Shattered Jade, Broken Ties
The light from the crystal chandelier danced across the champagne tower, making my head spin.
My fingers clutching the gilded wedding Invitation Card went slightly white, the patterned edges worn soft from my touch.
This was my third time at a Thompson family party; the first two I was just an accessory to Cyril Thompson, but this time, things were different.
I took a deep breath and stepped beside the champagne tower, pretending to fix my dress while actually waiting for the Thompson brothers.
"Isn't that Fiona Ivens? What is she doing here?"
"I heard she left the Thompsons ages ago—how dare she show up at an event like this?"
The whispers around me stabbed into my ears like needles. I straightened my spine and didn't look back.
As soon as the Thompson brothers appeared at the revolving door, the murmurs immediately died down.
Wesley Thompson wore a sapphire blue suit, his hair slicked back meticulously. When he reached me, a familiar smirk curled at his lips: "Fiona, haven't you already overstayed your welcome at the Thompson family's doorstep? Or is it that once you're out, you can't even get into these kinds of party anymore?"
I handed over the invitation card, deliberately keeping my fingers away from his. "I'm only here to deliver the invitation—nothing else."
He glanced at the Invitation Card inscribed with "Groom: Gene Charles," then suddenly threw his head back, laughing loudly enough to draw everyone's attention: "Gene Charles? The Charles Family from A City? You really think he'd marry you? Don't fool yourself—he's just toying with you!"
Cyril beside me stayed silent. Dressed in a dark gray suit, he appeared more mature than three years ago, yet when his eyes landed on the jade pendant at my neck, they still held that old complexity.
The jade pendant was a warm white, its edges worn smooth by my touch, with a tiny "Fiona" character delicately carved in the center.
On that rainy night three years ago, he stacked all my law books in the empty yard behind the Thompsons' house.
The flicker of the lighter cast shadows on his face as he said, "Stop dreaming about becoming a lawyer; wouldn't it be better to stay with the Thompsons and keep quiet?"
I lunged forward to grab the books, but he blocked me.
As the flames licked the pages, he pulled this jade pendant from his pocket and tossed it to me: "This is your compensation; don't ever mention being a lawyer again."
I clutched the pendant tightly, my nails digging into my palm, blood dripping onto the jade before I wiped it clean.
At that moment, Wesley suddenly snatched the invitation card from my hand and, without even glancing at it, threw it fiercely into the nearby silver trash bin.
He grabbed my wrist with such force that I winced, and said, "The Thompsons have raised you for over ten years, fed you, clothed you, and yet you still try to climb higher? Heartless creature!"
Cyril spoke up as well, his voice tighter than usual: "Fiona, don't make a scene. If you have something to say, let's talk in private."
I glanced up at him briefly, then answered calmly, "Cyril, there's nothing for us to discuss."
Wesley, angered by my attitude, immediately reached into my pocket—knowing I always carry a spare invitation card.
With a ripping sound, he tore the spare invitation card into pieces.
The scraps of paper drifted onto the tips of my black high heels, like shattered snowflakes.
"If Gene truly recognized you as his wife, then let him come right now!" He flung the torn paper at my face. "Who do you think you are? Nothing more than an orphan picked up by the Thompsons!"
I swallowed my anger and looked up, just as the revolving door swung open again.
Gene Charles stood tall in a black suit, flanked by two assistants, his presence instantly silencing the entire room.
He walked through the crowd at an unhurried pace, yet everyone instinctively stepped aside to clear his path.
When he reached my side, he naturally slipped his arm around my waist, the warmth of his palm pressing through the dress, loosening the tight knot in my chest.
"Wesley Thompson," his eyes locked on Wesley's face, calm but charged with a quiet menace, "how dare you touch my wife?"
Wesley's face flushed immediately. He likely hadn't expected Gene to actually come and stammered, "Gene! Do you even know who she is? She's just a..."
"She's my legally wedded wife, the wife of Gene Charles." Gene cut him off, raising his other hand to gently stroke my reddened wrist with his fingertip. "Where exactly did you touch her just now?"
Cyril took a step forward, his voice pleading, "Mr. Charles, this is all a misunderstanding. For my sake, please let it go."
"Since when does the Charles family need to spare your feelings?" Gene's cold sneer was icy. He turned to Cyril and said, "Or has Mr. Thompson forgotten who, three years ago on that rainy night, was in the Thompson backyard burning all of Fiona's law books?"
Cyril's face went suddenly pale, his lips moving slightly, but no words came out.
This reunion isn't about me clinging on; I've come to say goodbye.
Goodbye to the Fiona who lived under the Thompsons' roof like a stranger, whose dreams were cruelly burned away.
The banquet's noise hadn't yet lifted the Thompson brothers' humiliation when Sophie Lewis suddenly darted out from the crowd.
She wore a pink gown, her hair styled in waves, and as she reached Wesley's side, she deliberately smoothed her skirt, as if flaunting something.
But the moment her gaze fell on the jade pendant around my neck, her expression changed instantly, her voice sharp as nails scraping glass: "That jade is stolen property! It belongs to the Thompsons' private museum collection and was stolen last year—it turns out you're the thief!"
Wesley's eyes suddenly brightened, as if grasping at a lifeline, reaching out toward the pendant on my neck: "So you're the one who stole it! Hand it over immediately, or I'll call the police and have you arrested!"
I tilted my head to evade him; his fingers brushed my earlobe, cold as ice.
"Wesley, don't talk nonsense!" I stepped back, trying to hide behind Gene.
But he was much stronger than I was; he reached out and grabbed my jade necklace. With a ripping sound, the silver chain snapped.
The jade pendant fell onto the marble floor, producing a sharp, clear ring.
Before I could bend down to pick it up, Wesley's black leather shoe crushed it harshly.
The cracking sound stabbed my heart like a needle.
I felt as if my heart had been clenched, aching so deeply I struggled to breathe.
"Wesley!" I lunged forward, trying to push him away, but the two bodyguards behind him grabbed my arms and slammed me to the ground.
My knee crashed hard onto the broken jade pendant shards; the sharp fragments pierced my flesh, and the metallic scent of blood spread instantly.
I trembled in pain, tears spilling uncontrollably—not from the hurt, but because of this jade.
This was my only consolation within the Thompsons, the sole "compensation" after my dreams had gone up in flames.
"Let her go!" Gene's voice thundered with anger. His assistant immediately stepped forward and yanked the bodyguards away from me.
The bodyguard tried to resist, but Gene's assistant held him down by the shoulders, leaving him no room to move.
Gene crouched down and gently helped me to my feet. The moment his fingertips brushed the blood on my knee, his eyes instantly chilled, as if turned to ice.
"Does it hurt?" His voice was barely above a whisper as he reached out toward my knee, hesitant, afraid of causing me pain.
I shook my head, eyes fixed on the jade shards scattered on the ground, unable to find words.
Cyril stepped forward, staring at the broken jade pieces on the floor, his voice trembling, "Fiona, I'm sorry, I... never meant for this to happen."
"Are you trying to say, 'Just for my sake, we should let this slide?'" Gene finished his sentence for him, his tone thick with sarcasm.
His assistant hurried over, holding a tablet that displayed the earlier surveillance footage.
The footage clearly captured Wesley tearing off the jade necklace, smashing the jade pendant, and the bodyguards restraining me, frame by frame.
"Wesley Thompson," Gene said as he took the tablet and held it up before Wesley's flushed face, the light from the screen glinting off him, "damaging others' property and intentional assault—these two offenses are enough to keep you detained for several days."
Sophie hid behind Wesley, tugged at his sleeve, and whispered, "Mr. Charles, she was the one who stole first; we were only taking back what belonged to us..."
"Stole?" I gritted my teeth against the pain in my knee, pulled my phone out of my handbag, and opened the transfer records from three years ago. "This jade pendant was transferred to me by Cyril three years ago, and here's the proof of the transaction."
"At that time, he said it was compensation for burning my law book, amounting to fifty thousand dollars, which just happened to be the total price of that batch of books."
Cyril's face went completely pale. He stared at the transfer record on my phone, his lips quivering, but he couldn't manage to say a single word.
Wesley tried to argue back: "That's because you pressured my brother! You're the queen of playing the victim; it was exactly like that when you tricked my brother into allowing you to stay with us! You're nothing but a schemer!"
Gene wasted no more words on them, bending down to scoop me up horizontally, then turned and strode towards the door: "The Thompsons' mess — tomorrow, my lawyer team will settle everything with you, including my wife's medical expenses, emotional damages, and the compensation for this jade pendant."
I nestled into Gene's arms, my cheek pressed against the fabric of his suit, catching the faint, comforting scent of cedar.
I watched the jade shards on the ground drift farther away; those white fragments sparkled under the crystal chandelier, like broken dreams.
That jade pendant had stayed with me for three years. I once believed it was the only "warmth" the Thompsons ever showed me.
Now that it's broken, so be it.
From this moment on, there will be no ties between me and the Thompsons.
Gene's private suite was on the top floor of the hotel, its floor-to-ceiling windows revealing S City's night skyline.
He set me down on the sofa, then turned to the bathroom to fetch a towel and a first-aid kit.
I stared at the wound on my knee; the bleeding had stopped, but the dull ache still spread beneath my skin.
"First, wipe it clean, then disinfect." Gene approached holding warm water and a towel, crouching gently before me to carefully clean the dirt from my knee.
The sting of the disinfectant made me wince involuntarily; he immediately slowed his movements, softly blowing on the wound with his fingertips: "Hold on, it'll be better soon."
I nodded, my eyes fixed on his earnest profile.
Meeting Gene was a chance encounter, yet he became the sole light in my life.
"Fiona, there are some things you need to know." He put down the cotton swab, his tone suddenly turning grave.
I looked up at him, an uneasy feeling creeping into my heart.
He grasped my hand, the warmth of his palm comforting yet making me anxious: "Your parents didn't die in an accident. Back then, Old Man Thompson was critically ill and needed rare RH-negative blood. Your parents had this blood type. To save Old Man Thompson, they volunteered to donate blood at the hospital for three straight days. In the end, they fainted from blood loss on their way home and were involved in a car accident."
My mind buzzed like a thunderclap exploding inside my head.
The Thompsons always told me that my parents had an accident driving on a slippery road in the rain, and that adopting me was an act of kindness, expecting me to feel grateful.
So, I wasn't "kindly adopted" after all—I was a "child bride" traded for my parents' lives?
"They said that since I was living under their roof, I had to please everyone in the Thompson family and obey Cyril and Wesley to be considered well-behaved."
I choked on my sobs as tears fell uncontrollably. "Cyril said the same thing—that if I wasn't obedient, I'd be thrown out of the Thompsons and left homeless."
I remember when I was little, Wesley often snatched my toys and threw my textbooks on the floor. Though Cyril would pick them up for me, he never blamed Wesley; he would just tell me to "bear with it."
I thought that was simply the Thompsons' "rule," but now I realize I have no need to endure, because they owed my parents.
Gene wrapped me in his arms, gently patting my back, his voice tender: "You don't need to please anyone anymore. With me here, no one will ever bully you again."
"Your dreams can start over. If you want to be a lawyer, I'll find you the best mentor. If you want to open a store, I'll help you pick the perfect spot."
His words were like a warm current flowing through my frozen heart.
At that moment, a sudden knock echoed at the door.
Gene's assistant said from outside, "Mr. Charles, Cyril Thompson is waiting out here. He says it's urgent to see Miss Ivens."
Gene and I exchanged a glance; he frowned and said, "Tell him to leave."
"He insists he won't leave without seeing Miss Ivens." The assistant's voice held a tone of helplessness.
I took a deep breath, stepped out of Gene's embrace, and said, "Let him in. There are things I need to make clear to him."
Gene hesitated for a moment but finally nodded, instructing the assistant to let Cyril in.
When Cyril walked in, his hair was a bit messy, and his suit still had wine stains from earlier. He looked quite disheveled.
He saw me, his eyes instantly reddening. "Fiona, I know I was wrong. Burning your books back then was my fault. And today, Wesley laying hands on you is our fault too. After more than ten years bonds between us, can you give me one more chance?"
"Bonds?" I stood up from the sofa and walked toward him. The pain in my knee made me falter, and Gene immediately caught my arm.
I shrugged off his hand and stared into Cyril's eyes. "Living under someone else's roof, enduring your moods every day, cleaning up Wesley's messes, hearing you say 'Stop causing trouble. Just put up with it'—you call that a bond?"
His lips moved slightly, as if to speak, but I cut him off.
"Cyril, when you burned my law book, did you ever think about what we had? You stood by as Wesley threw my textbook into the mud—did you ever consider our bonds?"
"You knew my parents died for the Thompsons, yet you kept it from me all along—did you ever think about that bond?"
My voice grew colder with each word, the chill in my heart deepening: "Now you speak to me of bonds? It's far too late."
Gene walked over, slipped his arm around my waist, and said to Cyril, "Mr. Thompson, you're not welcome here. Please leave."
We turned and walked toward the bedroom, and behind us came Cyril's voice, trembling with tears: "Fiona, I will make it up to you! I will help you chase your dream of becoming a lawyer. I will make Wesley apologize to you. Please, don't treat me like this!"
I didn't look back, nor did I slow my steps.
Make it up?
My parents' fate, my ruined youth, my shattered dreams—can any of these really be made up for?
As I stepped through the bedroom door, I happened to glance down the hallway; there, Wesley knelt on the carpet.
In his hand were several shards of the jade pendant; his fingers were cut by the fragments, and drops of blood stained the white carpet like crimson plum blossoms.
His face was covered in blood, yet he kept picking up the shattered jade pieces, murmuring, "Broken... why did it break..."
The crystal chandelier in the hotel shone on him, exposing his disheveled state as clearly as daylight, like a ridiculous farce.
Gene held me tighter and whispered in my ear, "Don't look anymore. He isn't worth your pity. From now on, his affairs are none of your concern."
I leaned against Gene's chest, closed my eyes, and tears still slipped down.
What the Thompsons owe me, I will take back bit by bit—everything that belongs to me.
Because my knee injury needed treatment, Gene took me back to A City the next day.
The private hospital ward was very quiet, with a sprawling green landscape just outside the window.
When I woke up, the sunlight was streaming gently through the window, casting light onto the chair beside the bed.
Gene was sitting in the chair, holding a broken piece of a jade pendant, his head leaning against the backrest, asleep.
The redness in his eyes was clear—he looked like he hadn't slept all night.
I lightly touched his hand, and he woke up immediately. Seeing that I was awake, his eyes softened instantly. "You're awake? Are you feeling any pain? Thirsty? I'll go get you some water."
"You stayed up guarding me all night?" I grabbed his hand, preventing him from getting up.
He paused for a moment, then smiled and said, "No, I slept for a bit in between, and my assistant came over to relieve me."
I knew he was lying; the red veins in his eyes gave him away.
"Don't stay up late anymore. I'm fine." I held his hand tightly, feeling a warm glow in my heart.
He nodded and handed me a cup of warm water. "There's news from the Thompsons. Sophie was sent by them for a psychiatric evaluation. The diagnosis is 'dangerous type of mental disorder,' and she's been admitted to a psychiatric hospital in City X."
I was momentarily stunned. Sophie always acted so gentle and gracious—how could she suddenly be diagnosed with a mental disorder?
"Did the Thompsons interfere?" I asked.
Gene nodded. "Cyril wanted to protect Wesley, so he had to sacrifice Sophie. After all, she accused you of stealing the jade pendant, but when that was exposed, the Thompsons needed a scapegoat."
I remained silent. Though Sophie was detestable, being sent to a mental hospital was, in a way, her punishment.
"And Cyril has received the Charles family's final ultimatum." Gene continued, "Either Wesley goes to the mines in Z City to dig jade and personally carve an exact replica of the destroyed jade pendant as compensation; Or the Charles family will pull out all cooperation with the Thompson Group and expose the Thompsons' past misdeeds, cutting off their financial lifeline completely."
My fingers trembled as I took the glass of water; the mines in Z City are brutal, and Wesley, having lived a pampered life from childhood, could never stand such hardships.
"Did Wesley agree?" I asked.
Gene took out her phone, played a video, and handed it to me. "He has no choice. The Thompson Group is hanging by a thread, relying entirely on the cooperation with my company. If he refuses, the Thompsons are doomed."
In the video, Wesley wore a gray miner's uniform, his hair tangled and wild, dirt smeared across his face, gripping a shovel as he dug for jade in the dim mine shaft.
The mine shaft was dimly lit; I could only make out the beads of sweat constantly trickling down his forehead, his movements awkward and strained.
"He used to be too lazy to even unscrew a water bottle, and now he's forced to do this kind of work." Gene took back the phone, his tone void of sympathy. "This is what he owes you, and what the Thompsons owe you as well."
I stared at the broken piece of the jade pendant in Gene's palm; it was the one he'd picked up from the hotel floor yesterday, with the tiny character "Fiona" still visible on it.
My heart churned with a storm of emotions.
Hate? Of course I hated.
I hated the Thompsons' lies, Wesley's cruelty, and Cyril's weakness.
But seeing Wesley out at the mine somehow made it all seem ridiculous.
"Are you hungry? I let them make the porridge you like." Gene changed the subject, unwilling to let me drown in the emotions of the past.
I nodded, watching him make a call to arrange breakfast, and suddenly felt a comforting sense of peace.
With Gene by my side, I no longer fear the Thompsons, no longer have to live under someone else's roof, and no longer need to hide my dreams.
Those painful memories seemed to be gradually fading away.
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