I woke from a doze to a sharp, stinging pain in my arm.

Looking down, I saw my IV line had backed up with blood, a crimson line creeping steadily up the clear tube.

I pressed the call button.

A nurse bustled in and frowned at the IV. "Why is no one watching you? Where's your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend," I said calmly. "He had to leave for something important."

"How long ago?" the nurse asked, skillfully changing the needle.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was two in the morning. Vincent had left at seven in the evening. Seven hours ago.

"A long time ago."

The nurse shook her head with a sigh. "That's how it is with these rich guys. They put on a good show, but they're never around when it counts."

After she left, I couldn't get back to sleep.

When morning came, I decided to go for a walk.

Dragging my IV stand into the hallway, I overheard two nurses talking quietly.

"That girl in the VIP wing is so lucky. Her boyfriend booked the entire floor for her."

"I heard he even flew in specialists from overseas for 24/7 care."

"The heir to the Marcelli family is so good to her. He hasn't left her side since she was admitted."

I stopped.

The VIP wing was on the tenth floor. I was on the eighth, in a standard private room.

I pressed the elevator button and went up to the tenth floor.

The entire floor was indeed cordoned off. Only one room was lit.

I walked to the door and peered through the small window.

Vincent was sitting by the bed, patiently spoon-feeding Isabella porridge. She was propped up against a mountain of pillows, her face pale but content.

"Does it still hurt?" Vincent asked softly.

"Much better," Isabella said, opening her mouth for another spoonful. "With you here, I'm not afraid of anything."

Don Romano was sitting on the sofa, peeling an apple for her. As soon as she finished the porridge, he handed her a small slice.

"Eat slowly. Don't choke," the Don's voice was laced with an affection I hadn't heard in years.

"Uncle Romano, you're so good to me," Isabella smiled sweetly. "Just like a real father."

"You are my daughter now," Don Romano said, patting her hand. "This family is your home."

Vincent smiled gently and reached out to smooth Isabella's hair. "Is your head still spinning?"

"No, just a little tired."

"Then get some more sleep," Vincent said, closing the curtains and dimming the lights. "I'll be right here with you."

The tender, domestic scene was a knife twisting in my heart.

I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, forcing myself not to cry out.

I turned away from the VIP wing and went back to my own room.

Don't cry, Sophia. You can't cry.

Four days before I was scheduled to fly to Boston for the wedding, I was discharged.

As I stepped out of the hospital, I saw Vincent leaning against his black car, waiting.

"Get in," he said.

"I'll get a cab."

"Get in." Vincent's tone left no room for argument.

I looked at his cold, hard expression and finally slid into the car.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To clear your head," Vincent said, starting the car. "You've been cooped up in the hospital for too long."

Half an hour later, he pulled up in front of Sotheby's auction house in Midtown.

"An auction?" I looked at the poster by the entrance.

"There's an art auction today," Vincent said, getting out. "I thought you liked this sort of thing."

I was about to refuse, but when he handed me the auction catalog, my eyes caught a familiar item.

Lot 47: A Pearl Necklace.

My hands began to shake.

I knew that necklace. It was my mother's. It was the only thing I had left of her.

"What's wrong?" Vincent noticed my reaction.

"Nothing," I clutched the catalog tightly. "Let's go in."

In the restroom, I dialed my lawyer's number with trembling fingers.

"Sell everything I have. All of it. Now."

"Miss Sophia, you said you wanted to take those things to Boston..."

"I changed my mind," I said urgently. "How much can I get?"

"Around fifteen million dollars."

"That's enough." I hung up and took a deep breath.

I had to get my mother's necklace back.

We walked into the auction hall, and Vincent found us seats near the front.

Just as I was about to sit, a familiar voice called out.

"Vincent!"

Isabella walked over, wearing a pale pink dress. Her head was still wrapped in gauze, but she was as beautiful and fragile as ever.

She linked her arm through Vincent's.

"Sophia's here too," Isabella said, smiling sweetly at me. "I told Vincent I wanted to apologize to you in person today. I didn't think he'd actually bring you to the auction."

In that moment, everything became painfully clear.

Vincent didn't bring me here to cheer me up or clear my head.

He brought me because Isabella wanted to "apologize," and I was just a prop he brought along for the ride.

I looked at Isabella's triumphant smile, and the last bit of pain in my heart vanished, replaced by a cold, hard numbness.

I couldn't feel anything anymore.

The auction began.

I clutched my bidding paddle, my eyes fixed on the stage, waiting for lot number 47.

Finally, the auctioneer held up the pearl necklace.

"Lot number 47, a stunning pearl necklace. Bidding starts at five hundred thousand dollars."

I immediately raised my paddle. "Five hundred thousand."

"One million," Isabella's voice chimed in from beside me.

I turned to look at her. Isabella was smiling, holding her own paddle high.

"One point five million," I countered, my voice tight.

"Two million," Isabella said without a flicker of hesitation.

The price began to skyrocket.

Three million, five million, eight million...

My palms grew sweaty. My lawyer had said my assets were worth fifteen million, but the bidding was already approaching twenty.

"Twenty million," Isabella raised her paddle effortlessly, as if naming a trivial sum.

The auctioneer looked at me. "Ma'am, do you wish to continue?"

My hand trembled. I couldn't raise the paddle again.

I didn't have enough money.

All eyes in the room were on me, including Vincent's.

I swallowed my pride and turned to him.

"Vincent, lend me the money," my voice shook. "Please. It was my mother's necklace. It's the only thing she left me."

Vincent looked at me, a complex, unreadable emotion in his eyes. Just as he was about to reach for his black card...

Isabella turned to him too, her voice a sweet, cloying whine. "Vincent, I've never had anything nice in my whole life. This is the first time I've ever loved a piece of jewelry this much. Can you please ask Sophia to let me have it?"

She tugged on his sleeve, her eyes wide and pleading.

Vincent's gaze shifted between me and Isabella.

Those few seconds felt like a century.

"Let Isabella have it," Vincent finally said, his voice terrifyingly calm.

My world collapsed.

"Twenty million, going once!" the auctioneer's voice boomed.

"Twenty million, going twice!"

I wanted to scream, to beg Vincent again, but the words were stuck in my throat, choked by betrayal.

"Twenty million, sold!"

The moment the gavel fell, my heart died completely.

Isabella clapped excitedly, then turned to me. "Sophia, thank you!"

The triumph on her face was undisguised.

After the auction, Vincent left to get medicine for Isabella, who was suddenly claiming to have a headache.

I sat alone on a plush sofa in the lounge, watching the staff pack up the remaining lots.

Ten minutes later, Isabella came backstage and walked up to me.

I stood up to face her.

"Isabella, I'll trade you for the necklace. Anything."

"Like what?" Isabella raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"I have a Ferrari, and some designer watches. The total value isn't twenty million, but give me some time, and I'll get you the rest..." I struggled to keep my voice steady. "Just give me back the necklace."

Isabella shook her head. "I don't need any of that."

"Then what do you want?"

Isabella feigned a thoughtful expression, then a cruel smile spread across her face. "I want you to get on your knees and beg me for it."

"What?"

"Kneel. Apologize for how you've treated me. And then beg me to give you the necklace," Isabella's eyes glinted with malice. "You were so awful to me before. Now it's your turn to beg."

I stared at her, my fists clenched at my sides.

But the thought of my mother's necklace, my last link to her, made me slowly, agonizingly, begin to bend my knees.

"Good girl. But first, let me show you where the necklace is now." Isabella laughed triumphantly and took out her phone.

She played a video and held it in front of my face.

On the screen, a filthy stray dog was wagging its tail. Draped around its neck was a string of lustrous pearls.

My mother's necklace.

"See? This is where it belongs now," Isabella smiled sweetly. "I think it's a perfect match. A bitch for a bitch."

My blood ran cold.

"What did you say?"

"I said, a bitch for a bitch," Isabella put her phone away, her smile unwavering. "Wasn't your mother a bitch? She deserved to be hit by that car. Now her necklace is on a dog. It's fitting, don't you think?"

"Which hand did you use to put it on the dog?" my voice was a whisper, so quiet I could barely hear it myself.

"My right hand. Why?" Isabella was still smiling, savoring her victory.

The next second, I snatched a steak knife from a nearby catering table and plunged it straight through the back of her right hand, pinning it to the tablecloth beneath.

Blood gushed out. Isabella let out a piercing, agonized scream.

Isabella's scream echoed through the backstage area.

The staff froze in shock. Some started screaming in panic, others fumbled for their phones to call for an ambulance.

I pulled the knife free and stood up straight.

"A Romano always repays their debts," I said, looking down at Isabella, who was writhing on the floor, clutching her bleeding hand and sobbing. "Remember that."

I turned and walked away, the sounds of chaos fading behind me.

My steps were steady as I headed for the exit, as if nothing had happened.

Just as I reached the door, Vincent blocked my path.

He was holding a blanket and a thermos, clearly having just returned.

Seeing me, Vincent's face turned to stone.

"What did you do?" he demanded.

I glanced at the thermos in his hand and gave a bitter, humorless smile. "You went to get medicine for her?"

"I asked you what you did!" Vincent's voice was colder now, sharper.

"She put my mother's necklace on a stray dog and called my mother a bitch," I looked him straight in the eye, my own gaze unflinching. "So I stabbed her."

Vincent's expression froze. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," I gestured toward his ear. "Your men must have already reported back to you."

Vincent was indeed wearing a discreet earpiece. He already knew everything that had transpired.

"Even if she put the necklace on a dog, you don't have the right to hurt her!" Vincent's voice was like ice, delivering the final blow.

That single sentence shattered what was left of me.

I looked at the man in front of me, tears finally welling in my eyes.

So, in his world, even if Isabella desecrated the memory of my dead mother, I wasn't allowed to fight back.

"Vincent," my voice trembled. "How are you going to 'discipline' me this time?"

Vincent saw my tears, and for a split second, his resolve seemed to waver.

But then his expression hardened again, colder than ever.

"I can't control you anymore," Vincent took out his phone. "Marco, bring your men to the auction house. Arrest Sophia for assault."

Listening to his cold command, I felt the last bit of my heart get ripped out.

Ten minutes later, two uniformed officers walked in.

"Miss Sophia Romano, you're under arrest for aggravated assault. Please come with us."

I didn't resist. I held out my hands for the cuffs.

As they led me away, I glanced back one last time.

Vincent was holding Isabella, whose hand was now hastily bandaged, comforting her gently.

"It's okay. I'm here," he stroked her hair. "No one will ever hurt you again."

Isabella cried in his arms like a wounded dove.

And I was dragged away like a common criminal.

New York City Detention Center, Cell Block 7.

This was where they held women on remand for minor charges.

When they pushed me into the cell, a few imposing women surrounded me.

"New girl? What're you in for?" The leader was a large woman with tattooed arms.

"Assault," I answered simply.

"Ooh, a little spitfire," the woman grinned, cracking her knuckles. "You know the rules here? Newbies pay a protection fee."

"I don't have any money."

"No money?" The woman's expression soured. "Then you'll have to pay another way."

That night, they doused me with a bucket of ice-cold water.

The next day, I found shards of glass mixed in with my food.

The third day, they started beating me.

And every time, just before they laid a hand on me, the leader would say the same thing: "Boss Vincent said you need to be taught a lesson."

So, this was all Vincent's doing.

He didn't just want me in jail. He wanted me to be tortured here.

Three days later, I was released.

It was my last day in New York.

I dragged my bruised and broken body out of the detention center. The sunlight was so bright it hurt my eyes.

As I reached the gate, a wave of dizziness washed over me.

The world spun, and I collapsed onto the pavement.

When I woke up, I was in another familiar hospital room.

Vincent was standing by my bed, his hands in his pockets, his voice cold and detached.

"Have you learned your lesson this time?"