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?"

Dante’s eyes locked onto the packed suitcase, and his gut twisted.

He spoke, his voice a low rumble.

"Elara. Where do you think you're going?"

"Sketching."

Elara lied, her face a mask, meeting Leo's suspicious gaze head-on.

"Professor recommended Newport upstate for a sketching trip. Course requirement. I need these supplies."

"Absolutely not!"

Her father, reclined on the sofa, shot the idea down without a second thought.

"Put your things back. Serena's changing seasons, easily allergic. She could need a transfusion any minute. You're not going anywhere. You'll stay home, on standby."

Her mother chimed in, snatching Elara's backpack. It hit the coffee table with a loud thud, spilling her passport.

"I'll keep your passport safe. If you leave, what about your sister? Who gives her blood? You're trying to hurt your sister!"

Dante stood by, straightening his cuffs. His tone was deceptively mild, his words steel.

"Elara, be sensible. This is family duty. Once Serena is stable, I'll take you to Paris. Shop all you want. Hermes, Chanel,whatever you pick, it’s yours."

Family duty.

The words were chains, binding Elara for two lifetimes, choking her.

She watched her mother lock the passport in the safe. A Swiss bank-grade vault. She couldn't get it open.

But a cold laugh echoed in her mind.

Did they think a passport could trap her?

Julian Thorne's private jet didn't need one.

In that man's world, he made the rules.

It was a pass for privilege, a black card to freedom.

"Okay." Elara lowered her head, feigning compliance, the mockery hidden deep in her eyes. "I'm not going."

Just survive this week.

In three days, it would be her and Serena's twentieth birthday.

On the calendar, the date was circled in red, filled with hearts, labeled "Serena's Princess Day."

Not a single mark for Elara. As if it were just her sister's celebration.

Since she could remember, this was the norm.

Serena was the princess in the spotlight. Elara, the shadow in the corner.

Her birthday was a feast. Elara's was a service day.

But this year would be different.

Elara counted down silently in her head.

Three days.

Three more days, and she’d be free.

At dinner, the family buzzed, discussing party details.

"I want that custom pink Valentino gown! It's from this season's limited run!"

Serena's cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling. "Dante, what do you think?"

"You look stunning in anything, my princess of New York." Dante stroked her head, his gaze soft enough to melt.

"Oh, and the champagne tower needs seven tiers. Seven's Serena's lucky number. And we need a band," her mother added.

Elara ate in silence, a ghost at the table.

Suddenly, Serena turned to Elara, a mischievous glint in her eyes, as if it just occurred to her.

"Sister, what are you wearing that day? How about my old blue dress? It's two seasons out of style, and a little loose, but we can alter it. You're the older sister; you can't look too shabby and embarrass the Vane name."

Bare naked humiliation.

But Elara offered a faint smile, setting down her cutlery.

"No need. I have plans."

No one pressed her about her plans.

They didn't care.

They didn't even remember it was her birthday, too.

To them, she was just background noise for the party, or a blood bag on standby.

But Elara knew. That day would be her rebirth, and the Vane family's nightmare would begin.