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.

The Vane estate was lit up like day on the night of the birthday party.

Every A-lister, politician, and business magnate from New York was here.

The air hung thick with the scent of expensive champagne, flowers, and money.

Everywhere, Serena's favorite pink snowball roses were piled high, a vast pink ocean at first glance.

Elara stood in a shadowy corner, dressed in a simple black gown with no jewelry. She watched Serena, a princess accepting everyone’s blessings, laughing delightedly.

"This is my gift to you, Serena."

Dante stood center stage, microphone in hand, his voice full of deep affection.

Two attendants carefully brought out a huge oil painting, covered by a red velvet cloth.

When the cloth was pulled back, a collective gasp swept through the room.

The girl in the painting stood barefoot by the sea, facing the rising sun, full of vibrant life and hope.

"The light and shadow work is masterful!"

"So beautiful! Young Master Dante is so thoughtful!"

Onlookers marveled.

Elara’s blood ran cold.

That was her painting.

It was the work she’d spent three full months on, pouring all her heart into it during countless late nights.

It depicted the freedom she yearned for but could never have.

Yet now, her fiancé, Dante, announced to everyone:

"This painting was Serena's inspiration while she was ill. Though her wrists are weak, this painting represents her tenacious spirit, proof that she doesn't give up on art even in her suffering!"

His voice was filled with immense pride, and the applause that followed was thunderous.

"God, Miss Vane is truly a genius!"

"So touching, an artist with unwavering strength despite disability!"

"This is simply the most outstanding work of this generation!"

Elara looked at Serena. She covered her mouth, a look of surprise and shyness on her face, even a hint of tears in her eyes, as if it were truly her own creation.

At that moment, Elara felt not just rage, but a churning nausea in her gut.

Clutching her wine glass, she weaved through the crowd and walked onto the stage.

Dante saw her, frowned, and warned in a low voice, "Elara, get down. Don't make a scene now and ruin Serena's moment."

"The painting is good," Elara said, her voice not loud, but amplified by the microphone, audible to several rows around them. "Too bad the signature is wrong."

Serena’s face changed instantly. She grabbed Elara’s arm, her nails digging into her flesh, but a sweet smile on her face.

"Sister, you've had too much to drink. I know you like painting too, but don't joke around at a time like this. Let's go upstairs and rest."

"You said you liked my necklace, right? I'll give it to you."

She tried to drag Elara away.

Elara hesitated. That necklace was a gift she bought for herself with a scholarship when she turned eighteen, but Serena had taken it because she liked it.

Just then, Dante hurried over, his eyes pleading.

"Elara, it’s Serena’s birthday tonight. Just give me face, okay? Don't make trouble."

Whispers had already started in the crowd.

Looking at her fiancé and her sister, Elara understood everything.

She let out a cold laugh:

"Let go of my arm. I can walk myself."

Soon, they reached the staircase on the second floor.

It was a carefully chosen blind spot for the surveillance cameras.

Serena’s panicked expression suddenly twisted into something ferocious. She smiled. "Sister, you're still so stupid."

"Want the necklace? Let me tell you the truth. Your blood is mine, your man is mine, and now, your talent is mine too. You're just a spare part. Why aren't you dead yet?"

She didn't push Elara.

Instead, she leaned back herself, pretending to stumble, then shrieked and grabbed Elara’s skirt.

With the immense momentum.

Elara lost her balance.

The last thing Elara saw was Serena’s bizarre, triumphant smile at the top of the stairs.

Then she screamed, falling down, "Sister, don't push me!"

The world spun.

Agony struck, like all her bones were being torn apart.

Darkness swallowed everything.

…

When she woke again, it was to the sharp smell of disinfectant and the rhythmic beeping of machines.

"The patient is hemorrhaging, internal organs damaged. We need family to sign immediately for a transfusion! She has the rare Rh-null blood type, there's no stock in the blood bank!" The doctor's voice was frantic.

"No!" Her mother's sharp voice echoed from the hallway.

"The last remaining Rh-null plasma in the blood bank is reserved for Serena! Serena was startled just now, what if she has an episode? That's her life-saving blood! Elara is tough, she won't die!"

"But she..."

"Shut up! I'm the guardian! Go check on Serena first, her finger is scraped, and she's still crying!"

Her father's voice followed, filled with utter disregard for Elara.

Elara lay on the cold operating table, listening to it all.

No tears.

Her heart had died long ago. Even pain had become numb.

Just as her consciousness was fading, and death beckoned, a deep, magnetic voice, filled with unquestionable authority, rang out.

"Give her mine."

It was a gospel from hell.

"Sir, you are? This is a sterile area..."

"Julian Thorne. Rh-null, the golden blood. My blood, enough to buy this hospital, enough to save her, right?"

Julian.

Elara’s ally, her devil, her god.

As warm fluid flowed into her body, Elara knew. Her ties to the Vane family, to Dante Rossi, were severed, along with the infusion of this blood.

In the hallway, a commotion suddenly erupted.

"Dante! This woman is insane! She pushed me! She wanted to kill me!" Serena's aggrieved voice rang out from the doorway.

Bang!

The hospital room door was kicked open, and Dante rushed in.

Serena saw Elara was still alive and showed a hint of disappointment.

Dante's face, however, was etched with rage. He stormed over, ignoring Elara's IV drip, and pushed her shoulder hard, his voice a raw accusation.

"You heartless woman! How could you have the heart to harm your sister! You should have died on that staircase!"