The day before the painting competition, I was dragged into a dark alley by a gang of beggars—more than a dozen of them. When they finally left me there, broken and discarded like a piece of trash, my bladder had ruptured and my arms and legs were shattered.

When they found me, my body was barely holding on. My brother, Ferry Jain, flew into a rage, offering a hefty reward for anyone who could find the culprits. Meanwhile, my childhood friend—Chris Hoffman—immediately chartered a private jet, bringing in a team of top-tier foreign specialists to perform emergency surgery on me.

But as they wheeled me toward the operating room, I overheard something that froze my blood.

"Ferry, wasn't hiring those beggars to beat Nindy Jain just so Bella Swan could steal her painting a bit too extreme?" Chris whispered.

Ferry let out a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he were the one burdened by suffering. "Nindy just doesn't know when to stop. She's already the esteemed daughter of the Jain Family, yet she still insists on competing with Bella for fame and fortune. She should've learned to step aside."

His voice took on a sharper edge as he continued, "Bella locked herself in her room and refused to eat or drink the moment she heard Nindy was back. She used to rely on me the most and I won’t let anyone bully her—not even Nindy."

Chris hesitated. "But... Nindy is your sister."

Ferry scoffed, as if that was merely an inconvenient detail. "With our family's wealth and power, even if she's been... tainted, there will still be plenty of men willing to marry her. Once Bella secures her gold medal in the painting competition, I’ll make it up to Nindy later."

Make it up to me? I felt hot tears slip silently from the corners of my eyes. What future is left for me when my life is already ruined? This house, filled with lies and betrayal, has never truly been my home.

——

"Mr. Jain, Miss Jain’s injuries are severe," the doctor interjected urgently. "If we delay the surgery any longer, she could be crippled for life—permanently incontinent."

But my brother’s response was ice-cold. "I said no surgery. Are you deaf?"

Chris stiffened, his voice laced with unease. "Ferry, Nindy is already no threat to Bella. In this state, she can’t compete with her anymore. Are you really willing to let your own sister spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair?"

"What’s wrong with that?" Ferry’s tone was indifferent. "Even in a wheelchair, the eldest daughter of the Jain Family is still superior to those lowly commoners. At least this way, she’ll finally learn to accept her place and stop making things difficult for Bella. And even if I never marry, I’ll take care of her for the rest of her life."

His hand, warm yet suffocating, rested on my frozen fingers as he gazed at me with what could only be described as mock affection.

"I promised Bella she would stand on stage for the painting competition tomorrow. The surgery can wait until after that."

My stomach twisted in agony—not just from my broken body, but from the cruel realization that this had never been an accident.

Everything— The ambush. The beating. The betrayal. It was all orchestrated by my own flesh and blood. And the boy who once promised to marry me? Even he was protecting a girl he had only known for a month. The pain of despair was a blade twisting deep in my bones.

I must have been crying, because Chris suddenly gripped my trembling hand, his voice choked with emotion. "Nindy, does it hurt? Just hold on a little longer—I won’t leave your side."

Then he shoved open the door and stormed out, yelling at the staff. "Where the hell is the medical team?! Didn’t I tell you to give her more anesthetic? Why is she still in so much pain?!"

Ferry flinched at the outburst. When he turned and saw my tear-soaked pillow, his expression twisted into something that looked an awful lot like guilt.

"It’s my fault..." he murmured, stroking my hair in mock remorse. "I should’ve protected you better. Don’t worry, I’ll hunt down those bastards—no matter where they run, they won’t escape my wrath."

His grief looked so real, so convincing, that for a moment I almost believed him. But I knew better now. I was nothing more than a pawn in the web of lies he had spun. And there was nothing I could do to escape.

“Nindy, don’t be afraid. Your brother is here with you,” my brother murmured, his voice filled with forced reassurance. “Chris has already arranged for a private plane to bring in top medical experts. They just haven’t arrived yet… but they will be here by tomorrow. I promise you.”

He spoke as if his words could bridge the unbearable pain coursing through my broken body.

“You love painting, don’t you?” he continued, placing a hand over his chest as if making an unshakable vow. “I swear, you’ll be able to continue doing what you love.”

I pressed my trembling fingers against my aching heart and whispered, “Brother, can I… can I really stand again?”

For a moment, he hesitated. His usually unwavering gaze faltered, unable to meet mine. “Of course you can. Trust me.”

But after spinning so many lies, even he must have lost track of what was real and what wasn’t. He had sacrificed too much for Bella. How could he possibly let me remain a threat?

One was my own blood, the brother who once swore to help me reclaim the love I had lost in childhood. The other was my childhood companion, the boy who had promised to take me across the world when we were young.

And yet, for the sake of that venomous snake, Bella—the imposter who schemed and manipulated from the shadows—they had both chosen to betray me. To pave the way for her future, they had abandoned me without hesitation.

The very people who once promised to pull me from the darkness were the ones who had pushed me into an abyss with no end. Despair wrapped around me like an iron shroud. I turned my head away, unwilling to look at them any longer.

The doctor approached, medical tools in hand. His gaze swept over my battered body—my bloodied limbs, my lower body soaked in crimson. He had seen countless horrors in his profession, yet even he could not suppress the sadness in his eyes.

“Miss Jain, please bear with it for a little while. The surgery will take some time, but for now, we need to clean your wounds to prevent infection.”

I clenched the bedsheet beneath me, my nails digging into the fabric, smearing it with my own blood. The pain was excruciating—so intense that I nearly lost consciousness. But the real agony did not stem from my broken body. It was my heart that suffered the deepest wounds.

Chris turned away, unable to watch me writhe in pain, his silent tears falling to the floor. My brother stood stiffly beside him. As he looked at me, his breathing grew ragged and his eyes turned red at the edges, brimming with feigned grief. His concern appeared so genuine. If I had not known better, I might have believed it. But I had long since become numb to his deception.

As the doctors worked on my wounds, I overheard my brother and Chris speaking in hushed voices outside my hospital room.

Chris’s voice carried an edge of guilt. “Do we really have to go through with this? Nindy is already like this… and now you still want to expose her through those live-streamers?”

My brother sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. A second later, his voice turned cold, decisive.

“Of course we do. If we stop now, wouldn’t all the suffering she endured be meaningless? Besides, she’s already tainted—one more incident won’t change anything. The judges of the Painting Association despise artists with moral corruption. This will destroy any hope she has left.”

He paused before adding, “I’m doing this for her own good. She needs to learn her lesson. One day, she’ll understand that everything I did was for her benefit.”

My heart turned to ice. This was my life. The life I had spent countless sleepless nights fighting for. The years I had poured into my craft, the blisters and callouses that had formed from gripping my paintbrush too tightly. And with just a few words, he was trying to erase all of it.

If I had known that returning to this house would lead to this nightmare, I might have been better off letting my foster mother force me into an unwanted marriage.

The sound of hurried footsteps filled the corridor. A moment later, a group of live-streamers burst into my hospital room.

The small space was instantly overwhelmed by their presence. Cameras were shoved in my face, microphones pressed against my lips. I was drowning in a sea of flashing lights and jeering voices. Surrounded by demons in human skin, I had never felt smaller… more powerless.

“Miss Jain, rumors say that you sought out dangerous thrills and ended up in the hospital because of your own depraved actions. How do you respond to that?”

“Miss Jain, do you have a peculiar fetish? Are normal men no longer enough to satisfy you? Is that why you turned to beggars?”

“Miss Jain, during your university years, it was said that you seduced other women’s boyfriends and even became a mistress, kept by a wealthy man. Are these allegations true?”

Amidst the chaos, someone shoved me off the hospital bed. A sharp, searing pain shot through my body, threatening to drag me into unconsciousness. With only a thin sheet covering my wounds, an aggressive female anchor sneered and yanked it away, exposing my battered body to the cameras. The others lunged forward, eager to capture every humiliating detail.

I was nothing more than a spectacle, an object on display, my dignity torn to shreds before a live audience. Biting down hard on my lip, I tasted blood, but the pain was nothing compared to the agony clawing at my soul. Tears streamed down my face as the voices around me grew louder.

"Tsk, tsk, disgusting. She deserves this."

"A woman like this might as well just die!"

"Fans, take a good look—this is what happens when you live shamelessly. A warning to all girls out there: stay pure."

Their taunts sliced through me like knives, each word a fresh wound. My entire body trembled, my sobs uncontrollable, but the cruelty only fueled their frenzy. One of the anchors, emboldened by the flood of donations pouring into her livestream, smirked and leaned in closer.

"Ms. Jain, our viewers are curious—were you always this promiscuous? How about sharing your contact information? Seems like quite a few fans are... interested."

The live chat was filled with a single word, repeated over and over: slut.

Looking at the pitiful wreck I had become, I realized that even death had abandoned me. My only instinct was to curl up, twisting my broken limbs to shield myself from their prying eyes. Their laughter rang in my ears, relentless, suffocating. Then, a roar shattered the torment.

"Who the hell are you people?! Get out!"

My brother stormed into the room, fists flying as he drove the anchors away. Chris rushed to my side, gently lifting me back onto the bed and pulling the blanket over me, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"This is my fault," he murmured, his voice thick with guilt. "If I had stayed with you, none of this would have happened."

Beside him, my brother raised a trembling hand and slapped himself hard across the face.

"Nindy, cry if you need to. This is all my fault. I swear I'll make them pay for this. Those heartless bastards will regret ever laying a hand on you! Don't worry, none of what they recorded will ever see the light of day."

The sincerity in his voice was flawless, his act impeccable. But the more they pretended to care, the deeper my disgust grew. They had orchestrated every step of this nightmare. Why would they stop now? As expected, within hours, the livestream footage had been clipped, edited and spread across every corner of the internet. The entire world now knew me as the depraved, thrill-seeking heiress of the Jain Family.

My name was forever tarnished, my dignity obliterated. For Bella, my own brother and the childhood friend who once swore to protect me had personally thrown me into the flames and left me to burn. The realization hit me like a dagger to the heart, my breath hitching in my throat. Panic surged through my chest, choking me, until my vision blurred and I gasped for air.

Chris bolted out of the room, returning moments later with the team of specialists who had been standing idly outside. They surrounded me, conducting their assessments in grave silence, until finally, one of them spoke.

"The situation is dire. Because the optimal window for surgery was missed, the infection has spread. The damage to the lower body is severe—both the bladder and uterus are compromised. Urinary incontinence is almost inevitable and the chances of pregnancy are nearly nonexistent."

He hesitated before continuing, his voice heavy. "As for her limbs, the tendons and nerves have been severely damaged. The probability of a full recovery is less than ten percent. You need to be prepared for the worst."

My brother lunged forward, seizing the specialist by the collar, his eyes wild with desperation.

"You were brought here to save her, not spout nonsense! I don’t care how much it costs—just do the damn surgery!"