Damien's Office
"Sir, we've located Madam and the young master," the assistant announced softly, standing by the desk with a tablet in hand.
Damien didn't look up from his paperwork. "Good. Let her calm down first. She'll come home once she cools off."
"Sir…" the assistant hesitated, voice lower now. "I believe Madam truly wants to leave. She... she's already filed the divorce papers."
The pen in Damien's hand froze mid-signature.
"I said enough." His voice was cold, but not angry—eerily composed, the way a viper watches before it strikes. "Oliver always does this. She lashes out. Throws tantrums. But she comes back… She always does. I just need to kneel, buy her favorite things, play the role of the doting husband—then she'll melt like pudding in my hand."
He looked up now, eyes cold and amused.
"She won't divorce me. Jake needs a father. And she needs a man who can protect her... and pay her bills. She knows it. She'll come crawling back."
The assistant gulped and nodded.
"And Miss Mia?" the assistant added cautiously. "She's being discharged tomorrow. Also… the monthly allowance she requested… Are you sure you want to approve it?"
Damien waved a hand. "It's just money. I'm not going broke anytime soon."
The assistant's voice grew hesitant. "Sir… it's fifty million yuan. Per month."
Silence.
Damien stopped. His gaze slowly shifted.
"…Fifty?" he repeated, flatly.
"Yes, sir. Fifty million yuan."
He shut his folder with a deliberate click, eyes narrowing.
"Send it," he said after a long pause, adjusting his tie smoothly. "I can afford it. And I'm curious what she'll do with it."
---
Mia's Hospital Room
Mia lay sprawled across her hospital bed like a spoiled empress, an apple in one hand, her gaze on the ceiling.
"So this is how it feels," she murmured dreamily. "When money just appears in your account… like sugar falling from heaven."
She took a luxurious bite of the apple and sighed with satisfaction.
Maria's ghost hovered above the couch in a lotus position, brows raised. "Are you really going to stay close to him? Let him take care of you?"
"Of course not," Mia scoffed, tossing the apple core into the trash with perfect aim. "I'm greedy, not brainless. My brain hasn't been kicked by a donkey."
Dumpling blinked at her. "Then why are you sugarcoating him like he's your golden goose?"
Mia reached out and pinched his cheeks until they jiggled. "Because you, my chubby bubble, clearly have a brain the size of a peanut. If you want something from someone, you sugarcoat them first. I'm not after peanuts—I want the whole damn orchard."
She stretched, her hospital gown slipping off one shoulder like a painting come alive.
"I thought spending a few minutes in my presence would upgrade your IQ," she told Maria with faux sadness. "But clearly I overestimated the dead."
"You're not depending on Marvin?" Maria asked, confused.
"Depend on him?" Mia snorted. "No. I'm just using him as an investment. I've inherited your debts, your lies, your sins. The law might not separate me from you—but I will. I'll make my own money, create my own path, and when the time comes—cut ties."
Her voice darkened.
"This isn't about trust. don't call me wicked It's survival. And in the game of life, nobody cares if you cheated—only if you won."
---
The Hospital – Emergency Wing
The door flew open. Charles stormed in, panic written all over his face.
"There's a problem," he said. "Your son. Something happened. Come with me."
Mia's eyes narrowed. Her feet slipped into her slippers, and she followed, her footsteps fast yet unhurried—like death walking in heels. Her voice echoed in Dumpling's mind:
Find out what happened.
---
Mike sat trembling in a chair, nurses surrounding him. Police officers stood in the corner, whispering urgently to one another.
Mia's gaze swept the room in a single calculated blink. She knelt before Mike and pulled him into a hug, gripping his small hand tightly. Her fingers, cold and gentle, pressed into his skin—soft like velvet, but steady like chains.
"Are you the mother?" a female officer asked, her gaze scanning Mia's face and then flicking down her figure.
Mia nodded with a small smile. "Maria. I'm his mother. What happened? And where's the nanny?"
"She's in the operating room," the male officer said. "She fell down the stairs. The injury is serious—we're still evaluating. We'll need both you and your son to give statements."
Mia's expression didn't change, but her voice dropped in pitch.
"No. My son is only seven. He won't go to the station. I'll give the statement. If you insist otherwise, please speak to my lawyer."
The police exchanged glances and backed down. Mia sat and wrapped Mike in her arms again, giving the perfect image of a concerned, beautiful mother. The room paused. The way her hair framed her face, the calm strength in her eyes—it was a picture worthy of a magazine.
But under that soft embrace, her nails dug into Mike's arm. Not enough to bleed—just enough to hurt.
---
After the Surgery
Hours later, the nanny was wheeled out unconscious.
Mia picked up Mike without a word, carrying him like he weighed nothing. The moment they were in her private room, the mask shattered.
SLAP!
Mike gasped, a red mark blooming on his cheek.
"How dare you!" he screamed.
SLAP!
A second hit, harder than the first. Maria's ghost lunged toward them in horror, trying to grab her son—but passed right through him.
"You—!" she screamed.
She tried to possess Mia, but Mia lifted a single hand, palm glowing faintly, and whispered something ancient. Chains of silver light wrapped around the ghost mid-air, binding her to the room. She screamed in rage but couldn't move.
"I hate you!" Mike sobbed, running from the room.
Mia clutched her chest, breathing heavily. Her hands trembled, her lips pale.
The door opened.
Charles entered. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Mia said flatly. "I told him the nanny wouldn't be working anymore. He got angry."
She didn't bother to look at him.
"Is that all that happened? Then why were his cheeks red? Did he push the nanny down the stairs?" Charles asked, narrowing his eyes.
Mia turned sharply, her eyes calm, but her voice turned cold.
"Don't accuse my son wrongly. And when did you see me slap him? Defaming a child is a crime. I'll forget you're my doctor and Marvin's friend—if you say that again, I'll sue you for slandering my seven-year-old."
"I'm not defaming him—why are you so quick to defend? And anyway, who knows if it's true?" Charles sneered. "You think Marvin will allow your arrest? Think again."
Mia chuckled, then burst out laughing.
"Do I look like I'm joking right now?" she said, walking up to him. She brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder. "You want to test your position in Marvin's heart?" Her voice softened, eyes gleaming coldly as she suddenly grabbed his collar and dragged him close.
A sharp blade glinted. He hadn't seen it before.
"I'm more than just acting weak. I'm deadly when my loved ones are defamed. Do you want to test it?" she whispered, pressing the knife to his throat—just enough to draw a line of blood.
Charles froze.
Mia pushed him back, casually hiding the knife in her sleeve, and walked to the fruit plate. As she reached it, the blade silently slid back into place. The door opened. A nurse stepped in.
"Doctor, there's a patient waiting," the nurse said, then paused, her eyes narrowing. "Your neck... is bleeding."
Charles pushed her hand away and stormed toward the door. At the threshold, he glanced back at Mia—his face pale, unreadable—then left.
Mia calmly threw a pillow at the ghost's body. It passed right through.
"Very good, very good. Having a cunning enemy is better than having a stupid teammate who not only digs his own grave but others' too. A 28-year-old man trapped in a 7-year-old's body, still thinking like a child—what a pig. The mother is a pig, the child is a pig!"
"Well, you're now in the mother's body, which makes you the pig mother," Dumpling giggled, coughing.
Mia glared and waved her hand. Dumpling was instantly sucked back into the space. A second later, he reappeared, floating pitifully.
"Change the house CCTV footage. Also, give me a drug that can make someone forget and form false memories." Her voice was soft, almost gentle.
"That… will cost you. You don't have enough points. Your space doesn't store that kind of drug. So, in return, after this world, you'll have to enter a bonus world. Do you accept?" Dumpling asked, flipping midair like a fat acrobat.
"I accept."
Mia walked toward the chained ghost and slowly traced her translucent form with her fingers.
"If you weren't already a ghost, I would've unlived you to ease this raging irritation. I hate getting angry. It makes me want to destroy… everything," she said softly, eyes serene. "I want blood on my hands. I want chaos. Destruction."
Maria's ghost form trembled.
Dumpling froze, trying to vanish. Even the birds outside stilled. The ticking clock in the room stopped. The air became thick.
"I need to fix everything your son is doing. Ugh. Stress." Mia sighed, rubbing her temple.
Only then did Dumpling breathe again, relieved, as the clock ticked once more and the birds flew off.
This was Mia's true nature.
"The real Mia," Dumpling whispered, "isn't a white lotus. That's just a mask.
When she's angry, she schemes.
When she's calm, she destroys.
When she's violent, she executes.
When she's smiling, her enemies are already gone—without a trace."
This is the real Mia—the time-space, multiverse wild cat.
And this time… maybe the world will survive. Maybe.
---