"Open up." Julian's voice was soft, coaxing. "Have some candy. It'll stop the pain."

Madison pouted, leaning into him, her voice dripping with sickly sweetness. "Julian, you're so good to me. And this cup... it's wonderful. It keeps the water so warm."

He turned. Spotted me in the doorway.

His expression hardened instantly, brows knitting together in annoyance.

"Penelope? What's with that look? Madison has low blood sugar. What's the big deal about borrowing your cup? Don't be so stingy."

I strode across the room.

Snatched the mug from Madison's hands.

Didn't look back.

Brown sugar water sloshed out, splashing her hand.

"Ah! It's hot!" Madison shrieked, tears instantly welling in her eyes.

I ignored her.

With a surge of cold fury, I hurled the mug—along with the remaining liquid—into the metal trash can.

*Clang.*

The sound echoed through the hall.

Julian froze for a split second. Then his face darkened. He shoved me. Hard.

"Penelope Norris! What the hell is wrong with you? It's just a damn cup! You scalded Madison! How can a woman be so vicious?"

The force sent me stumbling back. My shoulder slammed into the wall, and a fresh spike of agony shot through my bandaged head wound.

I didn't cry out.

I just stared at the trash can.

My silence seemed to unnerve him. He assumed I was guilty.

"Report!"

A communications soldier jogged in, breathless.

"Team Leader Henson! Comrade Penelope Norris! Urgent notice from headquarters!" The soldier glanced at the tension in the room—thick enough to cut with a knife—and flinched. "Tonight... there's a morale-boosting performance. High-ranking leaders will be in attendance. The scheduled solo dance, 'The White-Haired Girl'... the lead remains Comrade Penelope Norris."

Julian's hand, raised to point an accusing finger at me, froze mid-air.

Slowly, he lowered it.

He looked at Madison, dabbing at her tears. Then at me.

As soon as the soldier left, Julian grabbed my arm and dragged me into the corner.

"Penelope. Give tonight's solo to Madison."

A dry, disbelief-filled laugh escaped me. "Excuse me?"

"Madison's family is struggling." His voice dropped, low and urgent. "She's a temporary worker. She needs this performance to get regularized. You're different. Your parents are cadres, and you're already the star. You'll have plenty of chances. You don't need this one. Besides, look at you—you have a head injury. You'll make the troupe lose face."

"I won't give it up." My voice was steady. "I earned this role with my own sweat and blood. If she wants to be regularized, she can put in the work in the practice room. Shortcuts aren't my problem."

Julian's expression turned to ice. "Penelope, how can you be so selfish? This is Madison's only shot. Are you trying to ruin her?"

"Think what you want."

I wrenched my arm from his grip and turned to leave.

Behind me, Madison's voice wavered, thick with performative sobbing. "Julian, forget it. It's just my bad luck... I won't fight for it. As long as Penelope isn't angry..."

"Don't cry." Julian's voice was full of heartache. "I'm here. That lead role will be yours."

I hadn't eaten since morning. Between the blood loss and the stress, my stomach was a hollow pit.

Julian had mentioned earlier that the cafeteria had braised pork for lunch. That he'd save a portion for me. After all, despite everything, we were about to be married.

I thought, perhaps foolishly, that he still cared.

If he was willing to talk rationally, maybe Madison's situation could be discussed.

I walked into the cafeteria kitchen and found the stage design group's dedicated lunch box.

Empty.

"Wow, Penelope," a kitchen worker remarked, shaking his head. "Captain Henson didn't even rinse the bowl for you? That braised pork smelled amazing, too. He said you weren't eating and dumped the whole portion onto Madison Barnes's plate."

My stomach churned.

But not from hunger.

Backstage was a chaotic flurry before the evening performance.

I was *Xi'er*. I was the lead.

No one could take that from me.

I changed into my costume and sat before the vanity, picking up my red dance shoes.

Slid my foot in.

*Crunch.*

A sharp, piercing pain shot straight up from my sole, drilling into the bone.

"Hiss—"

I sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and ripped the shoe off.

Blood bloomed instantly on my white sock—a stark, spreading crimson stain.

I reached into the shoe. My fingers brushed against cold metal.

Two thumbtacks. Points facing up. Positioned to drive deep into the sole of my foot.

Under normal circumstances, I would have checked. Every dancer checks. But today, with my head throbbing and my vision swimming, I had been careless.

"What happened?"

Julian walked over, drawn by the commotion. He was tasked with props and stage design tonight.

His eyes flicked to the blood on my foot. Then to the tacks in my hand.

A sneer curled his lip.

"Penelope Norris. You really are willing to pay in blood just to keep Madison off the stage."

I stared at him. My mind reeled. "What did you say?"

"Pulling a stunt like this right before curtain call? Trying to frame someone?" He shook his head, disgust radiating from every pore. "Don't think I don't see through you. You put those tacks there yourself to garner sympathy. Well, if you don't want to dance that badly, then don't."

He turned to Madison, waiting in the wings.

Conveniently dressed in a substitute costume. Her face a mask of feigned worry.

"Julian... Penelope is bleeding. She can't dance like this. Maybe... maybe I should take her place? We can't keep the leaders waiting."

Julian nodded, waving his hand dismissively. "Fine. Madison, you're on."

He pointed a commanding finger at me. "Take off the costume. Let Madison wear it. It was tailored to you, so it might be loose on her, but we have no choice. Hurry up. Don't waste time."

I gripped the hem of my tunic.

I had altered this outfit myself. Stitch by agonizing stitch.

It was mine.

Seeing I wasn't moving, Julian stepped forward and grabbed my collar.

"Penelope! Have some sense of duty! Take it off! Stop holding everyone back!"

*Rip.*

He yanked hard, tearing one of the frog buttons from the collar.

Adrenaline surged. I shoved Julian away with everything I had left.

He wasn't expecting it. He stumbled back, crashing into a makeup table. Bottles clattered to the floor.

"What are you doing?!" he roared, his face flushing with embarrassed rage.

I ignored him.

Expressionless, I bent down and pulled the tacks out of the shoe.

Fresh blood stained my fingertips.

I shoved my foot back into the shoe.

Pulled the straps tight, binding the wound, trapping the pain.

Every movement sent fire shooting up my leg. But the coldness in my heart numbed everything else.

"The costume is mine. The role is mine." My voice was dead calm. "As long as I have breath in my body, no one else takes this stage."

I shoved past Madison and strode toward the wings.

The heavy velvet curtain parted. The lights blazed.

Fighting the vertigo and the searing pain in my foot, I danced. The most flawless performance of *The White-Haired Girl* of my life.

Spin. Leap. Land.

Every step was like dancing on knife blades.

But I smiled. Brighter than I ever had.

I was dancing to mourn the love I had foolishly fed to the dogs.

The final pose. I froze, statuesque.

Thunderous applause erupted, shaking the hall.

The curtain fell. The adrenaline crashed.

My vision went black, and I collapsed onto the floorboards.

Behind me, a trail of bloody footprints marked my path.

Through the haze, I heard a distant shout.

"Penelope's down! Get a medic!"

When I woke, the world was shaking. I was lying in the bed of a military truck.

Outside, thunder cracked, merging with the roar of heavy rain. The convoy was withdrawing from the performance site, heading back to the garrison.

"You awake?"

A colleague sitting nearby handed me a canteen.

I took a sip, my eyes scanning the truck.

Julian wasn't there.

The colleague saw me looking. He curled his lip, pointing toward the truck behind us.

"He's in the rear vehicle. Madison was crying her eyes out because she didn't get to perform. Team Leader Henson is back there comforting her."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the cold metal slats.

Suddenly, the truck lurched violently.

Tires screeched—a piercing, terrible sound—followed by the sickening crunch of metal.

And screams of terror.

"Mudslide! The road ahead is gone!"

"Abandon the truck! Get to higher ground! Move!"

The truck bed erupted into chaos. Soldiers scrambled over the sides, boots slipping on wet metal, desperate to outrun the mountain coming down behind them.

My injured leg buckled with every step. The fresh gash on my forehead sent the world tilting sideways. I was half a beat too slow. By the time my boots hit the ground, muddy floodwater was already swirling around my calves, hungry and rising.

Not far away, Julian had Madison on his back. He was sprinting toward the ridge, sure-footed, never looking back. She clung to him like a second skin, her screams piercing through the roar of the storm.

"Don't be afraid." His voice was breathless but tender, infuriatingly gentle. "I've got you. You're safe with me."

"Julian!" My voice cracked, raw against the wind.

My bad leg betrayed me. The mud shifted, and I went down hard, plunging into the water. The flood surged instantly, icy and relentless, rising past my waist in seconds.

He stopped.

He looked back.

For one heartbeat—one agonizing, flickering moment—hesitation crossed his face. His body turned, almost like he might come for me.

"Julian!" Madison shrieked against his ear, burying her face in his neck. "The water—it's rising! I'm scared! Help me! *Save me!*"

The hesitation died.

His jaw hardened. Something cold slid behind his eyes, and when he shouted, it wasn't concern in his voice.

It was dismissal.

"Penelope! You know how to swim! Climb up yourself!"

"Madison is terrified—she can't handle the shock. I have to get her to safety first!"

He didn't wait for a response. Didn't spare another glance.

He charged toward the high ground with Madison safe on his back, and I watched him disappear into the grey curtain of rain.

The storm lashed against my face. I couldn't tell anymore—where the rain ended and where my tears began.

*Rumble...*

The mountain screamed.

A deafening roar tore through the air as the mudslide came crashing down, carrying boulders the size of cars. The ground trembled beneath me.

Despair closed around my throat. I shut my eyes.

"Raymond Sanchez, unless you make Bella Vance suffer so much she'd rather be dead, there is no future for us."

Elisa Long left those words behind like a curse before fleeing the country.

And I—blind, trusting fool that I was—became the weapon Raymond used to win back his beauty's heart.

He drew me in. Made me fall desperately, hopelessly in love. Then he dismantled me, piece by piece. Again and again, he orchestrated my ruin, painting me as a slut the world could spit on, driving me to the edge of madness until I was nothing more than a hollow shell drowning in clinical depression.

When I attempted suicide for the hundredth time, he finally got what he'd been waiting for: the return of the woman he actually loved.

Upon hearing news of my pathetic death, he offered only a smile to the media cameras. "I thank my ex-wife. Her sacrifice fulfilled our love."

I had smiled bitterly then, closing my eyes, waiting for my consciousness to scatter into nothing.

But a cold voice cut through the darkness.

"Bella Vance, are you truly willing to die like this?"

——

*I am not.*

Why do those who trample on sincere hearts get their happy ending while those who love with purity are condemned to die?

My eyes snapped open.

White light flooded my vision, forcing my hand up to shield my face. Through the gaps between my fingers—familiar decor. The master bedroom.

My head turned toward the mirror. Twenty-five years old. The makeup was flawless, an exquisite mask that couldn't quite hide the exhaustion carved into my features.

I had been reborn.

Today was the day. Raymond was going to take me to a business banquet. He would force me to drink drugged wine, arrange for me to be found in a hotel room with a stranger, and expose my "adultery" to the world.

Steady, rhythmic footsteps echoed from the hallway.

The door swung open. Raymond entered, tall and imposing, bending to press a kiss to the crown of my head.

"Bella, are you ready?"

That gaze—so gentle it could drown a person. In my past life, I had willingly let those waters consume me, oblivious to the fact that I was swimming toward my own damnation.

"Raymond."

"Hm?" One brow arched. His fingers toyed idly with a strand of my hair.

"Let's get a divorce."

The smile on his face froze. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.

"What did you say?"

"I said, I want a divorce."

He stared at me for a long moment, searching my face. Then a low chuckle escaped him.

"Bella, is this some kind of joke? Everyone in River City knows I value you more than my own life. If anyone were to divorce, surely it wouldn't be us?"

A pink diamond necklace emerged from his pocket. He moved to fasten it around my neck himself.

His cologne—once my favorite scent in the world—now sent bile surging up my throat.

"Raymond, I don't want a marriage that's perfect on the surface but rotten at the core."

"Bella, are you being sensitive again? I've told you, I don't care about those rumors. Why can't you just let it go?"

After the first time he'd plotted against me—leaving me to lose my virginity to a stranger—I had felt too filthy to let him touch me. The guilt had been suffocating.

He'd played the understanding husband beautifully, agreeing to abstain from intimacy.

Today, I wanted to test how far his acting could stretch.

"If you really love me, then prove it."

I held his gaze. Leaned in.

As my lips drew closer, his body betrayed him. He flinched—an instinctive, uncontrollable recoil.

I shoved him away and scoffed.

"See that, Raymond? That is your 'love.'"

"I want a divorce!"

Caught off guard, he stumbled backward. The undisguised contempt in my eyes cracked his mask wide open, and rage flooded in to fill the fractures.

"Bella Vance, do you know what you're saying? Divorce? Without me, what are you? You're the daughter of a notorious homewrecker, a bastard your own biological father won't acknowledge! You're nothing but—"

There it was.

His truth.

It only took a little provocation for the venom to spill out.

In my previous life, I had been blind, my heart clouded by foolish devotion.

"You're right. I am nothing."

"So let's part ways. We can both go find our own happiness."

I grabbed the suitcase I'd already packed, turned on my heel, and walked toward the door.