Ever since she was two, Elara Vane became her twin sister's personal blood bank after the girl was diagnosed with a rare genetic defect.

Doctors predicted her sister wouldn't live past eighteen, so her parents and brother doted on her, putting her first in everything.

They even blamed Elara, accusing her of "stealing" her sister's nutrients in the womb, claiming it made her sickly.

In her past life, no one in the family loved her.

Only her fiancé, Dante, truly stayed by her side.

But Elara never expected Dante's love had its own agenda.

Until her sister accidentally fell off a cliff and needed a full blood transfusion.

Dante signed the consent form without hesitation, sending her to the operating table to be the donor.

As her blood drained and her consciousness faded, Elara swore that in another life, she would never be her sister's blood bag again!

The next time she opened her eyes, she was back to the day after her engagement to Dante...

The first thing Elara Vane did after her rebirth was buy a one-way ticket out, costing a cool hundred mil.

"Deal's done."

Watching the green figures flicker on the encrypted screen, Elara Vane felt a jolt she hadn't felt in years.

This was the payoff for three years in the underground black market, slaving as a ghost artist, fueled by countless sleepless nights and paint she could never scrub off.

In her last life, she’d died with that money still burning a hole in her pocket.

This time, it wasn't just numbers; it was her escape card.

A pop-up blinked in the corner of the screen:

"Destination: Private Island 'Sanctuary'.

Owner: Julian Thorne.

Confirm one-way ticket?"

Julian Thorne.

The name was whispered in the New York underworld, a curse uttered in hushed tones.

The Godfather who held the East Coast shipping lanes in his fist, a tyrant with zero mercy.

But to Elara, he was her lifeline.

She’d saved his life once, a chance encounter, and in return, he’d offered her sanctuary, no questions asked, anytime.

Back then, she’d thought she was happy, never needing to cash that favor in.

Now, she took a deep breath, staring into the mirror.

Pale, gaunt, with shadows under her eyes that wouldn't fade, like a porcelain doll on the verge of shattering.

But she knew.

Beneath this frail shell was a rage that could burn the world down.

This time, she wasn't Elara Vane anymore.

Not the ghost haunting the Vane family, less than a servant.

Not the walking blood bag, existing only to serve their precious Serena.

This damn life? She was finished.

"CRASH!"

The heavy oak studio door splintered inward with brutal force, the lock groaning.

Dante Rossi stormed in.

He wore an expensive, custom-made suit, tie askew, smelling of whiskey and that sickly sweet perfume Serena always wore.

He didn't spare a glance at Elara's finished painting.

He just blurted, "Serena collapsed at the party.Now.You're coming with me, immediately."

No greeting, no explanation, not even a polite "please."

Just orders, as if she were livestock he owned, ready for slaughter.

"I'm not going," she said, snapping her laptop shut.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard one last time, scrubbing her browsing history clean.

She turned, her composure unnerving.

Dante froze for a beat, as if he hadn't registered her words.

Then he strode over, his hand clamping down on her wrist with a grip that threatened to crush her bones.

"Elara, what are you doing?! You know how frail she is.Doctors say it's acute anemia.She could die!"

"She could always die if I don't give her blood," Elara spat, nausea churning as she looked at his handsome face contorted with rage.

"What is it this time? Covering for you at the bar, or putting on a show for those spoiled brats?"

A flicker of pain crossed Dante's eyes, quickly masked by resolve.

"Just come.Now!" He yanked her wrist, ignoring her protests, dragging her from the room.

Her ankle slammed into the doorframe with a sickening thud, but he didn't even glance back.

Half an hour later, the VIP room of the sterile, alcohol-scented private clinic.

Before Elara could even steady herself, her mother, hovering by the bedside, slapped her hard across the face.

"You damn girl! Didn't I tell you to protect your sister at all times? What kind of sister are you?"

Her father stood beside her mother, his eyes radiating disappointment.

"Elara, I thought you were a good girl.Dante told me on the way here your sister was in danger, and you refused to help.I don't have a cold-hearted daughter like you!"

Her brother, Leo, was busy coddling his beloved Serena, not sparing Elara a single glance.

"Why are you wasting breath on her? Just draw the blood! I don't want anything happening to Serena!"

As soon as he spoke, a thick needle plunged mercilessly into Elara's vein.

The nurse had to stab her twice because her veins were so thin.

Crimson liquid flowed through the clear tube, making its way to the girl on the other bed.

Serena, meanwhile, looked flushed, hardly like someone who'd just collapsed.

But Dante sat by her bedside, holding her hand tightly, whispering softly in her ear, "Don't worry, the blood'll be in you soon.You'll be okay, my angel."

His gaze was a study in tenderness, as if she were fragile crystal.

Elara, on the other hand, didn't even get a glass of warm water.

It was a dark joke.

She and Serena were born minutes apart.

Because she arrived first, she bore the burden of being the older sister.

Then, at two years old, Serena was diagnosed with a rare genetic defect.

This family blood disorder meant that even a minor injury required transfusions from direct relatives.

From then on, she became her sister's walking blood bag.

Her father, mother, and brother even blamed her for hoarding her sister's nutrients in the womb, making Serena so frail.

In her last life, no one in her family loved her.

Only her fiancé, Dante, had stuck by her.

But she later discovered Dante and Serena had been having an affair all along.

He'd only been close to her for Serena's sake.

Elara let out a bitter laugh.

This time, she wouldn't chase love that would never be hers.

As the blood drained, her fingertips began to numb.

A chill seeped into her bones.

Her gaze drifted to her left ring finger.

A massive pink diamond ring, the symbol of the Rossi matriarch.

It was a promise she'd clung to, even during blood donations.

How ironic.

In her last life, that ring had been a chain, binding her for ten years.

But now, she wanted no part of it.

The moment she pulled the needle out, Elara felt a dizzying wave, but she bit back a gasp, gripping the bed frame, standing steady.

Slowly, she slipped the ring off.

The cool metal slid over her knuckles.

"What are you doing?" the nurse yelped.

Dante turned, frowning, impatience and frustration clouding his features.

"Elara, quiet.Serena just fell asleep; she needs absolute quiet."

Elara ignored him.

She walked directly to the medical waste bin marked with the yellow biohazard symbol.

Inside lay wads of cotton and gauze stained with her blood, emitting a faint, sickly sweet smell.

She let go.

Clink.

The priceless pink diamond ring traced an arc through the air, landing in the pile of refuse, blending perfectly.

She turned and walked towards the door, her back ramrod straight.

"Elara! What do you think you're doing? Pick up the ring!" Dante warned in a low voice behind her, disbelief etched on his face.

"Don't think I'll tolerate this forever.That's a position a lot of women would kill for!"

She turned back and gave him a look he'd never seen before, chillingly cold.

"Leave it for the trash, Dante.

It belongs there, just like your love."

She pushed the door open, leaving everything behind.

The hallway was empty.

Dante didn't follow.

He was too confident in his assumptions.

He thought she was still the same woman, that a flick of his wrist or a bit of sweetness would have her wagging her tail, begging for his forgiveness.

But he didn't know.

This was a final goodbye.

Three days later, the air in Vane Manor's sprawling dining room was thick enough to choke on.

Elara sat at the far end of the long, opulent table – the place for the unwanted.

Her face was still paper-white, the tell-tale sign of anemia from all that blood loss, her lips drained of color.

She and Serena were discharged from the hospital just this morning.

The rest of the family piled into the waiting car and sped off, leaving Elara with nothing but a shared bike.

If Dante hadn't sensed something was off and doubled back for her, she might not even be here for dinner.

Yet, when they got home, her mother scolded her for not bringing Serena a recovery gift from the hospital.

Never mind that she was the one who'd had her blood drained for three days.

Elara’s heart finally turned to ash.

She wanted to explain, but the family just carried on, seating themselves and starting the meal, completely ignoring her.

Her father, at the head of the table, sliced into his medium-rare steak with silver cutlery.

He barked, his voice cold, "Why the long face? We're headed to the Hamptons for a month, a spot packed with A-listers. Don't bring down the Vane name with your sour act."

"She's just jealous Serena's bouncing back so well and gets to go to the yacht party," her brother Leo said, gently pouring Serena a glass of fresh juice.

"Serena's an angel sent by God. Some people are just meant to be leftovers. Haven't you found your place yet?"

Serena, in a white lace dress, looked fragile and pathetic.

She leaned weakly against Dante's shoulder, her voice a mere whisper, "Brother Leo, don't talk about her like that... It's my fault for being so sick all the time, for holding everyone back. It’s normal for Elara to be resentful."

Dante turned, trying to smooth things over for Elara.

"Alright, your sister's just tired." He then looked at Elara, his brow furrowed slightly. "How are you doing? Still dizzy?"

In her last life, a gesture like that would have meant the world to her.

But now, she just calmly pressed her lips together, saying nothing.

At that moment, Dante snapped his fingers.

"To celebrate Serena's recovery, I've prepared a surprise. Hope you like it!"

The next second, servants filed in, bringing out trays of exquisite, expensive dishes.

Suddenly, the dining room filled with the strong scent of seafood.

Lobster, king crab, oysters, sea urchin.

All top-tier deep-sea delicacies.

Elara stared at the mountain of plates before her. Her stomach churned violently, her throat tightening.

She was severely allergic to seafood – the kind that could trigger throat swelling, suffocation, and shock.

This wasn't a secret in this family. She'd nearly died once from accidentally eating some, and the housekeeper had to rush her to the hospital.

But all her family members acted as if they didn't notice, fussing over Serena.

Her father and mother kept piling seafood onto Serena's plate, the kind he liked. Her brother meticulously peeled lobster for Serena.

Then, a piece of peeled shrimp suddenly appeared on Elara's plate.

Elara glanced at Dante beside her. He smiled, nodding for her to eat.

She remained silent.

In her past life, it was this fake warmth that had kept her from letting go.

But if Dante truly loved her, how could he not know about her seafood allergy?

"What is it?" her mother asked impatiently, swirling the red wine in her glass.

"This is top-tier seafood Dante had flown in from Boston to celebrate Serena's recovery. Do you know what this meal costs? Don't be ungrateful."

Elara looked up, meeting Dante’s eyes, searching for a flicker of guilt.

"I'm allergic," she said calmly.

Dante nonchalantly peeled a shrimp, dipped it in sauce, and fed it to Serena, not looking back.

"Just pick around it. There's asparagus on the plate too. Don't be so picky, Elara. Serena just came back from the brink; her body needs protein. Everyone's making allowances for her, so you should be more considerate. Don't just think about yourself."

Pick around it?

Even vegetables brushed with seafood juice could be fatal. Did he truly not know, or did he just not care if she lived or died?

"Back then, I would have thought you were trying to kill me."

Elara put down her knife and fork, the metal clinking against the porcelain.

Her voice was terrifyingly calm. "But now I know you just don't care. In your eyes, I'm probably not even worth a single strand of Serena's hair."

The atmosphere at the table froze instantly.

Serena's eyes welled up, tears falling like broken strings of pearls.

She pushed Dante's hand away, crying dramatically, "It's all my fault… Dante, if Elara's this unhappy, if she hates us this much because of this meal, then I won't go to your wedding. I don't want Elara to hate you forever because of me."

This tactic – advancing by retreating – she'd used it countless times, and it always worked.

Dante's expression darkened instantly. He slammed the table hard, glaring fiercely at Elara.

"Elara! Look at what you've done to your sister! Apologize to Serena right now! You're not leaving this table!"

In her past life, Elara would have panicked, tried to explain, begged for forgiveness, maybe even choked down the poisoned asparagus just to appease him.

But now?

She calmly picked up her napkin, wiped her mouth, and stood up. The chair scraped loudly against the floor.

"No need."

Everyone watched her, seemingly waiting for her apology.

Elara looked directly into Dante's eyes, enunciating each word clearly as she declared, "You can cancel the wedding too. I don't care."

Dante froze. The anger in his eyes hadn't faded, but a never-before-seen bewilderment crept in.

It was as if, for the first time, he realized the fiancée who had always been meek and submissive was a stranger.

Serena clearly hadn't expected Elara to say that either. She bit her lip and asked weakly, "Sister… you don't mean that, right? This is the Rossi family engagement. Didn't you always dream of marrying Dante?"

Elara looked down at them, like watching a troupe of clumsy clowns performing a crude play.

"Yes, I was blind before. But now, I'm not interested."

The wedding was postponed. Again. Thanks to that whole circus.

Everyone had plenty of free time now. The next day, they were gone. Vacation.

Her father, mother, and brother took Serena. Serena, in turn, got Dante to come along. No one thought to tell Elara.

By the time she woke up, the long line of black cars was already heading to the Hamptons.

They even took half the staff – maids, cooks, bodyguards – to dote on "fragile" Serena. Like a single rough moment on vacation would shatter her.

Vane Manor felt like a vast, silent tomb. Elara was completely alone.

Outside, a storm was brewing. Inside, Elara's heart was a tempest.

Elara scrolled through Instagram.

Serena had just posted. A family photo.

The whole family crammed into the frame, all smiles. Dante had his arm around Serena’s waist, their gazes locked under the seaside sunset.

The caption: "So blessed to have my favorite people. Thank God."

"Favorite people." Huh.

Elara let out a cold laugh. The empty mansion echoed it.

She shut her phone off. Ignored the bait.

She turned and went into the studio, packing up her things.

Her expensive paints, custom brushes, and a few of her best works, tucked away, unsigned, never shown to anyone.

These were the only things that were truly hers. Her capital to build something in Sanctuary.

Just a little longer. Then she’d be free.

As she sealed the last box, a smash of glass from downstairs.

Faint, but in the dead quiet, it was deafening.

Crash—

Someone was in the house.

Elara’s muscles went rigid.

She remembered this time in her last life. A break-in. Priceless heirlooms gone. Her artwork, destroyed.

Lights out. She fired off an emergency text, grabbed the pepper spray and a utility knife from the table, and went barefoot for the stairs.

Two shadows were rummaging in the living room, flashlight beams cutting through the dark.

"Nice place. Vase looks old."

"Upstairs. Bet the Vanes have a safe. They're all gone, right? Easy pickings."

Not pros. Just junkies looking to score while the owners were out.

But desperate men are the most dangerous.

They were coming up. Heavy, clumsy footsteps.

Elara held her breath, backing into the safe room at the end of the hall.

Built for gang wars. Usually just storage.

She locked the heavy steel door.

Then, the doorknob spun wildly, followed by heavy thuds against the metal.

"Damn it, locked! There’s gotta be something good in there!"

"Kick it down!"

Bang! Bang! The door shuddered. Dust rained down.

Through it all, Elara didn't scream. She stood by the door, calm.

The lock finally broke. The man charged in.

Elara aimed for his eyes, pressing down hard on the pepper spray.

"Ah! My eyes!" A piercing scream ripped through the mansion.

In the chaos, the other man lunged, slashing Elara’s arm.

Blood gushed. The pain cleared her head.

She grabbed the heavy easel and swung it hard, right on his head.

Thud! He swayed, then went limp.

Half an hour later, the police were there. Flashing lights, and the intruders were caught.

Elara, injured, was taken to the hospital. She got a quick bandage from the paramedics and headed home.

When her family got the call from the police and rushed back, all they saw was the mess.

Her mother shrieked, running to the shattered Qing vase.

"My God! My vase! Worth millions! Elara, what did you do?! Can't you watch anything?!"

Leo looked at the easel. He casually kicked at the bloodstain.

"Bad omen. This junk wood held up, though. We'll need a cleaning crew for the carpets."

No one asked if she was hurt. No one cared about the blood seeping through the bandage.

Elara gave a bitter laugh. In her last life, left alone in the house that night, with no staff, she’d been badly hurt by these guys. Hospitalized for six months, a permanent limp. She’d called her family, desperate. No answer. She found out later they were all out on a yacht with Serena, celebrating.

This time, though, she expected nothing.

Dante entered last. His eyes found Elara, then her wound. His brow furrowed. But his first words froze Elara.

"Serena posts yesterday. The house gets hit today? And you? You're barely scratched?"

He moved closer, his voice low, intense.

"Elara. This whole thing… it seems too convenient. A story for attention?"

Elara looked at the man she had loved for ten years.

She said softly:

"If you have to think that, then let's just say that's what happened."

Dante, seeing that Elara was clearly not herself, wanted to say more.

At that moment, Leo walked out from the staircase, carrying the suitcase Elara had packed last night.

"Where do you think you're going with our family's belongings, Elara?"