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!"

The intense pain made Elara gasp, but she didn't cry out, not even a flinch.

She just looked at Dante quietly.

This man who once promised to protect her from any harm, who vowed to shield her from all storms, was now roughly handling her, his anger so palpable it felt like he wished he could choke the life out of her, all for another woman's lie.

"Get out."

A tall male nurse, assigned by Julian, stepped in front of Elara like a wall.

His face was grim, muscles tense. He spoke to Dante, "This is the ICU, sir. Please show some respect. Otherwise, I'll call security to have you thrown out."

Dante froze for a moment, seemingly surprised that an outsider would dare to stop him.

He pointed at Elara, his finger trembling.

"Elara, she's your own sister! How could you be so cruel, capable of even pushing her down the stairs!"

"She fell on her own," Elara's voice was hoarse, defending herself.

She knew it was useless to explain. It always had been.

"Still lying! You're a liar!" Dante shoved his phone into Elara's face.

On the screen was a photo of Serena in her luxury hospital room, tears streaming down her face, a tiny bandage on her forehead.

The caption read: 'My heart aches from the betrayal of someone I trusted most. Why does family become a weapon?'

Elara let out a mocking laugh. "She typed a few lines, and you believed it?"

She knew explanations were futile, yet she hadn't expected him to be so biased.

Dante looked at Elara's disappointed expression, his mouth opening as if to speak.

Could this really be something more to it?

But then, his phone rang.

It was a special alert tone, Serena's personalized ringtone.

Dante glanced at it, his face instantly changing.

"Serena's having heart palpitations... Damn it."

He turned and left in a hurry, not sparing Elara another glance, not asking "Does your wound hurt?" or inquiring about who gave her the blood transfusion.

He didn't even know the blood bag that saved her wasn't from the hospital, let alone a donation from the Vane family.

He didn't know Elara had Rh-null blood.

He never cared. All he knew was her blood could save Serena, but he never thought about who would save her.

Only after his back disappeared down the corridor did Elara expressionlessly pull out the IV needle from her arm.

Blood welled up, dripping onto the white sheets like plum blossoms in the snow.

But she felt no pain.

"Miss Vane, you can't move! You just had surgery!" the nurse exclaimed, shocked.

"I want to be discharged," Elara said, pressing her wound, her gaze as firm as rock. "Help me contact the police. I need to file a report."

"A report?"

"Apply for a restraining order," Elara said coldly, a glint of ice in her eyes.

An hour later, Elara walked out of the police station.

Her phone vibrated.

It was a text from Dante.

'Stop acting out. Serena is terrified. Take a taxi home. And Elara, you owe Serena an apology. You need to make amends, or... I can't guarantee I'll be able to shield you from Father's anger. He's furious.'

Elara looked at the message, a mocking smile curling her lips.

Shield me?

He would soon find out who really needed shielding.