Escaping the Clutches of a Narcissistic Suitor

"Janice, you're fresh back from overseas. This place must still feel unfamiliar. I'd never want Bryson to let you down," Brianna Mills said warmly, patting Janice Sutton's hand with a caring tenderness, her eyes crinkling in gentle concern.

Bryson Mills's lips curled into an easy smile, a flicker of genuine warmth brightening his normally distant eyes. "Grandma, I treasure her. I wouldn't let anything—or anyone—hurt her," he declared, his voice casual but carrying a note of quiet promise.

Madelyn Dixon stepped inside just then, clutching a file to her chest. The warm atmosphere in the room wrapped around her like a vice.

When they first began dating, Bryson had promised her that their secrecy was for her own good—he wanted to protect her reputation, to make sure no one questioned her competence at work.

So Madelyn poured everything she had into her job. She stayed late night after night, mingling with clients until exhaustion blurred her vision, and gave up any hint of special treatment. She never once let herself grumble.

Yet now, in this moment, she felt raw and ridiculous, as if all those years of loyalty had been nothing but a one-sided joke.

Bryson's father was the unchallenged heavyweight in Zrerton's political sphere, while his mother—the only daughter of the wealthiest man in Ewriron—stood next in line to inherit the sprawling fortune. Together, they embodied an unbeatable alliance: authority and affluence intertwined in one marriage.

Their union had produced only two children—a son and a daughter—making their legacy feel all the more exclusive.

Bryson himself was the absolute center of attention in elite circles, like the moon surrounded by stars—it was nearly impossible for ordinary folks to even get an audience with him.

Madelyn's fingernails bit into her palm, the pain snapping her back to reality. She forced her gaze across the living room.

Janice perched quietly on the couch, the very picture of modesty and restraint. Barely out of her early twenties, she radiated a delicate, youthful beauty.

Soft curls cascaded over her shoulders, wispy bangs falling just right to frame her gentle features.

There was something so unassuming about her—she hardly spoke, yet her purity and understated elegance seemed to glow in the soft light.

Bryson settled in next to Janice, the two of them sharing soft, private words that drew them even closer.

Laughter colored Janice's face, her cheeks glowing with a gentle, unbroken flush.

A quiet unease flickered across Madelyn's expression.

The Mills family had played matchmaker for Bryson more times than she could count, but he'd always treated those arrangements as mere formalities—never bothering to keep up appearances for long. After a day or two, each would fizzle out as if nothing had happened.

But this time, something was off. Something had shifted.

A fluffy, white, curly-haired puppy lay sprawled across Bryson's lap, dozing with utter contentment.

Bryson's hand rested on its back, his fingers absently combing through the silken fur—a sight that left Madelyn stunned. He despised animals, especially anything with long hair.

On his birthday in their third year together, Madelyn had spent weeks picking out a sweet, gorgeous ragdoll cat, hoping to surprise him. He'd recoiled at the sight, his expression turning frosty.

Without even touching the cat, he demanded she take it away at once, warning her coldly that if she ever brought a pet home again, she'd be packing her bags right along with it.

Now, Janice's puppy sprawled across Bryson's lap, tail thumping lazily, while he absentmindedly ran his elegant fingers along its back.