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?"

I said nothing in response to Vincent's question.

He stood by the bed, waiting for an answer. But I just stared at the blank ceiling in silence.

Vincent's phone rang, breaking the tense quiet.

"Vincent, my hand hurts so much..." Isabella's fragile, weeping voice came through the phone, audible even from where I lay.

Vincent's expression softened instantly.

"I'll be right there." He hung up, then looked back at me. "Think about what you did."

Then he left, just like he always did, abandoning me for Isabella.

The room was quiet again. I was alone.

About an hour later, the door creaked open.

Isabella walked in, her right hand wrapped in a thick bandage, but she looked triumphant.

"Sophia, how are you feeling?" she asked with faux concern.

I turned my head to look at her, my eyes flat and empty.

Isabella pulled up a chair and sat down, a sweet, poisonous smile on her face. "My dear, I want to tell you a story."

"I don't want to hear it."

"But this story is about you," Isabella's eyes glinted. "It's about why Vincent agreed to your father's request to discipline you personally."

My hand tightened on the thin hospital sheet.

"In high school, Vincent and I were boyfriend and girlfriend," Isabella began, her voice nostalgic. "We were so in love. He was so good to me, remembered everything I liked. He even said he would marry me after graduation. But then, something terrible happened..."

She paused, watching for my reaction.

"One night, Vincent was ambushed by a rival family. I took a bullet for him to save his life." Isabella gestured to her left shoulder. "It went right through. It nearly killed me."

"After that, Vincent was consumed with guilt. He said he would protect me and make it up to me for the rest of his life."

I remained silent, but my heart began to pound a frantic, painful rhythm against my ribs.

"I went to Europe to recover, and Vincent promised he would marry me as soon as I returned," Isabella leaned closer, her voice turning venomous. "We never stopped talking. So I told him all about how my poor mother had married into the Romano family, but that the cruel Romano heiress was treating her horribly, and how it was breaking my heart."

"Vincent said he would get revenge for my mother. That's why he came to your father and offered to discipline you himself." Isabella's smile was radiant. "Did you think Uncle Romano forced him? You're wrong, Sophia. Vincent asked for the job."

I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. "What did you say?"

"Oh, and it gets better," Isabella took out her phone. "Did you know that every single time you two were together, it was being recorded?"

"What?"

"Vincent installed hidden cameras in the bedroom. He recorded everything," Isabella's smile grew more twisted, more malicious. "He said he was going to give the videos to me, to use as leverage to control you later."

My world started to spin.

"Are you shocked, Sophia?" Isabella stood up, triumphant. "Vincent never loved you. He was just completing a mission. Now the mission is over, and he's going to marry me."

She walked to the door, then looked back at me one last time.

"By the way, I've already made a copy of those videos. If you ever dare to cross me again, I'll post them all online for the world to see."

After Isabella left, I sat motionless on the bed for a long, long time.

Her words echoed in my mind, a torturous loop.

Vincent asked to discipline me.

To get revenge for Isabella.

He recorded every private moment we ever shared.

I suddenly threw off the sheets, ripped the IV from my arm, and bolted from the room.

Nurses shouted behind me, but I didn't hear them.

I ran out of the hospital and hailed a cab.

"Upper East Side, as fast as you can!"

I had to go to Vincent's mansion. I had to see for myself if what Isabella said was true.

Twenty minutes later, the cab screeched to a halt in front of the mansion.

I used my spare key to let myself in and ran straight to Vincent's study.

There was a hidden room behind the bookcase. I knew the code.

I punched it in, and a section of the wall slid open, revealing the surveillance hub inside.

Multiple computers, countless monitor screens, and various high-tech recording devices.

I sat down at the main computer and navigated the file directory.

In a folder labeled "S," I found an encrypted subfolder.

The folder name was: Sophia_Private.

My hand was shaking uncontrollably, but I clicked on it.

The screen filled with video files, all neatly organized by date.

From the very first night we were together to the very last, every single video was there.

I clicked on the first one.

The screen showed me and Vincent, tangled together in the sheets, every detail captured in crystal-clear high definition.

Including me, wrapped in his arms, whispering "I love you." Including every moment of my vulnerability, my trust, my complete and utter devotion.

My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor.

It was all true. Isabella was telling the truth.

Vincent really had recorded everything.

I started to laugh at how stupid, how hopelessly naive I had been. I laughed and laughed until the laughter turned into ragged, broken sobs.