Night had fallen.

Debbie sat on the bed, her fingertips brushing against the rim of a cup of warm water that had long gone cold. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, marking the endless hours from midnight to dawn. Yet Armando never came back.

Before retiring for the night, the butler had explained softly, "Miss Ingram, Mr. Robbins has just taken over the company and has urgent matters to handle tonight. He may have to stay overnight at the office."

She nodded without replying, quietly turning her phone screen on and off.

It wasn't until two in the morning that a notification popped up.

It was a message from Karylle—with two photos. Both were taken at the entrance of one of the city's most exclusive bars.

In the picture, Armando slightly lowered his head, his hand gripping Karylle's waist as they kissed—deeply, inseparably. The location tag beneath the photo was nowhere near the "company" the butler had mentioned. It was halfway across the city.

Debbie's hand holding the phone didn't tremble. She rose slowly, heading toward the door. The sound of her footsteps on the floor was so soft it was almost silent.

When she arrived at the bar and found the private room from the location, the door was slightly ajar.

Inside came bursts of laughter and drunken chatter. Then, Armando's voice rang out, low and rough with alcohol, yet every word pierced straight through her.

"Debbie? She's just some street vendor girl. Who does she think she is, giving me attitude? If it weren't for the fact she waited on me like a servant for three years—cooking, cleaning, fetching tea—I'd have tossed her out long ago."

Laughter followed.

"Armando, Karylle is much more fun than her. You and her really make a perfect pair!"

Karylle's soft, sugary voice chimed in. "Arman, don't say that about Debbie. If she heard you, she'd be so hurt."

Armando sneered, slamming his wine glass onto the table. The sharp crack echoed through the room.

"Sad? She's like a wooden doll—does she even know what sadness is? Every day, she's tied to the stove. When I invited Karylle over, she'd just add more dishes and utensils—so dull! But the first time I saw Karylle... she was different. I wanted to keep her all to myself. That kind of madness, that possessiveness—Debbie never made me feel that way!"

Laughter filled the room again. Someone teased, patting Armando's shoulder.

"Armando is biased even when drunk! Debbie would cry if she heard that!"

Armando tilted his head back, gulping down more wine. His cheeks were flushed, but his eyes glinted with disdain.

"Cry? If she dares cry, I'll only find her more pathetic. If not for her fussing over me all those years, I'd have sent her away long ago. What right does she have to give me a hard time?"

Outside the door, Debbie stood still, her fingertips pressed to the cold wood. Her heart was eerily calm.

Back then, Armando had congenital heart disease. She had never let him drink, not even a sip. Every time they attended gatherings, she would watch his glass carefully, even contacting restaurants in advance to replace his wine with juice.

Now, he was sitting in a bar, drunk out of his mind, ridiculing her with every word.

And in her mind, a single thought echoed: 'The first thing the cripple did after healing was throw away the crutches that once held him up.'

Suddenly, the door swung open.

Karylle stood in the doorway, her lipstick smudged, her hair a little messy. For an instant, surprise flashed in her eyes, quickly replaced by a smug smile. She glanced deliberately toward the room.

Armando's slurred voice floated out,

"Karylle, who's at the door? Why are you standing there so long?"

Turning back, Karylle's tone turned honeyed and sweet as she spoke, deliberately raised the volume, making sure Debbie outside could hear her every word.

"No one, Arman. It's just the wind blowing the door."

Then she casually tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers brushing her swollen lips, locking eyes with Debbie in deliberate provocation as if saying, 'Look, he's drunk—with only me in his eyes and heart. He doesn't even notice you standing there.'

Debbie didn't move. She just stood there, silently watching the scene inside—the laughter, the drinks, the man who had once been her whole world. She watched Armando lean close to Karylle, whispering something that made her giggle like a child.

When Karylle finally helped the drunken Armando toward the restroom, Debbie silently followed.

The corridor lights were dim. She stood before them, the light casting faint shadows across her expressionless face.

Her eyes swept over Armando, who was barely able to keep his eyes open, his steps unsteady—then settled coldly on Karylle.

Her voice was soft, but every word was as sharp as glass. "When did you get together?"

Armando felt that the person in front of him was somewhat familiar, but couldn't remember who it was, and just muttered vaguely, "Who are you...? Don't block the way..."

Karylle clung tighter to his arm, smiling, as if comforting a lover.

"We? Oh, it's been a year."

Then she leaned in, her lips almost brushing Debbie's ear, her voice dripping with mock pity and smug delight.

"For that whole year, he ate your food, spent your money—and bought me handbags with it. When you were asleep, he'd sneak out to see me. Isn't that funny?"

"You keep fighting me for a man—but with ninety nine betrayal, haven't you learned by now? The one Arman loves most has always been me."

She smiled.

"You're the obstacle between us, Debbie. So I'll remove you myself."

Armando burped beside her, barely aware of what was happening.

"Karylle... don't talk to strangers... let's go drink..."

He waved a hand dismissively, not even realizing who stood in front of him. His tone was filled with irritation, as though she were nothing more than an obstacle.

Debbie looked at them both—at the man who no longer recognized her, and the woman who had stolen everything she'd ever cherished.

Her hand rose before she even thought about it.

Slap!

Her palm struck his face hard.

"If you like picking up trash so much," she said coldly, "then I'll give it to you."

Ignoring Karylle's furious shout behind her, Debbie turned and walked away.

Every grievance, every sleepless night, every cruel word she'd just heard—each one was a blunt knife carving through her heart, cutting the last thread of attachment cleanly in two.

She walked toward the elevator without looking back, as if all the noise and laughter behind had nothing to do with her.

'So you've been lying to me all along, Armando!'

The next day, the engagement banquet sparkled with luxury.

Armando stood at the center of the hall, his hand wrapped tightly around Karylle's delicate fingers. Surrounded by laughter and champagne toasts, they accepted blessings from the guests—everyone praising how perfectly matched they looked, a talented man and a beautiful woman.

Karylle rested her arm proudly against his, her smile radiant with triumph. But Armando's eyes drifted—again and again—toward the far end of the villa.

Upstairs, behind a locked door, Debbie was being "taken care of" by the housekeeper he had arranged.

The butler entered the bedroom with a tray in hand, his tone polite but nervous.

"Miss Ingram, Mr. Robbins asked that you drink this warm milk and get some rest. He said he doesn't want you to tire yourself out."

Condensation still beaded the rim of the glass. It looked harmless.

Debbie stared at it, her fingers curling slightly, and said softly, "Leave it. I'll drink it later."

The butler hesitated but dared not press further. He set the milk down and quietly backed out of the room—then clicked the lock behind him.

Not long after, the door opened again. Armando entered, the scent of alcohol and Karylle's perfume still clinging to him from the banquet.

He walked to the bedside and lightly touched Debbie's cheek—his fingertips carried a trace of warmth, but his tone was full of false tenderness.

"Debbie, I've wronged you."

"I only have you in my heart, but I can't let go of the Robbins family inheritance. Karylle can help me now, but it's just temporary. Once I have full control of the family, I'll end the engagement and bring you away from here. Trust me, okay?"

He gazed at the "sleeping" Debbie, a flicker of struggle crossing his eyes. But in the end, he hardened his heart, turned around, and left.

As soon as the door closed, the woman on the bed slowly opened her eyes.

She had never touched the glass of milk—she'd only been pretending to sleep.

By sheer coincidence, when Armando had locked the door earlier, the lock hadn't clicked properly. With a light push, it opened.

Debbie leaned against the wall for support, forcing herself up through the stabbing pain in her body, and made her way toward the banquet hall.

When she appeared at the entrance, the once noisy hall suddenly fell silent.

Gasps erupted seconds later.

"Who's that?"

"Why is she dressed like that?"

"Does anyone know her?"

The guests began whispering among themselves, all eyes turning toward Debbie.

Armando's face changed instantly. Shock flickered in his eyes, followed by fury. He barked out, "Who let her out? Get her out of here!"

"Wait."

A cold, commanding voice cut through the noise.

Madam Robbins rose slowly from the sofa, her elegant dress glimmering under the chandelier. Her sharp eyes settled on her son with open disgust.

If her legitimate heir hadn't drowned years ago, she would never have allowed this illegitimate son to step foot in the Robbins household.

"Armando," she said icily. "What is the meaning of this?"

Before he could answer, Karylle stepped forward, gripping his arm tightly. Her voice trembled just enough to sound convincing, laced with practiced fear and pity.

"Aunt Rosie, I—I don't know. This woman has been obsessed with Arman for a long time. She's always tried to get close to him. Maybe she snuck in tonight to ruin the engagement."

Madam Robbins's expression hardened. Her gaze swung sharply to her son.

"Is that true?"

Armando looked at Debbie's pale face, panic flickering in his heart. But under Madam Robbins' scrutiny—and with the thought of the hard-won inheritance hanging in the balance—he averted his eyes.

A look of feigned heartache and hesitation passed over his face as he nodded slowly.

"Yes... she's been bothering me for a while. I couldn't do anything about it."

Debbie felt her blood run cold. Her whole body stiffened as she shouted, her voice trembling with fury and disbelief.

"Armando, tell everyone—who am I to you? It was you who—"

Before she could finish, Armando gestured sharply, and the bodyguard rushed forward to cover her mouth.

She stared at Armando's familiar face—at the man who once swore to protect her—and listened as he labeled her nothing more than a deranged woman obsessed with him.

In that instant, the last shred of warmth in her heart shattered into ashes.

"So be it." Madam Robbins's voice was calm, but cold as ice. "Armando, you caused this mess. Clean it up. Don't ruin the evening for everyone else."

Armando's Adam's apple bobbed. Under the weight of everyone's gaze, he closed his eyes and gave the order hoarsely.

"Throw her... into the pool."

The bodyguard stepped forward, grabbed Debbie—still confined to her wheelchair—and carried her outside toward the garden.

With a loud plop, she was hurled into the pool.

The icy water swallowed her whole, the shock sending knives of pain through her abdomen. She struggled, gasping, but her limbs quickly went weak.

At the entrance of the banquet hall, Armando stood frozen, staring at the figure sinking deeper into the water. His heart pounded violently, his fingertips turning cold.

He wanted to rush to her, but his legs felt heavy as lead. He could only watch helplessly as Debbie's hair floated on the water's surface for a moment—then slowly sank out of sight.

And the pool went still.

Armando's fingers trembled as he stared at the ripples spreading rapidly across the pool.

While the guests' attention was still fixed on the water, he grabbed the butler by the collar, his knuckles whitening as he hissed through gritted teeth, "Get her out. Hide her in the attic. And if a third person finds out about this—pack your things and get out of the Robbins house!"

The butler's face turned ashen. He stumbled toward the pool in a panic.

From the corner of the garden, Karylle watched every flicker of panic in Armando's eyes. She immediately moved closer, her tone soft and soothing, fingers lightly patting his back as if to comfort him.

"Arman, don't panic. I know you care about her, but in front of so many reporters—what else could I have said? If I hadn't claimed she was the one pestering you, imagine what headlines they'd write tomorrow. The Robbins family just went through a crisis; we can't afford another scandal. I had no choice... please don't blame me."

Her voice trembled delicately, her face full of pity—but deep in her eyes, a hint of triumph glimmered.

"I only wanted to protect your reputation."

Armando's thoughts were in disarray, and somehow her words managed to soothe the chaos inside him. He pressed a hand to his temple, a flicker of genuine gratitude crossing his face.

"I know... I've wronged you."

But for the rest of the banquet, he was like a man who'd lost his soul.

Guests came up one after another, raising glasses and offering congratulations, but his eyes kept drifting toward the attic.

Someone joked, "Mr. Robbins, you and Miss Andrade are truly a match made in heaven!"

His lips twitched into something that could hardly be called a smile—more painful than tears.

All he could see was Debbie's face as she sank beneath the water—her eyes shut tight, her hair floating lifelessly on the surface like black silk. Every image stabbed at his heart, one needle after another.

Karylle watched him drift away in silence, her nails digging deep into her palm until blood welled up. Her hatred for Debbie was a living thing, burning behind her eyes.

When the last guest finally left, Armando didn't even bother taking off his jacket. He stormed up the stairs to the attic like a man possessed.

The door slammed open.

Debbie sat at the edge of the bed, wrapped in a thin blanket. Her skin was pale as paper, but her breathing was steady. The moment he saw her alive, his chest loosened in relief—only for fury to ignite the very next second.

He crossed the room in three long strides, towering over her.

"Who told you to come downstairs?!" he thundered. "Didn't I tell you to stay in your room? You just had to make a scene, didn't you? Were you trying to ruin everything I've built in the Robbins family?!"

Debbie slowly lifted her gaze to him. There were no tears, no anger—only a vast, desolate emptiness in her eyes, like a prairie burned to ash where even the wind could no longer stir.

"Ruin you?" Her voice was soft, almost weightless. "Armando, it was you who had the butler drug me with sleeping pills. You deliberately locked me up and ordered them to throw me into that pool."

She gave a bitter smile. "I came downstairs just to see... how cruel the man I've protected for three years could really be when faced with power and inheritance."

Her eyes met his, dark and unflinching gaze. "Now I know. You're even ruthless than I imagined."

Her words struck like stones to the chest. Armando's breath hitched—his anger twisting with guilt. But before he could speak, Karylle appeared in the doorway, leaning weakly against the frame, her hand resting delicately on her waist as she shuffled inside.

"Arman," she said softly, tugging on his arm, "Debbie must be confused after falling into the water. Don't take her words to heart."

Then she turned, her expression the picture of gentle reason. "But Debbie, you really shouldn't have acted like that today. The guests were all powerful people from New York. You rushing in like that... it makes people question whether Armando can even manage his private life. How can he lead the Robbins family if he can't?"

Her words were like a spark dropped into oil.

Armando's fury erupted completely. "Do you hear that? Even Karylle understands what's at stake! She's always thinking of me—while you? You only know how to bring me trouble!"

His voice turned into a roar. "Debbie, maybe it's time you learned what obedience means!"

He spun toward the servants standing outside the door. "Lock her down! Without my permission, she gets no food, no water. Let her stay there and think about what she's done!"