seemed a divorce from Leon Sterling was no longer a possibility.
Jill Kensington accepted her fate. She looked at Hazel Sinclair and asked, "Since you’re a Sinclair, do you know any rich guys who give you a massive payout when you break up?"
"So you want to land a rich guy?" Hazel Sinclair asked with a laugh.
’She’d had similar thoughts herself back when she was desperately poor.’
’If only I married a rich man, life wouldn’t be this hard.’
’But the idea would always vanish a few days later when her paycheck came in, and she’d feel like she could handle things on her own again.’
"Yes, I want to land a rich guy," Jill Kensington admitted, throwing all caution to the wind.
"I desperately need 1.8 million."
On the spot, Hazel Sinclair pulled out her phone, opened WeChat, and started sharing contacts with her.
Drawing on the original body’s memories, she picked out all the guys who were decent-looking, from wealthy families, and known to be big spenders.
"This one loves to party at bars. He’s the second son of the Holloway Family, just graduated this year, and has a hefty allowance," Hazel Sinclair said, pointing to one of the contacts.