Who Will Keep the Lights Burning for You

For seven years, I chased Ashton Foster, pouring everything my family had into him, only for him to abandon me at our engagement banquet. In my past life, my family was destroyed, and I died a tragic death under his cold calculations. Given a second chance at life, I tore up the engagement agreement in public, severed all business ties between our families, and personally cut every last tie to the Foster family. Yet Ashton and his first love still refused to let me go, even sending my mother to the hospital with severe injuries. But this time, everything he owes me, I will take back with interest! Chloe Vance POV I chased Ashton Foster for seven whole years. I staked the Vance family's entire fortune as a gift just to finally earn today’s public engagement banquet. The ceremony had barely begun. Offstage, Natalie Scott suddenly clutched her chest and collapsed to the floor. Without so much as a glance in my direction, Ashton rushed down the stage, scooped Natalie into his arms, and strode toward the exit. Reaching the doors, he didn't even turn his head. In front of the city's media cameras, he dropped a cold command: "Suspend the engagement ceremony for now. Natalie is unwell. With so many reporters here, explain things to my parents and the press for me." The doors shut behind him, leaving me standing alone on the stage. Camera flashes sliced across my face like a storm of sharp blades. Below, the guests whispered amongst themselves, low murmurs and amused, mocking gazes spreading across the room: "Mr. Foster ditched Chloe Vance for his first love again..." "So what if she chased him for seven years? She still can't compete with a single cough from an outsider." "Just watch. Chloe Vance will definitely smooth things over for Mr. Foster with red-rimmed eyes, just like always." Everyone was waiting for me to yield. Because over the past seven years, I truly had loved him without an ounce of dignity. Ashton had a weak stomach, so at two in the morning, I would cook warm meals and brave heavy blizzards to deliver them downstairs to his office, my hands freezing red. When the Foster family's first five-star hotel was built, I pulled all-nighters for three months drawing the blueprints, surrendering full design credit to Foster Group. When Natalie Scott showed up two years ago, Ashton began routinely skipping our dates. Every time, he would say, "Natalie has congenital heart disease and can't handle stress. You've always been sensible, so don't make a fuss with her." I yielded for seven years. Until this very day in my past life. Ashton walked out on our engagement in public. That afternoon, the Vance Hotel's stock plummeted to its daily limit, and partners pulled their investments en masse. Under the guise of saving the Vance family, Ashton forced my mother to sign a share transfer agreement. Afterward, he locked me in a windowless room to force me to surrender control. On her way to save me, Mother died instantly in a car crash. And I froze to death in that suite, clutching nothing but a single keycard when I died. Before I took my last breath, Natalie came to see me, sneering, "Ashton was using you from the very beginning. You could never beat me." Reborn in this life, listening to the murmurs below and staring at the empty corridor past the doors, the last trace of warmth in my heart vanished. I didn't make excuses for him. Under the watchful eyes of every reporter in the hall, I stepped forward and reached for the engagement agreement on the table. Right before the media, I ripped it in half. The paper fluttered from my fingertips, scattering weightlessly at my feet. The entire banquet hall fell dead silent, even the camera shutters pausing for two whole seconds. I pulled the microphone closer, my voice steady, without a hint of tremor: "I have two announcements." "First, effective immediately, my engagement to Mr. Ashton Foster is officially terminated." "Second, all commercial collaborations between the Vance family and the Foster family are terminated at once. Legal will handle the follow-up procedures directly." The reporters below gasped in shock. Someone couldn't help but stand up and ask, "Ms. Vance, you chased Mr. Foster for seven years. Are you really throwing away all those years of devotion just like that?" I met the lens, my eyes frosty and cold: "Consider my seven years of devotion wasted." "From this day on, Ashton Foster and I will never see each other again." With that, I slipped the ring off my ring finger and tossed it directly into the trash bin. Amidst the uproar, I stepped down from the stage and strode out of the hall. Stepping outside the banquet hall, the sunlight was slightly blinding. I walked briskly through the corridor and pushed open the doors to the top-floor General Manager's office. Behind the desk, Mother was wearing reading glasses, checking the food inventory accounts. Seeing me walk in wearing my gown, she looked up in surprise. "Chloe? Didn't the engagement ceremony just start? Why are you up here?" Looking at Mother sitting before me, her hair not yet completely gray, a wave of sharp sorrow hit my nose, and tears welled up in my eyes. In my previous life, it was in this very office that Mother suffered a sudden heart attack upon hearing the stock hit its limit down. Later, she died a tragic death in that crash, and I didn't even get to see her one last time. "Mom." I stepped forward, leaning down to tightly embrace her frail shoulders. Mother froze for a moment, then gently patted my back, asking softly, "What's wrong? Did Ashton make you feel wronged again?" "No." I buried my face in her neck, drew a deep breath, and forced the tears back. I straightened up, my tone resolute: "Mom, I called off the engagement with Ashton Foster. From now on, the two of us will carry the Vance Hotel on our own." Mother looked at the determination in my eyes. Though her heart ached for me, she didn't offer a single word of reproach. She merely reached out to wipe the tears from the corner of my eyes. "Alright, whatever you say. The hotel I built from the ground up never needed to rely on pleasing others to survive anyway." Leaving Mother's office, I returned to my suite. I pulled open the nightstand drawer and took out the keycard sleeve stamped with the Foster logo. That was the inaugural commemorative keycard sleeve Ashton had handed me himself when the first Foster Hotel opened. In my past life, I held onto it until my dying breath, treating it as his sole promise. The sharp plastic edge dug into my palm, sending a clear, piercing sting of pain through my skin. The pain snapped me entirely awake. I shoved the sleeve back under the pillow, standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows to look at the city lights. In this life, everything that belongs to the Vance family, I will take back, untouched and in full.Chloe Vance POV I leaked a piece of news to the public: Ms. Vance is engaged, with the wedding expected within the year. My fiancé had been studying abroad for years, and the two of us had never even met. It was just a fake engagement. But this engagement was precisely what I needed to completely shut down Ashton Foster's lingering advances. Once the news broke, the entire social circle erupted. Word had it that Ashton heard the news during a regular meeting, his fountain pen gouging a heavy line of ink across the document. Leaning back against his chair, he sneered, "She's just throwing a tantrum. In two days, she'll come crawling back on her own." His assistant stood aside with his head down, not daring to utter a word. When Mother learned of the news, she didn't object; instead, she stepped forward and shouldered all the pressure. Mother publicly declared that she had arranged the engagement herself, shielding me from all the pressure the Foster family exerted. That evening, I went to Mother's room to discuss a strategy, wanting to handle things myself. Mother was unwrapping a sheet mask in front of the vanity. She raised a hand to stop me. "You're my daughter. If trouble comes, I carry it. Let the Fosters say what they want. At worst, they'll call me a senile old fool." "Mom, the Foster family's methods are vicious." "I'm not afraid," Mother said, gently patting her cheeks, her tone calm. "Your dad passed away early. This hotel is something he and I built brick by brick. No one is taking it from us. Do whatever you want to do; I've got your back." Standing by the doorway, my throat tightened. The next afternoon, Mother went down to the basement level kitchen cold storage to inspect ingredients. It coincided right with the chefs' shift change, leaving the passageway completely deserted. Just as Mother reached the steps in front of the cold storage door, her foot slipped, and she tumbled down the stairs. A thin layer of cooking oil had been smeared on the floor, blending seamlessly with the tiles, almost impossible to spot with the naked eye. Mother's head slammed hard against the edge of a step. She fell unconscious instantly, blood pooling across the concrete floor. Natalie Scott's assistant had timed the shift change to sneak in and do this. In my office, I received a call from the front desk. The voice on the other end was trembling, saying Mother had cracked her head open in the kitchen and an ambulance had already been called. I dropped my pen, grabbed my car keys, and bolted downstairs. The elevators were stuck on the upper floors, so I sprinted down the emergency stairwell all the way to the basement. When I reached the kitchen, paramedics were loading Mother onto a stretcher. Her eyes were closed tight, the blood on her forehead matting her hair into clumps. When I arrived outside the emergency room, Ashton Foster followed behind. Dressed in a sharp suit, he stood in the hallway, impeccably composed. I grabbed his sleeve. "My mom is in there fighting for her life! Someone poured oil on the kitchen floor—" "Natalie has been in my office all day," Ashton interrupted, pulling his arm back. "It couldn't have been her. Stop pinning everything on her head." I froze on the spot. Looking at the face I had gazed at for years, my fingers curled tight, nails digging deep into my palms. "My mother's life is hanging by a thread in there," my voice trembled. "And the very first thing out of your mouth is clearing Natalie Scott's name?" Ashton frowned slightly. "I'm just stating facts." I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. Ashton hadn't expected me to strike him. His head whipped to the side, and then, humiliated and furious, he shoved me back hard. I stumbled and slammed into the concrete corner behind me, the back of my head striking the hard wall. Blood trickled down my neck. A nurse in the hallway started forward to help, but her colleague held her back. Ashton took out a handkerchief, wiped the corner of his mouth, and didn't even spare a glance at me on the floor. "I'm going to the ward to see Natalie. She was frightened earlier." He turned and walked away, the clicks of his leather shoes against the tiles fading into the distance. Leaning against the icy base of the wall, I raised a hand to cover the back of my head, my palm slick with warm blood. Mother's condition was critical, suffering an intracranial hemorrhage. She urgently needed to be transferred to the best private neurological hospital. That hospital was controlled by Foster Group, home to the finest neurosurgeons in the city. Bandages wrapped tightly around my forehead, I pushed open the doors to Ashton Foster's office. "Ashton, have the hospital accept my mother's transfer."Chloe Vance POV Ashton twirled his fountain pen and looked up at me. "Fine," he replied coolly. "Natalie feels wronged over your mother's fall and has been very upset. Apologize to her in front of the press and make it clear that she had nothing to do with it, and I'll arrange a specialist consultation right away." I stared dead at him. "I will not apologize." The pen in Ashton's hand stopped, his tone chilling. "Then my hands are tied. ICU beds at private hospitals are always tight." Without another word, I turned and walked out of his office. I pulled every string I had to contact another hospital, barely managing to finalize the paperwork, but several hours were lost in the process. Mother's condition worsened, and she was rushed into the ICU, fighting for her life for three full days before she was out of danger. For three days and three nights, I sat outside the ICU, never leaving for a single moment. The moment the doctor stepped out, pulled off his mask, and announced her vitals were stable, I slid down against the wall onto the floor. I buried my face in my knees, silent tears splashing against the ground as my shoulders heaved violently. Crying until my throat went hoarse, I braced myself against the bench to stand up, wiped the tear stains from my face, and bought a cup of hot cocoa to hold in my hands. The Vance family cannot fall. I have to stay strong. While Ashton claimed I was merely throwing a tantrum, he still instructed his assistant to deliver a bouquet of white roses to the Vance Hotel every week. Those used to be my favorite flowers. In the hospital hallway, the front desk called to report Ashton sending flowers. Holding the phone in one hand, I said flatly, "From now on, reject anything sent by the Fosters outright. You don't need to report it to me anymore." Hanging up, I pushed open the door and stepped into the ward. Mother lay peacefully asleep in the hospital bed, the bandages on her head still in place. Sitting by the bedside, I picked up a small knife to peel an apple for her. The peel curled down ring by ring, the blade steady and unbroken. Ashton Foster POV I had specifically instructed my assistant, Mike, to go to Chloe Vance's favorite florist and pick the freshest blooms—the buds couldn't be in full bloom, nor too tight. Mike went twice, and both times the Vance Hotel front desk turned them away untouched. "Ms. Vance gave strict orders. We do not accept anything from the Foster family." The receptionist remained polite, yet she handed the flowers back without the slightest hesitation. Mike returned to the office holding the bouquet, set it on the corner of my desk, and lowered his head in silence. Looking at the curling edges of the petals, I stood before the desk and remained silent for a long time. "She's just still angry," I muttered to myself under my breath. "She'll come around after a while." Natalie Scott pushed open the door and walked in, catching sight of the flowers on the desk. Her expression shifted slightly before she quickly put on a frail, sweet smile. She walked over, linking her arm with mine. "Ashton, if you miss Chloe, I can go put in a good word for you. She listens to reason." I pulled my arm back and waved my hand dismissively. "No need. Step out for now." Biting her lip, Natalie backed out of the office. Leaning back in my swivel chair, I replayed the recent events in my head. Her calm declaration of terminating our agreements before the press, her expressionless turn in the banquet corridor, her standing against the hospital wall with blood on her forehead, her gaze freezing cold as if looking at a total stranger. I couldn't fathom why Chloe had suddenly changed. In the past, when my stomach acted up, she would bring medicine and hot cocoa downstairs to my office at two in the morning. For my birthdays, she would prepare gifts three months in advance. One winter, she waited in the freezing wind for two hours, her nose red from the cold. Later on, I grew accustomed to being doted on like this, even taking it entirely for granted. After Natalie appeared, I gave all that patience to Natalie, brushing all of Chloe's devotion aside. Watching the stream of traffic outside the window, I stubbornly clung to the belief that Chloe was merely throwing a tantrum and couldn't hold out for long.Chloe Vance POV Sitting by the hospital bed looking after Mother, the more I thought about the kitchen incident, the more suspicious it felt. Normally, only designated chefs and procurement staff entered the basement cold storage, and the shift change lasted no more than five minutes. I pulled strings to obtain the surveillance footage from the Vance Hotel's kitchen that day. The footage showed everything with crystal clarity. Wearing a baseball cap with her head down, Natalie Scott's assistant slipped into the kitchen during the shift change gap, crouched by the stairs, pulled a small plastic bottle from her bag, and poured the oil right before the steps. Having done that, she put the bottle away and walked out the way she came as if nothing had happened, the whole thing taking under a minute. Following this lead, I dug deeper and obtained Natalie's medical checkup report from another hospital. Her ECG, blood sugar, liver, and kidney function panels were completely normal. The congenital heart disease and hypoglycemic fainting spells Natalie constantly cried about were all fake. Gripping the printed medical report and surveillance screenshots, my knuckles turned white with force. Mother was in the ICU fighting for her life for three whole days, all because of this woman's acting—and Ashton Foster chose to shield her without even bothering to investigate. Foster Hotel was hosting its anniversary reception, where Natalie Scott took the stage to give a speech as their Brand Consultant. In a champagne evening gown, she stood on stage holding the microphone, her voice delicate: "Thank you, Mr. Foster, for your trust. Moving forward, I will continue to oversee the hotel's brand upgrades..." I threw open the banquet hall doors with force. Dressed in a black suit, I walked up toward the main stage, not hesitating for a single second. Reaching Natalie, I grabbed the microphone and flung the stack of surveillance screenshots right into her face. "The very steps my mother fell down—you're walking down them today." Natalie's face drained of color. Instinctively taking a step back, her heel caught on the hem of her long gown. She tumbled straight down the wooden steps, her knees slamming hard against the marble floor, a massive tear ripping through the hem of her gown. At the exact same time, the massive screens flashed with Natalie's perfectly healthy medical reports and proof of falsified records, while every attendee's phone buzzed with an incoming file push. Below, chaos instantly erupted. Guests stared down at the medical records on their phones, then looked back up at Natalie sprawled on the ground. Clutching her scraped knees, her hair disheveled, Natalie was as pale as a sheet of paper. Ashton rushed onto the stage to pull Natalie up, glaring daggers at me. Tossing the microphone onto the podium, I turned and walked off the stage, the crisp clicks of my heels against the tiles steady and unhurried. The next morning, Ashton Foster claimed there were suspected accounting discrepancies at the Vance Hotel and dispatched his bodyguards to drag me to the penthouse suite of the Foster Hotel. The suite had no windows, and the central air conditioning was cranked down to freezing. The bodyguards confiscated my phone, cut off all food, and gave me only half a glass of water a day. Overhead lights blazed non‑stop. Every hour, someone rapped hard against the observation window. I was jolted awake the second I shut my eyes. Ashton pushed the door open once a day. "Issue a public statement apologizing. Confess that you forged those medical exam reports, and I'll let you out right now," Ashton said, seated in the armchair. I leaned in the corner, my lips purple with cold, my eyelids heavy, but I didn't utter a word. Ashton stood up, his face icy, and slammed the door behind him. Natalie Scott came by punctually every day, carrying food. She would dump spoiled food onto the table, sit beside it, and leisurely eat cake. "Ashton said you only get to eat once you bend the knee." Natalie dabbed her mouth, walked over to the thermostat, and lowered the temperature even further. She bent down close to me. "Chloe, stop being so stubborn. Ashton's heart belonged to me a long time ago." Resting against the freezing wall, my voice was hoarse, but I enunciated every word: "The illness was fake, and you were the one who ordered someone to pour oil on the stairs. You can't keep what you stole through lies." Natalie raised her hand to strike me, but afraid of leaving marks that might expose her to Ashton, she gritted her teeth and pulled her hand back. She kicked the table hard, turned around, and hurried out. By the third night, I was burning up, overcome by a high fever. I drifted into unconsciousness in the freezing room, my fingers clawing tightly into the edges of the carpet. I told myself that I could never die in this place.