Camilla was the first to react.

Tears immediately streamed down her cheeks.

"What on earth are you talking about..."

"Did you hit your head on the stairs? None of what you're saying makes any sense..."

My father sprang into action. He turned to Lynn, his face plastered with a fawning smile.

"Giselle's been talking nonsense ever since her fall."

"She must have hit her head. Don't take anything she says seriously."

My mother quickly chimed in.

"That's right—Giselle has always been like this. Making up wild stories for attention."

Camilla clung to Lynn's arm, still sobbing.

"She's always been jealous. She's always trying to take you from me. That's why she's saying these things."

Their story was seamless, perfectly coordinated.

Lynn looked down at me on the floor.

My hands were covered in Camilla's blood.

The wound on my forehead was still bleeding, drop by drop, onto the floor.

With my hair matted to my pale face with dried blood, I must have looked like a wraith from a nightmare.

He stared at me for a few seconds, his eyes filled with contempt.

"Send her away."

He dropped the words, devoid of emotion, then turned and left with Camilla to tend to her arm.

My father immediately called for private doctors, ordering them to take me to a high-end private clinic.

The place was a sterile nightmare—a pure white isolation room.

The walls were white, the sheets were white, everything was white.

The stark whiteness assaulted my fractured senses.

I curled up in a cold corner, shaking uncontrollably.

I remembered my past life. They had locked me in a place like this then, too—to get me out of the way so Camilla could stand before Lynn in my place.

The agony of the white room was all too familiar.

In my past life, I had cried for three days and three nights in here.

This time, I leaned against the white wall and didn't shed a single tear.

In the endless silence, my fingers traced the smooth tiles of the floor.

I remembered the days of caring for Lynn in that remote villa.

Back then, with his amnesia, he always asked me to walk with him in the garden.

We would sit side-by-side on the grass, and he would trace my palm with his finger, teaching me to sense his emotions through touch.

He had told me with a smile that once his memory returned, he would take me to his favorite place.

But when his memory returned, he took someone else.

The next day, Lynn came.

He stood before me, looking down at me huddled in the corner.

"Do you understand what you did wrong?" His voice was cold.

I slowly looked up. My face was pale, expressionless.

"Yes."

I did understand what I did wrong.

I should never have saved him.

And I certainly shouldn't have been foolish enough to fall in love with him.

My answer seemed to satisfy him. He gave a slight nod.

His tone dripped with condescending charity. "It was Camilla who begged me to come see you. After everything you did."

"She actually cried for you. So stop making her sad."

He turned to leave without a backward glance.

After a couple of steps, he paused, glancing at the doctor by the door.

"Get a specialist. Put her on sedatives."

On the third day, the doctors released me.

It was Camilla's birthday.

She had personally gone to Lynn, putting on her most helpless act, and begged him to let me attend. She said she wanted her sister's blessing in person.

Lynn, seeing only kindness in the request, agreed on the spot.

But I knew exactly what Camilla wanted.

She wanted me to watch as Lynn proposed to her. She wanted to obliterate my last shred of hope.

At the ceremony, my parents made me deliver the custom-made engagement ring to the stage.

I walked up the steps holding the velvet box, my face a mask.

Lynn was already on one knee before Camilla.

I opened the box in front of everyone.

On the inner band of the ring, a single, ornate letter was engraved: C.

My fingers hesitated for a fraction of a second.

That engraving should have been the "G" I had drawn in his palm.

But he had believed it was the first letter of "Camilla."

Lynn took the ring and gently slipped it onto Camilla's finger.

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause.

I stood on the stage, watching it all unfold up close.

Then I turned and walked off the stage without a word.

As I descended the steps, my foot caught on the hem of my dress.

My body, a patchwork of old and new injuries, had no strength left.

I lost my balance and fell heavily to the ground.

The impact tore my collar open.

The silver locket I kept hidden against my skin slipped out.

It caught the light, glowing with a soft warmth.

Lynn froze. His gaze locked onto the locket on my chest.

He had played with that locket countless times during those dark days.

He slowly crouched down, his voice barely a whisper.

"Where did you get that?"