"Orson." My voice was flat. "That's my wedding gown. It won't fit her."
Orson froze for a moment, then waved his hand impatiently.
"Just have it altered. Willow's so slim—taking in the waist is nothing."
He shrugged. "Besides, you bought that dress with my money. I have every right to decide what happens to it."
I didn't get angry. I laughed.
"Your money?"
Back then, Orson Gilbert had been a nobody who couldn't afford his next meal.
I was the one who'd crossed over with the System. To save him, I'd poured every ounce of my fortune into him.
I was the one who'd built this empire beside him—sleeping in basements, surviving on instant noodles, pushing him step by step until he sat at the top.
And now he called it his money.
"Fine." I kept my voice light. "Since you think Willow absolutely must be saved, give it to her."
Orson exhaled, relief flooding his eyes.
"That's my girl. I knew you'd understand, Renata. You've always been the generous one."
"Once Willow completes her mission and breaks free from her system, everything will come back to you anyway."
In his arms, Willow turned her face toward me. Her smile was pure triumph.