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!"

The cold iron chains bit into Debbie's wrists, leaving deep red marks as two bodyguards in black dragged her down the stone corridor. The damp air was thick with a metallic stench, a sickly sweetness that made her shiver.

"Armando! You can't lock me in a place like this!"

She struggled, twisting to look back at the man standing on the stone steps above.

A cigarette burned between Armando's fingers, smoke curling lazily around his sharp features. His voice came through the haze—flat, detached, cruelly calm.

"I told you to stay put, but you refused. This time, you'll learn what defiance costs."

Her eyes reddened, her voice hoarse from fury.

"Armando—you'll regret this!"

He gave a low, mirthless laugh and flicked his wrist.

"Take her down."

The heavy iron door groaned open. A rush of humid air, thick with rot and blood, poured out. Debbie was shoved inside; icy water immediately soaked her feet.

She staggered, using the faint light above to orient herself—and froze.

This wasn't an attic. It was a flooded stone chamber. The dark water rippled, and beneath the surface, slender shapes slithered and swam.

Her pupils constricted. Her legs trembled uncontrollably.

"Snakes..."

Memory struck her like a wave.

On her eighteenth birthday, she went on a camping trip with Armando. She'd gone out in the middle of the night and accidentally stepped into a snake's nest. A gray-green serpent had coiled around her ankle, its cold, scaled body pressing against her bare skin, tongue flicking as it brushed her calf.

She screamed, frozen in terror—until Armando came running. He'd carefully pried the snake off her, pulled her trembling body into his arms, and whispered, "Don't be afraid, Debbie. I'm here. I'll never let you face a snake again."

Back then, his eyes had been filled with warmth, so gentle it could melt stone.

But now—he had personally thrown her into a pit full of snakes.

"Armando... you're truly heartless..."

The words slipped from her lips as her chest constricted painfully, as though an invisible hand was crushing her heart.

Then something brushed against her ankle.

A water snake slid past her skin, cold and slick. She screamed and stumbled backward, tripping into deeper water. The disturbance sent ripples across the pool.

Dozens of serpents stirred. They surged toward her, weaving through the dark water. Some wrapped around her arms; others coiled up her legs.

"Get away! Don't touch me!"

She flailed wildly, but the more she struggled, the more the snakes swarmed.

Then pain—sharp and searing—bit through her calf. She looked down to see a black water snake sunk deep into her flesh, its fangs puncturing her skin, fire spreading through her veins.

Another bit her thigh. Then another.

Agonizing pain bloomed everywhere, prickling like fire and needles beneath her skin. Her vision blurred.

Then came a different pain—a stabbing, twisting agony in her abdomen. Something deep inside her body felt like it was being torn away. She collapsed into the water, curling in on herself, clutching her stomach as cold sweat drenched her skin.

She didn't know that at that very moment, the life growing inside her—their child—was slipping away.

Outside the dungeon, Armando stood before the surveillance screen, watching Debbie writhed in agony on the monitor.

The cigarette burned down to the filter, causing him to suddenly come to his senses.

A hint of complex emotion flashed in his eyes, but as soon as he thought of Debbie's disobedient appearance, that hesitation disappeared instantly.

"Once she admits she was wrong," he said coldly, "bring her out."

The bodyguard nodded.

But he didn't know—by then, Debbie's heart had already turned to ash.

That night, she burned with fever, her skin flushed scarlet.

In the haze of half-consciousness, she heard the door creak open, and the butler's voice, trembling and urgent. "Mr. Robbins, Miss Ingram is covered in snake bites—her whole body is burning up! If we don't get a doctor soon, she might not make it!"

Before Armando could answer, Karylle's gentle tone cut in, deliberately hesitant.

"Dying?" she echoed softly. "Arman, don't you think she's pretending? Those snakes aren't poisonous. She made such a scene earlier—maybe now she's faking a fever just to win your sympathy. You shouldn't fall for that. It's such a common trick."

Footsteps stopped outside the door. Armando's jaw tightened. His voice was ice. "Let her burn. Maybe she'll think clearly once the fever breaks."

Inside, Debbie heard every word.

Her burning body shuddered violently. Tears welled up and rolled down her cheeks, mixing with sweat as they slipped into her collar—cold against fevered skin, like knives carving through what was left of her heart.