A wave of bitter misery washed over her. She never would have imagined that her birthday this year would be spent in such a tragic way, filing for divorce at the Civil Affairs Bureau.

But then, she thought, was this not just another form of rebirth?

Flora felt a bit better. Just as she climbed back into her car, her phone rang with an unfamiliar number.

She answered, and a young girl's voice came through the receiver:

"Is this Ms. Jiang?"

Flora’s breath hitched. She instinctively guessed who it might be, but she forced herself to remain calm. "Who is this?"

The caller spoke with an unapologetic, confident tone, smiling. "I'm Summer."

"Ms. Jiang, shall we have a talk?"

...

Flora wore a season-high-fashion black flowing gown, wrapped in an expensive fox fur stole, dressed to the nines for the meeting.

Her long hair was pulled into an impeccable bun, her red lips were vivid and icy, and her gaze was sharp. She radiated the powerful aura of a wealthy socialite, refusing to let anyone see even a trace of her vulnerability.

Yes, she was unwilling to concede. She did not want to be utterly defeated by a youthful face.

Naturally, the moment she stepped into the cafe, she effortlessly captured everyone's attention.

Even an aging Ferrari is still a Ferrari.

Though she no longer possessed the bright, unrestrained charm of her younger self—that "wild rose" spirit—she remained breathtakingly beautiful.

Flora recognized Summer almost at first glance.

She looked just like her—far too much like her.

She stared, lost in thought, at the face of the girl sitting by the window, hallucinating that her own twenty-year-old self was standing right before her eyes.

No, her twenty-year-old self had been even more beautiful, more elegant, and more dazzling.

Back then, she had been in the prime of her youth, and even without a drop of makeup, she couldn't hide that vibrant, fresh aura. She cried when she wanted to cry, laughed when she wanted to laugh; she could do all sorts of crazy things without a care in the world, and love someone with everything she had.

Unfortunately, she was no longer young.

Flora sighed inwardly and walked over.

The young girl looked somewhat flustered. She instinctively stood up and timidly called out, "Ms. Jiang."

Summer sized up the woman in front of her, biting her lip in resentment.

She hadn't expected Flora to be so beautiful.

Based on Julian's usual tone of disdain, she had expected to see some washed-up, aging housewife.

Today, Summer had worn a light, bright red gauze dress, accessorized with a light-pink kitten-style diamond necklace, and applied a seductive smoky eye—making full use of all her youthful advantages.

Yet, in front of Flora, everything she wore seemed to pale in comparison.

Flora’s gaze rested on the diamond necklace around Summer's neck, and she froze.

She remembered half a year ago, when a jeweler had sent a selection of new high-end jewelry to the Yan residence for her to choose from; this light-pink kitten diamond necklace had been among them.

She had loved it at the time, picking it up and trying it on in the mirror for a long while, but in the end, she had sighed and put it back.

Julian had been sitting nearby. He had asked:

"Why didn't you take that one? I remember you used to like these flashy things."

Flora had picked up a more dignified and elegant sapphire necklace instead, saying coldly:

"I'm at an age where it doesn't suit me anymore."

"Besides," she had looked back, smiling with sarcasm, "you were always mocking me for being frivolous, weren't you?"

Julian hadn't denied it then.

And now, this very necklace was appearing on his mistress's neck.

So, it wasn't the necklace he hated. It was her.

And when had Julian and Summer gotten together? Half a year ago?

Perhaps even earlier. They had probably been together all along.

She tossed her bag onto the table and sat down languidly. "Ms. Summer, what do you want to talk about?"

When she arrived, she might have still had some fighting spirit left, wondering whether she should put on the air of the "rightful wife" and properly interrogate the girl.

But now, she only felt bored.

Summer lifted her face, smiling.

"Ms. Jiang, Julian always used to say that you look just like me. I didn't believe him back then, but seeing you in person today, I think..."

"Actually, we don't look that much alike." She curled the corners of her lips. "You’re very old."

"A very stereotypical old woman."

Summer's tone was filled with unabashed malice.

Flora’s brow knit tight.

3

She had long known she wasn't young anymore, but hearing it pointed out so bluntly still caused a sharp, stinging pain to bloom in her heart.

Yet, she refused to lose her composure.

Flora lowered her eyes, tracing the handle of her cup, and replied in a flat, indifferent tone:

"Are you so certain, Ms. Summer, that you won't live past thirty? Is that why you feel so free to mock women of this age?"

Summer’s face twisted for a fleeting second, not expecting to run into such a sharp rebuttal.

Seeing Flora looking so calm and composed only fueled her fire.

The next moment, without any warning, she stood up and splashed a cup of coffee violently across Flora’s face.

Flora felt the searing heat against her skin and let out a startled cry of pain.

As the coffee dripped down, she wiped her face and looked up at the other woman in disbelief.

For thirty years, Flora had lived a life of privilege—first as the arrogant, pampered daughter of the Jiang family, and later as the wife of a top-tier tycoon. Never, not once, had anyone dared to splash anything at her!

A small commotion rippled through the cafe. Other patrons turned to look, whispering and laughing in hushed tones.

Flora felt utterly humiliated, her rage burning white-hot. She raised her hand and struck a crisp slap across Summer’s face.

The next moment, her arm was seized, immobilized.

It was Julian.

His face held a frantic, angry expression she had never seen before:

"Flora, what the hell do you think you're doing!"

Flora’s hair was matted against her face, her body trembling with fury:

"What am I doing? Julian, can't you see what she just did to me?!"

Summer sobbed, throwing herself into Julian’s arms, and he caught her naturally.

Without a second thought, he spoke in her defense:

"Summer is just immature and likes to joke around; she didn't mean to take it too far. She heard it was your birthday and even brought you a cake. Flora, don’t be so petty."

Only then did Flora notice the assistant behind him, who was standing there holding a cake with a feigned, obsequious look, though the smirk on his face was dripping with contempt.

Julian paused, curled his lip in a sharp, ironic smile, and said airily:

"I forgot, you're thirty now. You’ve got a generation gap with the younger crowd."

Flora stared at him, dazed. Her face went deathly pale, and her lips began to tremble violently.

He was still so skilled at saying things that cut the deepest.

"Generation gap? A joke?" Her eyes reddened, and she fought desperately to keep the tears from falling.

"In your eyes, this is a joke? It’s just me being out of touch and behind the times?"

Julian took in her expression, feeling a sudden, unexplained wave of annoyance:

"What else would it be?"

"It’s just a prank, like friends smearing cake on each other’s faces at a birthday party," he insisted.

Flora almost wanted to laugh.

She nodded and turned to Summer:

"Summer, Ms. Summer. Right?"

"The 'joke' you just played ruined a three-million-dollar high-fashion gown, a two-million-dollar stole, and a priceless antique Patek Philippe watch."

"One must be responsible for their own actions. How do you intend to compensate me?"

Summer’s face went white.

"If you can't pay, that's fine too," Flora said, lifting her chin.

"Get on your knees and kowtow to apologize. One kowtow for every million."

Summer’s face turned even paler, shrinking into Julian’s embrace, looking as if she were about to faint.

Julian closed his eyes, unable to hold back any longer:

"That’s enough!"

He pulled a checkbook from his pocket, scribbled a number with his pen, and threw it in Flora’s face.

"Ten million. Is that enough to cover it? Flora, what kind of skill is it to bully a young girl?"

"Summer was kind enough to celebrate your birthday, and you’ve managed to ruin the mood like this."

Flora peeled the check off her face, stared at the string of zeros, and suddenly laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

When, in her life, had she ever cared about such a paltry sum of money?

What she wanted, from start to finish, was simply to vent her rage.

Flora coldly wiped away her tears and looked at the two scoundrels in front of her.