“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!"

His grip trembled as he turned back to me, his body wracked with sobs. He cradled me in his arms, his tears wetting my hair. "I'm so sorry, Nindy... I'm so sorry..."

Chris was so overwhelmed by the entire ordeal that he fainted. Watching their impeccable performance yet again, I simply lowered my gaze, my heart devoid of any emotion.

When I woke up, I felt a hand tightly holding mine. Chris was resting his head on the hospital bed, his face weary from exhaustion. At the faintest movement of my fingers, he jolted awake, his expression instantly lighting up with relief and joy.

"Nindy, you're finally awake! How do you feel? Where does it hurt? I'll call the doctor right away!"

His concern, though seemingly genuine, only made me sick to my stomach. After destroying my body and shattering my spirit, he now had the audacity to feign affection? Who was he trying to convince?

I forced a weak smile and whispered, "You've stayed up all night. It must have been exhausting for you. You should go back and rest. The nurses will take care of me."

He hesitated, still playing his role. "But the nurses might be careless. What if they hurt you?"

Your presence is what hurts me the most.

"Go home, Chris. I'm fine."

Faced with my unwavering insistence, he had no choice but to leave, albeit reluctantly.

An hour later, my phone buzzed. A message from Bella.

I opened it to find a photo and a video. The timestamp confirmed that while I was undergoing surgery, she was on stage, accepting an award that should have been mine.

In the picture, my brother and Chris stood by her side, both beaming as they held up the championship trophy together. They looked like a perfect little family, basking in their victory—while I, the true outsider, was left behind, discarded and forgotten.

My breath hitched. Just minutes earlier, Chris had been at my bedside, whispering sweet nothings of concern. Yet here he was, celebrating in a grand hotel, laughing and drinking as if nothing had happened.

I clicked on the video. A nine-layer pink strawberry cake stood in the center of the room—Bella’s favorite color and fruit and the one I despised the most. She giggled as she smeared frosting onto their faces. Instead of getting angry, they chuckled fondly, affectionately calling her their "little troublemaker."

What caught my eye next made my fingers tighten around the phone. Chris wore a ring on his hand. A ring that was identical to the one on Bella’s finger.

She hadn’t written a single word to provoke me, yet her message was clear as day. Nothing hurts more than watching someone steal what was once yours.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and was about to lock my phone when another notification appeared in the small three-person group chat I shared with my brother and Chris.

[Ferry: "Chris, you must treat Bella well. Back when I lost everything, it was Bella who jumped into the sea to save me. Whatever she wants, even if it’s the stars in the sky, I will make sure she has them."]

A second later, the message was withdrawn. My fingers trembled as I clutched the phone, my chest tightening with an unbearable ache. A tidal wave of pain surged forward, threatening to drown me in its depths.

That day, the person who saved my brother had been me. When did the truth become her Bella’s?

Tears slipped silently down my cheeks, soaking the hospital quilt. I had lost everything—my dignity, my reputation, my dreams. And now, even my past was being rewritten, stolen by the very people I had once loved. In my darkest despair, a thought surfaced. A phone call from a month ago.

My mentor, Professor Karl, had once offered me a place in a top-secret national project for painting artifact restoration. Back then, I had hesitated. Now, there was nothing left for me here.

With a deep breath, I dialed his number.

"Professor Karl," I said, my voice steady. "I’ve decided to accept your offer. I’ll join the project."

His delight was evident. "Truly? That’s wonderful news! Your talent is unparalleled, Nindy. But I must remind you—this is a top-secret project. Once you enter, all traces of your existence will be erased from the world. Are you certain you want this?"

"I’m certain. I’ll book my flight and be there in three days."

Just as I ended the call, my brother entered the room, his expression unreadable. "I thought I heard you mention a plane ticket. Where are you going?"\