The call from the police station reached home before Elara did.

As she pushed open the heavy, carved oak doors of the Vane estate, she wasn't met with warm lights, but by her father's whip cracking across her face.

"Crack!"

The expensive crocodile leather belt lashed viciously across Elara's shoulder.

Blood instantly stained the bandages, soaking through the thin shirt.

"You dared to call the police?!"

"You want the whole world to laugh at the Vane family? And apply for restraining orders against Leo and me? You must be tired of living!"

Her mother sat on the leather sofa, tea in hand, watching with cold eyes.

"She's an ungrateful wretch. We should never have given birth to her!"

Serena huddled in her mother's arms, seemingly trembling, but a hint of subtle satisfaction and mockery played on her lips.

Another lash, cutting through the air.

Elara didn't dodge, didn't cry, not even a whimper.

She stood there, straight as a corpse devoid of pain, letting the belt fall.

"Speak! Admit you're wrong! Just admit it, and I'll stop!"

Her father roared, Elara's silence fueling his rage further.

"I'm not wrong."

Elara looked into his eyes. Even seeing her battered and bleeding, there wasn't a trace of fatherly love.

"You abused me, imprisoned me, exploited me, and stole my work. These are facts."

"You! Still playing tough!"

Her father’s veins bulged with anger, raising his hand to strike again.

"Enough!"

Dante finally came down from upstairs.

He rushed over, grabbing his father's wrist.

"Uncle, please, stop. You'll kill her if you keep hitting."

He turned, his gaze sweeping over the blood-soaked, swaying Elara. A heavy sigh escaped him, laden with a weariness for the situation and a flicker of pain for the girl he once knew.

"Elara, look at yourself. Just apologize, back down a little, and this can all be resolved. Why are you being so stubborn? You weren't like this before." His tone was laced with a subtle sorrow, as if remembering a gentler past.

"Apologize?" Elara looked at Dante, her eyes hollow like two black holes.

The hatred accumulated over two lifetimes reached its peak at this moment.

With her love gone, only endless disgust remained.

"Dante, you disgust me."

Dante's expression froze.

He had never heard Elara speak to him like this.

Her father seized the opportunity, broke free, and raised the belt high, this time aiming for Elara's face.

"You want to die? Ruin your face and see if you're still so stubborn! I'll grant your wish!"

Elara didn't flinch, staring directly at the belt about to fall.

"Kill me then. If you break the blood bag, Serena will die too."

The belt stopped abruptly in mid-air.

Her father's hand trembled. He was scared.

Not of Elara dying, but of losing the blood supply for his precious Serena.

The punishment didn't last.

At the crucial moment, Serena suddenly "fainted" right on cue.

The whole family's attention instantly shifted. Doctors, nurses – it was chaos.

Elara, enduring the sharp pain, retreated to her room.

She pulled out her phone. There was an unread message from an encrypted number, a set of coordinates.

"Three days from now, midnight. The last boat at Pier 24. Bring your people, the rest is on me. – J"

Three more days.

Three days, and she'd be free.

The next day, Dante arrived.

He held a gold-embossed invitation.

"Elara, good news."

He sat by the bed, reaching out to touch her hair. She turned her head, avoiding his hand.

He awkwardly withdrew his hand, holding up the card.

"The All-American Young Painters' Gold Award. The committee just notified you."

It was the highest honor in the art world, a dream for countless young artists.

In her past life, Elara had been locked up at home, "sick," missing the award ceremony. Dante had pulled strings, and the award had been passed to Serena, bringing her fame and fortune.

This time, he was telling her?

Elara’s eyes widened in disbelief as she took the invitation.

"I know you've always wanted this recognition," Dante's tone softened, like coaxing a spoiled child. "This is your chance to finally get the recognition you deserve, but you'll need to be smart about it. Just accept the award obediently, and then publicly thank Serena for her constant inspiration. Say she gave you the motivation to create. If you do that, I can guarantee you'll be safe from Uncle's anger, and I'll make sure this whole mess gets dropped. This will be our fresh start."

So that's it.

She was still meant to be a stepping stone. Just this time, from behind the scenes to the front, a public stepping stone, to gild Serena's name.

"Fine," Elara said softly, her gaze fixed on the window, her voice flat.

Dante breathed a sigh of relief, a satisfied smile spreading across his face, thinking she'd caved.

"I knew you were sensible. Darling, I love you." He stood up, straightening his suit. "After the award ceremony, we'll get married, okay? I've already picked out the date, next month."

Elara didn't reply. She turned her head, gazing at the clear blue sky outside, watching seagulls soar.

"Dante."

"Yeah?"

"Do you know what color the sea is?"

"Blue, why? What's this about?"

'No,' Elara thought.

It's the color of freedom. And she would never marry him.

"It's nothing," she closed her eyes. "I need to rest now. Please leave."

The award ceremony. Finally, it was time for the announcement.

"Next, we present this year's most prestigious award – the All-American Young Painters' Gold Award!"

The host excitedly opened the envelope, spotlights sweeping across the hall.

The Vane couple and Serena sat in the front, basking in the flashbulbs.

Dante gripped Elara's hand, his voice a low whisper in her ear:

"Remember, thank Serena when you go up. Did you memorize the speech?"

But when the winner was announced, everyone froze.

The host's reading voice faltered, his brow furrowed in confusion, but he quickly regained his professional smile.

"Serena Vane! Has won this year's award for her piece, 'First Light'!"

Applause thundered, cheers erupted.

Amidst the cheers, there were also some discordant murmurs:

"Who's Serena? Some newcomer in the industry?"

"No, wasn't the artist's name different this time?"

Dante stared at Elara, his eyes wide with shock and a flicker of confusion.

"What's going on? I clearly arranged for your name... I had everything set up..." His voice was strained.

Elara looked at her parents in the front row. They were proudly pushing Serena onto the stage, their faces showing no surprise.

So, her parents would go this far for Serena.

They would even erase Elara's name from the winner's list and replace it with Serena's.

Serena walked onto the stage, accepting the heavy trophy, tears welling in her eyes.

"Thank you... This painting was created while I was fighting illness... Every stroke is my love for life..."

Dante turned to look at Elara, his eyes panicked, his words jumbled. A hint of something akin to hurt warred with his confusion.

"Elara, there must be a misunderstanding. I'll investigate, and I'll give you an explanation..."

"No need to investigate."

Elara yanked her hand free, a sharp, decisive movement.

"What are you doing?" Dante felt a bad omen prickle his skin, his heart pounding against his ribs.

Elara ignored him and walked straight onto the stage.

The crowd below erupted in murmurs.

Serena saw Elara, her face turned ashen, her hand holding the trophy trembling.

"S-sister, are you here to congratulate me?"

Elara walked towards the display area.

The painting that rightfully belonged to her was displayed under a spotlight, breathtakingly beautiful.

She grabbed a glass of high-proof vodka from a passing waiter's tray and poured it onto the canvas without hesitation.

"You're crazy!" Serena shrieked, her voice cracking.

Elara took out a lighter she had prepared in her handbag.

Click.

A blue flame shot up, reflecting her ice-cold face.

Whoosh!

The canvas, soaked in alcohol, was instantly engulfed in flames. The oil paint crackled and popped under the intense heat.

Screams echoed through the hall.

Elara stood before the raging fire, microphone in hand.

Below her was everything she couldn't let go of in her past life: her biased parents, her fiancé who only spoke of love.

A laugh escaped her.

She grabbed the long lock of hair she had kept, Dante's favorite, and with the scissors hidden in her palm, she cut it ruthlessly.

That lock of hair, along with the shackles the Vane family had placed on her, was thrown into the inferno, turning to ash.

Finally, she looked at Serena beside her:

"These pieces of trash, they're all yours."

"Dad, Mom, brother, fiancé. I don't want any of them anymore."

Amidst the chaos, Elara kicked off her high heels, turned, and jumped off the stage barefoot, disappearing into the dark side door, running towards her freedom.