Elena blinked away her tears, suppressing the bitter ache, and headed toward the Medical Records Office. With her position at Memorial Hospital, it was easy to pull her mother’s old case file. She barely had to search before spotting the organ donation agreement tucked inside.

Her lashes trembled as she scanned down to the signature at the bottom.

The bold, slanted strokes spelled out a name.

Adrian Shaw.

He had severed her last shred of hope.

She drifted out of the records office like a ghost.

Around her, staff bustled through the halls. Two nurses chatting nearby caught her ear:

“Did you see? Mr. Shaw dotes on Miss Cole like she’s made of glass.”

“Unbelievable. She just had a stomachache and he dragged the hospital director himself to her bedside, threatening to replace him if she wasn’t treated properly.”

“And last time, when she twisted her ankle? He carried her in his arms the whole time, wouldn’t even let her walk.”

“That’s nothing. Word is, he handed her a billion-dollar project just to win her smile. And those tens of millions in jewels—he gave them away like candy.”

Their envy-laced chatter pierced Elena’s chest, tearing her apart inside, until she suddenly heard Adrian’s voice.

“How’s this? Does that feel better?”

She froze, turning stiffly toward the sound.

Through the glass, she saw Adrian by Vivian’s bedside, fussing over her—adjusting pillows, rubbing her stomach gently.

Vivian wore a hospital gown, her face bare, brows lowered in a picture of delicate innocence. “Much better,” she murmured softly. “Sorry to trouble you again.”

Adrian frowned. “If you don’t trouble me, then who else would you trouble?” His voice hardened. “Where’s Lucas? Why isn’t he here when you’re sick? Is he treating you badly?”

Vivian smiled faintly. “Lucas takes good care of me. No matter where he is, he calls morning and night when he’s away on business. When I said I wasn’t ready for children, he blamed himself.”

Her smile was sweet, but as she spoke, her gaze flicked casually toward the doorway. “Adrian, don’t give me any more projects or gifts. I’m afraid Elena will be upset.”

“Whether she’s upset or not doesn’t matter.”

Adrian’s tone was sharp, his back rigid with anger as he stood. “I’ll grab breakfast for you. Rest.”

Instinctively, Elena stepped aside, hiding as he strode past.

Her mind throbbed, swelling as if it would burst. The truth hit her like a blow she hadn’t braced for.

“Well? Satisfied with what you saw today?”

The mocking voice came from behind her. Elena turned—and found Vivian standing at the doorway, having slipped out of her room. She looked triumphant.

“Lucas Bennett or Adrian Shaw—doesn’t matter. They both love me. Elena, after all our years of rivalry, you still lost.”

Before the Carter family’s downfall, Elena and Vivian had been bitter enemies for over a decade. From childhood fights over dresses and handbags, to adult battles over contracts and jewels—Elena always had her parents’ support, and she often won.

But once the Carters collapsed, Vivian had stolen Lucas. And now, Adrian.

Elena said nothing, only stared at Vivian’s chest. Was the heart beating inside there her mother’s?

Her vision burned. She swallowed the urge to scream and sneered coldly instead. “You’re jealous of me, aren’t you?”

Vivian laughed. “In broad daylight, you’re dreaming? Jealous of you? Of what—your dead parents, your husband who’s my lapdog?”

“Really?” Elena’s tone was icy. “Then why, all your life, have you been trying to take what’s mine? First the dresses and jewelry I didn’t want. Now, the men I don’t want. You scavenge my scraps and still dare to flaunt it.”

“You say Lucas loves you? Loves you so much he lets you sell your body to advance him? Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Elena Carter!” Vivian trembled with fury. No matter how many years passed, she could never beat Elena’s sharp tongue.

But then, a sinister smile curved her lips. “Fine. Then let’s see who the real pathetic one is.”

With that, Vivian suddenly threw herself backward.

Her head struck the edge of the nightstand, blood immediately spilling down her forehead.

Before Elena could react, Adrian’s desperate shout rang out behind her.

“Vivian!”

In the next instant, a tremendous force shoved her aside.

Elena Carter slammed into the wall, her head spinning from the impact.

But Adrian Shaw didn’t even glance at her—his face was full of tension as he checked Vivian Cole’s condition. “Are you okay? Don’t worry, I’ll get a doctor right away.”

Vivian’s forehead wound looked fierce, but in reality it was just a shallow cut. Once the blood was wiped away, it was hardly serious at all.

“Adrian…”

Vivian clung to his chest, panic written across her face. “I didn’t mean anything else. I only wanted to explain to Elena about the misunderstanding back then, but I never thought she would suddenly lash out.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks, leaving her looking pitiful and wronged.

Adrian turned back and glared at Elena. “You’re a doctor. Instead of doing your job, you came here to bully a patient? Elena Carter, when did you become so vicious?”

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t question—he simply assumed Elena was in the wrong.

In that moment, self-mockery welled up in her chest. How blind had she been, not to see that Adrian never had her in his heart?

“Apologize to Vivian,” Adrian ordered.

Apologize?

To her?

Elena forced back the tears that burned in her eyes, staring directly at Vivian. “A misunderstanding? Which one? Was it the time you deliberately climbed into Lucas Bennett’s bed? Or was it when you stole my mother’s—”

The word heart had barely left her lips when Adrian’s hand cracked across her face.

The blow was merciless, making Elena’s head buzz as if struck by lightning.

She clutched her cheek and slowly turned her gaze on Adrian, her expression falling into utter silence.

“Elena…”

Adrian’s expression shifted. He glanced at his hand, suddenly unsure, and stepped toward her. “Did I… did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I lost my temper.”

He reached out to touch her face, but she slapped his hand away.

Vivian, feigning panic, spoke up quickly: “Adrian, how could you hit Elena? I’ve already troubled you enough—if I end up ruining your marriage too, I might as well be dead.”

Tears spilled from her eyes.

“Don’t say things like that.” Adrian pulled her close, soothing her, then looked at Elena with stern authority. “Apologize. I’m doing this for your own good. Otherwise people will say you abuse your position, and then how will you continue as a doctor?”

Elena let out a cold laugh. “For my good? Twisting truth into lies is for my good? Striking me across the face while I’m sick is for my good? Protecting another woman right in front of me is for my good? That kind of good, I can’t afford.”

She threw the words down and walked straight out.

Behind her, Vivian’s gaze darkened.

What did Elena mean by those words? Could it be—she knew about the heart back then?

Vivian bit her lip, her fists tightening in the shadows.

Outside Memorial Hospital, Elena tried to hail a cab, but suddenly a shadow fell across her. A sharp pain struck her neck, and everything went black.

When she woke again, the world was pitch dark and the space unbearably cramped. Curled up, with pain pounding at the back of her skull, she realized she was in real danger.

Her instincts screamed. Groping in her pocket, she managed to dial her emergency contact. The ringing in her ear was deafening in the silence. Her heart pounded, terrified her captors would notice.

Finally, the line connected. Adrian’s voice came through: “Hello?”

Despite all the hatred she felt toward him, hearing his voice brought a fleeting sense of safety. Her own came out broken, tinged with sobs: “Adrian, I’ve been kidnapped. Please, help me.”

“What?” His voice tightened instantly. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know… I think I’m in the trunk of a car, I—”

“Elena, this isn’t funny,” Adrian cut her off.

Before she could respond, Vivian’s voice chimed in from his side: “If you really were kidnapped, how would you even have the chance to make a call? You’re just upset about earlier—there’s no need to scare us like this.”

“No, that’s not—” Elena’s voice trembled with desperation.

But Adrian silenced her sharply. “Enough. If you’ve got the strength to call me, then you’ve got the strength to get yourself out.”

The line went dead.

At that very moment, the trunk popped open. A man yanked her out roughly and reached for her bag. “Where’s the organ donation contract?”

Her heart sank. So her suspicions were true. Rolling onto her stomach, she pressed her bag beneath her.

This was her last piece of evidence—she couldn’t lose it.

“Bitch!” The man snarled and kicked her savagely in the back.

Pain exploded, blood filled her mouth. She curled up in agony, but the bag was still torn easily from her grasp.

“G-give it back…”

She reached for it instinctively. In the struggle, her blouse tore open at the chest, revealing pale skin. The man’s gaze shifted, turning lecherous.

“You want it? Then make me happy, and maybe I’ll give it back.” He tossed her bag aside and lunged, clawing at her clothes.

Cold air rushed in, terror clawing at Elena’s chest.

She fought wildly, but he pinned her down with ease, fumbling to strip her.

“No! Stop! Somebody help—”

But no one was near enough to hear.

Despair crashed over her. Then, out of nowhere, a scream split the air.

“Aaagh!”

Suddenly, the weight holding her down vanished.

Shaking, Elena scrambled backward. Tears blurred her vision, but through the haze she saw a tall, familiar silhouette standing between her and the attacker.

The newcomer grabbed the man and slammed a fist into his face.

The man shrieked under the onslaught, trying to fight back, but was kicked violently across the floor.

“Cover yourself.”

The terse command was followed by the weight of a still-warm suit jacket thrown over her.

The faint scent of cedar wrapped around her, strangely steadying her panicked heart. Clutching the jacket around her body, Elena finally saw who it was.

Damian Shaw—Adrian’s uncle, and the true head of the Shaw Corporation.

The attacker staggered toward a fire extinguisher in the corner, swinging it wildly. Damian sidestepped, twisted the man’s wrist until it snapped with a sickening crack.

“Ahhh!”

The man collapsed, writhing like a shrimp thrown into boiling water. Damian showed no hesitation, seizing his hair and smashing his head against the floor.

Blood sprayed. The man went limp, silent at last.

Assistants and bodyguards appeared as if from nowhere, dragging the unconscious body away.

Damian turned to Elena. Her gaze landed first on the fine line of his trousers, then traced upward along his tall frame to his cold, distinguished face.

Detached. Remote. Perfectly courteous.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Elena nodded faintly, trying to stand. But her legs gave way after two steps, and she would have fallen had Damian not caught her.

His strong arm encircled her effortlessly, the cedarwood scent lingering close. Oddly, it steadied her.

“You’re in no condition to go back,” he said with a frown. “I’ll call Adrian.”

“No.” Elena shook her head.

She met Damian’s puzzled gaze, then forced a bitter smile. “He doesn’t care. And besides… he’s probably busy—with Vivian.”

Damian didn’t press further. He simply pulled out his phone and sent a message.

Soon, a sleek car rolled to a stop before them. “Get in.”

Elena almost asked where he was taking her, but one look at Damian’s expression made her swallow the question. She bent down and slipped inside.

The car pulled away. But it wasn’t heading toward her home.

She hesitated. “Where… are we going?”

Damian’s profile was cool and unreadable. “Do you really want to return like that?”

She glanced down at herself—torn clothes, bruises, one shoe missing. No, she couldn’t go home like this.

Silent, she followed him.

At last they arrived. Inside, he led her directly to a room. “It was sudden, so the other rooms aren’t ready. You can use this one. Clothes are prepared.”

“Thank you,” Elena said, still stiff and uneasy.

It was clearly his bedroom—black and white, minimalist, austere. Like him: cold, severe.

She dared not linger, lowering her gaze as she stepped into the bathroom.

Just before shutting the door, she glanced up—and locked eyes with Damian’s dark pupils. There was no visible emotion, yet her heart skipped violently.

A man and a woman, alone, a bathroom—too easy for the mind to wander.

She quickly closed the door, shutting out his gaze.

Only when his footsteps faded did she finally breathe and begin to wash.

Later, refreshed, she stepped out, planning to say goodbye.

But after searching the first floor and finding no trace of him, she froze when a voice floated down from upstairs:

“Looking for something?”