Vivienne walked into the first-floor living room and saw that handsome middle-aged man again.

  Terrence was practicing his walk. His son had tied a wooden stick to both his chest and his back. The front one ran from the bridge of his nose down to his crotch; the back one pressed against the back of his head along his spine. This forced him to keep his head up—he couldn't look down, nor could he tilt his head back too far.

  His son was standing by, pointing and critiquing:

  “Dad, that's not how you lift your leg.”

  “Push your butt out a little bit; it’s sexier.”

  “Don't smile. You look like a peasant when you smile. Keep it cool.”

  Vivienne found it amusing, so she stood there and watched.

  Being stared at by Vivienne made Terrence’s skin crawl. Earlier, in this lady’s room, he had stripped naked in front of his son—that was already humiliating enough.

  A father could be naked in front of his son, but that should be while swimming in a river, not in front of a woman—at least, that’s what Terrence always believed.

  He felt his bottom line had been ruthlessly trampled.

  If not for his wife’s serious illness and the need for medicine money; if not for the four children at home who needed to eat; if not for the war, the collapsing currency, and the sheer poverty... Terrence would never have agreed to let his son become a gigolo, let alone join him in such a disgraceful act.

  Sigh, dignity isn't worth a dime after all!

  What’s valuable is staying alive!

  Regardless, Terrence was terrified that this lady would make another excessive demand like she did in the room earlier.

  “Madame, you’re looking at me... it’s making me very uncomfortable...” Terrence finally voiced his protest.

  He pried the sticks away and lowered his head, then immediately felt like he had done something wrong again.

  “Hmm, but aren't you also looking at me?” As Vivienne spoke, she picked up an unlabeled jar of jam from the coffee table.

  She scooped a small spoonful and took a tiny lick.

  Sweet with a hint of tartness—whoever made this jam was a genius. She remembered that for at least ten years, she had never once had the same sweet treat twice in a row.

  The way she licked her lips with her eyes closed made Terrence subconsciously swallow his spit.

  Whether he was craving the delicacy in her hand or her body, even he wasn't quite sure anymore.

  Terrence felt that a man being lustful wasn't necessarily a bad thing. At least during the years his wife had been bedridden, he had various mistresses—for just forty or fifty kronen, the price of an egg, those starving women were more than willing to go to bed with him.

  But toward the woman in front of him, Terrence felt a powerful sense of resistance deep down.

  This was his son’s mistress!

  Terrence bit his lip and withdrew his gaze.

  Vivienne hadn't actually closed her eyes completely; she caught the man’s expression.

  A country bumpkin trying to climb into my bed? Not a chance.

  Besides, Terrence looked too much like that person. Thinking of that man, a spark of resentment flickered in Vivienne’s heart again.

  She decided to watch TV to distract herself.

  Hanging on the wall opposite the sofa was a 26-inch color television. It was a custom model that cost her a full 2,000 US dollars.

  Vivienne felt the money was well spent. In all of Port Sol, there were fewer than ten TVs this large. She could see people on the screen clearly—like the President appearing now; she felt like she could see his pores.

  Hmm? The President is making a speech?

  “...While we are closely monitoring the developments in Marida County, we adhere to the 'Three Noes' principle: No encouraging military confrontation; no participating in military confrontation; and no accepting any defectors from the other side. We cherish the hard-won peace and hope the situation across the river settles down. We hope the people of Beldora, as well as all our compatriots in its home district of Marida County, can find peace and joy. This will help the people on both sides face the famine together.”

  “Well said!”

  Vivienne sighed softly. She felt that her decision to vote for and financially support the current President was incredibly wise.

  Standing behind Vivienne, Terrence saw a TV this big for the first time. Why was this woman so rich? If his son could marry her, he would agree to it no matter what.

  No, no, this woman can't have kids anymore.

  My son is only 22. It would be a waste for this woman to ruin him. It would be more appropriate if I were the one to sleep with her.

  If she were willing to marry me, I’d even get a divorce. I’d take the money back to save my wife.

  Terrence was thinking wildly, as if Vivienne would actually like him.

  With just a glance, Vivienne saw through Terrence’s thoughts. When a man has desire but cannot satisfy it, his eyes don't lie—the pupils dilate, hiding a sense of greed.

  However, in Vivienne’s eyes, most men were just captives of money. To put it more bluntly—they were all cheap!

  So, the poorer men were, the happier she was. Only when men were poor could she control them at will—like the father and son before her.

  Vivienne felt that Terrence was not only poor but also stupid.

  True, if a man wasn't stupid, how could he be poor?

  With this contemptuous mindset, Vivienne tried her best to keep her expression neutral as she slowly walked past the two.

  She went out and told the butler: “Call the driver. Have him take me to Amber Street.”

  Turning back, she looked at Fabian, who was still teaching his father how to walk: “Darling, aren't you coming with me?”

  Fabian’s eyes lit up. He thought he had already been discarded.

  “Okay!” He trotted over happily like a puppy to Vivienne’s side, propping up his arm so the woman—who was about the same age as his mother—could link arms with him.

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  ……

  The President’s televised speech caused a stir in the military camp.

  Commander Bernardo had just arranged for six brigades to be ready to strike at any time. Now that the President’s “Three Noes” speech was out, it completely nullified Bernardo’s deployment.

  Some felt the President was selling out the country and cursed loudly: “Letting a bunch of dictators occupy half the land, not finding a way to rescue our compatriots, and he has the nerve to say 'Three Noes'? He might as well eat shit!”

  “Dumbass President!”

  Antonio pretended not to hear. It was almost lunchtime, and he had to hurry.

  When Antonio appeared at the Intelligence Department, all sixteen people stood up in unison, saluted him, and then looked at each other.

  Who would Antonio target today?

  “Jax!”

  Jax had always been low-key and honest; he had no idea what he had done wrong.

  “Present, Commander.”

  “You reported over my head without authorization. Your punishment is to go to the officers' canteen and assist Lito for two months.”

  A military cook? An assistant for two months?

  Jax thought he had heard wrong.

  “Reporting to the Division Commander, I haven't learned how to cook. At home, my mother even makes my meals.”

  “So what?” Antonio put on a willful expression.

  He was clearly out to get Jax, and he wouldn't stop until one of them was finished.

  It had to be said—the ruthlessness of someone who had survived through a hail of bullets was not something these intelligence officers, who hadn't even participated in the outer battles, could compare to.

  Everyone began to fail at hiding the fear on their faces.

  “I...” Jax didn't dare to argue, nor was he good at it. He could only stamp his foot hard.

  “Yes, Commander. I will report to the kitchen shortly.”

  Just when everyone thought the matter was finally over, Antonio’s gaze locked onto Garrison’s face.

  Garrison shuddered.

  “You are dismissed. Commander Ricardo will call you shortly.”

  Everyone was dumbfounded. To dismiss a Colonel, Antonio had bypassed the regional commander and gone straight to the Commander-in-Chief of the Army.

  While others felt lucky they hadn't offended Antonio, only Garrison’s face turned ashen.

  The job of Intelligence Director was too important to him. He had taken out a loan to buy a house a few years ago, and the monthly payments swallowed most of his salary.

  Dismissal meant his salary would be cut in half. If he couldn't pay for the house, it would be auctioned off, and his whole family would be forced to rent.

  Moreover, the current situation was chaotic and the economy was sluggish. House prices calculated in US dollars were only two-thirds of what they were during the war.

  An auction meant his assets would be wiped out, and he would have wasted his down payment plus years of interest.

  Garrison had specifically looked into it—during the war, the consumption of supplies kept the munitions factories running, and everyone could find a job.

  But now, people couldn't even afford food; who would buy a house?

  The more Garrison thought about it, the more terrified he became.

  He walked on thin ice every day, not daring to offend any superior, but today he had tripped over Jax. When Jax went out, he should have stopped him. How hateful!

  Thinking of this, Garrison gave Jax a fierce glare.

  In the office, the long silence felt like a standoff. Perhaps Garrison still held a sliver of hope that Ricardo wouldn't actually call.

  But Antonio’s expression was firm, terrifyingly confident.

  Ring-ring-ring! The bell broke the silence.

  “Sigh!” Garrison let out a long sigh. Still maintaining his dignity as a Colonel, he saluted Antonio first. After getting a nod of approval, he turned to answer the phone. His voice did not tremble.

  “Commander Ricardo, this is Garrison.”

  “...”

  “Yes, Commander!”

  The call hung up quickly.

  When Garrison returned to stand before Antonio, Antonio made him repeat what Ricardo had said in front of everyone.

  “'You are dismissed. The dismissal notice will be issued tomorrow. If you want an explanation, you can try explaining to Antonio. Whatever decision he makes, I support him.'”

  “Louder!” Antonio roared.

  It was as if everyone had been pricked by a needle; their backs straightened instantly.

  Garrison shouted at the top of his lungs: “'You are dismissed. The dismissal notice will be issued tomorrow. If you want an explanation, you can try explaining to Antonio. Whatever decision he makes, I support him!'”

  “So, do you plan to explain, or be dismissed immediately?”

  “I plan to explain, Commander!” Garrison still shouted with all his might.

  “Fine then,” Antonio’s tone was flat. He turned to Dante, who was standing quietly behind him. “Take him to my room.”

  Then, he faced Garrison: “Go to my room. Scrub yourself clean and wait for me.”

  Only Garrison’s eyebrows twitched; he didn't dare show any expression, but his face turned beet red. He answered without hesitation:

  “Yes, Commander!”

  As Dante led Garrison to the room, Antonio strode toward the officers' kitchen with the silent Jax following behind him.

  When Antonio walked into the kitchen, this time he didn't salute Bernardo at all, not even a greeting. He just sat directly in front of Bernardo, panting heavily.

  So angry! So angry!

  He pointed at Jax and muttered: “I’ve punished him to work as an assistant here for two months.”

  “Pfft!” Bernardo burst out laughing, a look of pure doting on his face.

  Antonio could tell—this man must be thinking: What a child, he even gets worked up over this?