Summer of ’77, Jing City, inside the Whitmore family’s little Western‑style house.

“Mom! Stop trying to talk me out of it. I’m marrying him no matter what!”

“Things between me and him have already gotten this far, what else can I do? Telling me all this now won’t change anything. You’d better think about what Dad’s gonna say when he comes back. Anyway, I’m marrying him and that’s that!”

“Mom, I’m begging you, just trust me this once. That dream I had was real. The Sterling family won’t last a few years. Think about it—Christopher Sterling? Other than partying and showing off, what does he even know? Without the Sterlings backing him, what future does he have? And didn’t I say it already? They’re bringing back the college entrance exam soon. How’s he ever gonna compare with him?”

“Only if we swap the bride can our family live decently from now on!”

A long sigh. The woman sitting on the edge of the bed stood up and walked out. A second later, the door slammed shut, and all that arguing was cut off from the room.

That was when Tiffany Whitmore finally opened her eyes. The colorful stained‑glass windows hit her first, then the overly fancy decorations of this Western‑style house. She went blank on the spot.

What on earth?

Wasn’t she just scrolling through that novel—“Pack Up the Family Fortune, I’m the Darling of the Jing City Courtyard”?

Her junior from the lab had shoved it at her, saying one of the characters had the same name as her.

Jing City! Big courtyard! Everyone’s sweetheart! Such tempting words. Tiffany had clicked it open full of excitement, only to discover—

The “Tiffany Whitmore” in the book wasn’t the heroine, wasn’t the beloved darling. She was… the pitiful extra bundled up like property, the lonely orphan everyone took advantage of, the perfect tragic background board to show how happy the heroine was.

The Tiffany in the story was a classic example of someone born into money but not enough brains. Her dad died early, her mom disappeared somewhere, and she was raised in Martin Whitmore’s household. Her second uncle and aunt spoiled her rotten, turning her into someone who couldn’t tell good from bad and acted on pure impulse.

Even her engagement was something her uncle’s family tricked her into—basically picking up the fiancé Felicity Whitmore didn’t want.

The marriage arrangement itself had been decided long ago by the older generation.

Back in the day, the Whitmore, Sterling, and Shaw grandfathers had sworn brotherhood. The Shaw family was known for its scholars, the Sterling family for its military background, and the Whitmores came from a long line of merchants. The three families were equal in standing, close as real kin. The old men talked it over and set up child betrothals for their grandkids.

But no one could’ve guessed how fast the world would flip. When the political winds changed, fortunes turned. In just a few decades, everything was upside down.

The Shaw family declined. The Whitmores, branded capitalists, were pressured everywhere. Only the Sterlings rose—one of theirs became a Commander, instantly becoming someone the other two families could never reach.

And that was where the original book began: after the original Tiffany and heroine Felicity each married into the Sterling and Shaw families.

It was almost absurd how things lined up. The original Tiffany Whitmore had been sweet‑talked by her second uncle into marrying into the Shaw family. Martin Whitmore had painted it so nicely, saying stuff like, “Only by marrying down into the Shaws can you actually get a say in anything. Christopher Sterling is serving out on the frontier, and with your temper? You’d never survive the hardship. You’d be miserable.”

Such a flimsy excuse, and the original actually bought it. She’d been so clueless she walked into that marriage grinning. Who would’ve guessed Jeremy Shaw was a complete psychopath? The Shaw household was practically a burning pit waiting to swallow people whole.

After the wedding, Jeremy Shaw fooled around constantly, and that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was how he’d deliberately leave traces every time, making sure she discovered them—pushing her right into his traps. Then he’d stand there watching, all smug and satisfied, as she broke down. This twisted way of controlling and tormenting people was his idea of fun.

The original had thought about divorce. But the higher Jeremy climbed in rank, the more Martin Whitmore’s family scrambled to cling to him. A woman with no family backing and no ability? What decent ending could she get?

But her cousin—Felicity Whitmore, the heroine of the book—her situation couldn’t have been more different. Sure, she followed her husband out to the plateau as a military spouse, but her life? Practically cushioned with velvet.

Rumor had it that the third Sterling son was some good‑for‑nothing, but in reality he was out on a classified mission. His promotions came fast, and the Sterling family adored Felicity. They treated her like a treasure. The eldest brother paid the bills, the second brother handed her resources, and without doing much of anything, she was lifted right up by her in‑laws and somehow stumbled into becoming a new‑era businesswoman. A flawless winner at life.

What kind of ridiculous plot was that supposed to be?

Tiffany nearly blacked out reading up to that part. When she opened her eyes again—sure enough—she’d landed inside the book.

She’d barely sorted out all that chaos in her head when a door slammed downstairs. Right after that came the crash of a vase shattering and a sharp slap cracking through the air.

Then came Felicity Whitmore and her mother, both bawling their hearts out.

“Can’t you talk this out like normal people? Why hit her like that? You’ve swollen her face—how’s she supposed to meet the in‑laws next week…”

“Face? Ha! The daughter you raised still knows what shame is? After doing something this disgraceful, even beating her won’t calm me down!”

“And if you beat her to death, how do you expect to face the Sterling family? And your deputy director position—”

“Can you not say that in front of the child?”

The couple downstairs were tearing the roof off with their arguing, Felicity’s sobs cutting through the middle.

“Wuuuu… I’m not marrying him! I only want to marry Jeremy! If you force me to marry into the Sterling family, I’ll hang myself today!”

Thinking of that prophetic dream, Felicity shuddered and cried even harder, her fear slipping into every word. “The Sterling family is a furnace waiting to burn people alive—the dream showed everything clearly…”

“You know it was a dream!” Martin Whitmore roared, his face going dark as he grabbed another vase and smashed it. “A marriage people beg for, and you’re backing out? And on top of that, you go make a mess with that Shaw boy? What do you think the Sterlings are?”

Felicity sobbed so hard she could barely breathe. “But the Sterling family never mentioned it! They said they wanted to marry me—how was I supposed to know it’d be Christopher Sterling?”

"You’re right, you’re right," Mrs. Whitmore chimed in, backing her daughter up. "The Sterling family really doesn’t know how to handle things. The second son was perfectly fine, yet they insist their third boy should marry our girl. What’s that supposed to mean? Everyone in Jingshi knows their third son just loafs around all day..."

"Shut your mouth! Since when do you get to point fingers at Commander Sterling’s son? Who do you think you are?" Martin Whitmore barked at her. He frowned and fell silent, but after hearing her talk, doubt started creeping into his mind as well. It took him a while before he finally remembered to ask, "Where’s Tiffany?"

Felicity glanced upstairs. "In her room. I put something in her soup earlier. She should still be out cold."

"You’ve got the nerve to say that out loud?" Martin exploded again.

Mrs. Whitmore rushed to pull him back. "Alright, that’s enough! Right now, the most important thing is getting Tiffany to agree to switch the engagement."

The living room went quiet for a long stretch. After what felt like forever, Martin glared at his wife. "Isn’t she the one who listens to you best? You go talk to her!"

Tiffany, who had been crouched behind the door listening with full concentration, bolted back to her bed the moment she heard them mention her. She dove under the covers and pretended to be asleep.

A moment later, the door creaked open. The mattress dipped as someone sat down. A hand nudged her arm. "Tiantian, wake up, come on, don’t sleep anymore."

Tiffany blinked her eyes open, feigning confusion as she looked at the middle‑aged woman’s fake gentle expression. "Auntie, what happened to me?"

Mrs. Whitmore touched Tiffany’s forehead a couple of times and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Child, how careless can you be? You’re burning up and still don’t even know it."

"Fever?" Tiffany almost laughed at such a clumsy lie. "If I was that out of it, why didn’t you take me to the hospital?"

Mrs. Whitmore flushed. "…Well, because the Shaw family was coming today to meet you."

"Oh, right." Tiffany widened her eyes and leaned toward the door like she was anxious. "A blind date is such a big deal. Where are they? Are they here? Let’s hurry downstairs."

"Hold on." Mrs. Whitmore pressed her hand down. "Tiantian, they already left."

"Left?"

"Yes. You were sleeping so soundly. I couldn’t bear to wake you. The Shaws waited for ages, and when you didn’t wake up, they went home."

Listen to that. No wonder the original Tiffany got played like a fiddle. If someone lies to you with this little effort, what does that say?

It says you’re clueless. Utterly clueless.

Tiffany let out a cold laugh. "Auntie, I don’t get it. Am I the one who’s confused or are you? A blind date this important, and instead of waking me up, you wait until the other family leaves to tell me? What exactly are you trying to pull?"

Mrs. Whitmore froze, but Felicity jumped in first, offended. "What nonsense are you talking about! My mom did it because she cares about you."

The slap mark on Felicity’s face hadn’t faded yet, and lower down, faint red marks peeked out from her collar. Tiffany instantly remembered that voice she’d overheard earlier—"I’m marrying him no matter what. It’s already done anyway."

Well, well. This little triangle mess was getting more amusing by the minute.

Tiffany let out a soft chuckle, arched a brow, and asked, "Oh? What’s with your face and neck? Feeling unwell too?"