On the day my mother passed away, I wore a white dress to mourn her.

Seven-year-old Stephen Davis came rushing over, his small hands gripping a sharp pair of scissors. Before I could react, he slashed through the fabric and then dumped an entire bucket of cheap red paint over me.

"Today is my mom’s birthday! Who are you trying to curse by wearing such an unlucky color? She hated white the most!"

Like father, like son, their affections had always belonged to the same person.

A burning rash spread across my skin from the allergic reaction. As the thick paint dripped down my legs, mixing with the blood from fresh scratches, pain and itchiness twisted together into something unbearable.

Stephen sneered in satisfaction. "Don’t think that just because you married my dad, you get to be the lady of this house. That position will always belong to my mother!"

"You shameless homewrecker! Don’t even dream of me ever acknowledging your status!"

I looked at him, the child who carried my blood yet had crawled out of another woman’s womb, and suddenly, exhaustion settled deep into my bones.

So, blood ties meant nothing. Seven years of raising him couldn’t warm his heart.

"You don’t have to acknowledge me," I said, my voice calm. "Because I’m leaving."

——

The sharp scent of paint clung to my skin, stinging my nose and making my eyes water. A burning sensation spread across my face, tightening my expression in discomfort.

Stephen scoffed. "Serves you right! I hope your face rots away completely!"

"You scheming witch! Do you think that by copying my mother’s looks and making people say we resemble each other, you can take her place? Keep dreaming!"

His eyes blazed with fury as if he had suffered the greatest humiliation.

I had seen this tantrum countless times before.

Every time someone pointed out that Stephen didn’t resemble his late mother, that instead, he was starting to look more and more like me, he would explode in anger.

I used to comfort him, reassuring him that he was truly his mother’s son, that the resemblance was just a trick of familiarity from being around me for years.

But today, I didn’t have the patience.

I was exhausted.

I furrowed my brows slightly.

"Who said I had plastic surgery? You sleep with your mother's photo every night. If anyone should know whether I look like her or not, it's you."

"If you don’t believe me, go ahead and get a doctor to verify it. But are you sure you're ready to hear the truth?"

Stephen froze. For a split second, his face was blank, but then color flooded his cheeks, turning them an angry shade of red. His glare was sharp enough to cut, but he said nothing before spinning on his heel and storming off.

I let out a slow sigh and retreated to my room, where the housemaid had already prepared a bath.

The moment I stepped into the warm water, searing pain shot through my legs like fire licking at my wounds. My breath hitched, my skin burning unbearably.

I jerked back, desperate to escape the sting, but my foot slipped on the wet tiles.

A sharp gasp left my lips as I crashed to the ground, my knees slamming hard against the floor.

Pain shot through me, and within seconds, deep purple bruises bloomed across my skin.

Stephen skipped into the room, his grin dripping with mockery.

"Idiot! How does it feel to soak in a bath of salt water and chili juice? This is my filial piety to you, aren’t you touched?"

He tilted his head, eyes brimming with disdain.

"If you want to enjoy everything that rightfully belonged to my mother, then you must pay the price."

With that, he turned on his heel, not even sparing me another glance. Before leaving, he dismissed the housemaid, ensuring no one would help me up.

I lay sprawled on the floor in disgrace, my body trembling as the water around me darkened to a deep, sinister red. I could only stare, unable to utter a single word.

Back when they took my egg cells, I had bled just as much.

That egg had been fertilized with the sperm of the president of the Davis Group, turned into an IVF embryo, and implanted into Evie Cavendish, who had been born without eggs of her own.

And then, that child, who carried half my blood, was born. A boy.

His name was Stephen Davis. Stephen of the Davis family. Stephen, the son of Mrs. Davis.

Stephen, who despised me with every fiber of his being.

After cleaning myself up, I stepped out of the bathroom, only to find Carlos Davis seated on the sofa, his presence commanding as ever.

If Stephen’s features bore traces of mine, then the cold arrogance radiating from this man before me was unmistakably inherited by him.

Carlos’s gaze swept over the angry red rashes marring my skin. His expression remained indifferent.

"Stephen was a little too playful this time. I brought you allergy medicine, take it. Don’t let it ruin tonight’s banquet."

Even with his wife long gone, he hosted a grand banquet every year on her birthday, ensuring the world never forgot the woman he cherished.

For years, I had tread carefully within the Davis family, bowing to his every command without question.

The moment I swallowed the pill, the servants flanking Carlos seized me, forcing me down onto the sofa. My arms and legs were pinned, leaving me no room to struggle.

Two masked men stepped forward, one holding a cup of pigment, the other gripping a tattoo needle. Without hesitation, the needle pierced straight into the open wounds on my leg.

Agony shot through me, my vision going stark white. My breath caught in my throat as the color drained from my face.

Carlos gazed down at me, his voice laced with frost.

"Stephen may be mischievous, but you should have known better than to wear a color Evie despised on her birthday. I’ve told you before that nothing she disliked is permitted in this house."

"When you make a mistake, you must accept the consequences."

An hour later, the fresh wounds on my leg had transformed into the image of a vivid red rose. Drops of blood still oozed from the petals, making it look almost lifelike.

Red roses, Evie’s favorite flower. Her favorite color. The very same tattoo once marked her leg.

Carlos’s sharp gaze lingered on my pale face. His expression shifted, softening ever so slightly before he dismissed the others with a wave of his hand.

He knelt on one knee, his lips brushing against the rose etched into my skin. His kiss trailed upward, laced with a slow-burning desire.

"Remember, you’ll wear Evie’s favorite red dress. Be good, and I might consider returning one of your eggs. But don’t make a mistake like today again. You nearly let Stephen find out the truth. He belongs to Evie, no one else. No one will ever take her son from her."

Carlos had always been a man of control over others, over himself, over everything he touched.

So, the day I was brought into this house, he stripped me of my future. Every last egg was taken.

"A child is only mine if they come from Evie’s womb."

"The only reason I let you raise Stephen was because it was her dying wish. She wouldn't entrust him to anyone else. But you, don't even think about claiming him as yours."

His lips hovered dangerously close to the top of my thigh, but this time, I did not surrender.

I shoved him away.

"Mr. Davis, I won’t wear the dress, and I won’t be attending the banquet."

"My adoptive mother passed away today. Our contract is void. I’m leaving."

The moment the words left my lips, the heat in Carlos’s gaze turned to ice.

He rose to his feet, his expression darkening like a brewing storm.

"She was just an adoptive mother, no blood ties, nothing. If she’s dead, then she’s dead. Are you really going to mourn an outsider? Don't forget your place. The family cannot afford such humiliation!"

"Stephen may not have come from your womb, but he carries half your blood. You raised him for seven years, and now you think you can just walk away?" He let out a cold laugh. "Dahlia, you are unbelievably selfish."

His words cut deeper than I wanted to admit.

My status? What was I, really?

An illegitimate daughter, hidden in the shadows of my family name?

A mere caretaker hired to raise a child that was never mine?

Or the woman Stephen resented, the homewrecker he loathed to his very core?

Back then, Carlos and my half-sister were the envy of Ridgeway’s elite, an untouchable golden couple.

Their union wasn’t just a marriage; it was a merger of power, elevating the Cavendish name to the pinnacle of wealth and prestige.

Perhaps their love was so flawless that even the heavens grew resentful because fate dealt Evie a cruel hand. Born without eggs, she could never conceive a child of her own.

But she adored children. She refused to use a stranger’s egg, and her younger sister was still too young. So she turned to me, the desperate woman drowning in debt.

One million dollars. The price of my adoptive mother’s life. The price of my first child.

Then, fate struck again. Evie died unexpectedly.

Before she took her last breath, she feared for Stephen. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving him alone in this world, so she made one final wish.

She asked me to raise him.

The Cavendish family had resisted at first, but their opposition to Carlos marrying outside the family was even stronger. A union with another woman could threaten their interests, so they made their choice.

They restored my surname to Cavendish and sent me to the Davis residence.

Carlos obeyed Evie’s every word, and so, an agreement was forged. I would dedicate myself to raising Stephen and ensuring that Evie could rest in peace. In return, they covered my foster mother’s medical expenses, prolonging her life.

I was dragged to the City Hall for a perfunctory marriage registration, no ring, no vows, no ceremony. Just a signature binding me to a man who would never love me.

Seven years. Seven years of a marriage in name only, with a husband who never saw me and a child who saw me as an enemy.

I spoke evenly, my voice devoid of emotion.

“When I entered the Davis family, it was never for love; it was to save my foster mother. We both got what we wanted. Now that she’s gone, I have no reason to stay.”

I paused, then continued, “Stephen doesn’t like me. If I stay, it will only make him more miserable. That wouldn’t be good for the future heir of the Davis family, not for his emotions, not for his mind.”

Hearing that I had been considering Stephen’s best interests, Carlos’s expression finally eased.

“If you’re worried about having no one to rely on in the future,” he said, his tone almost conciliatory, “I can return your eggs to you, and we can have another child together.”

“Though this child won’t carry my surname when he grows up, I can arrange a position for him in my company. He’ll be well taken care of. And as for you—”

I cut him off, my voice cool.

“There’s no need for such generosity, President Davis.” I pulled out the signed divorce agreement and placed it before him. “Just sign it.”

Over the years, I had endured enough, the whispers, the judgment, the condescending stares, all because of my status and the way both father and son regarded me.

And now, he was offering me the chance to bear another child, one who wouldn’t even be acknowledged by his family. That would be nothing but self-inflicted humiliation.

Carlos’s patience finally snapped. With a sharp tear, he shredded the divorce agreement, his eyes dark with fury.

“Dahlia, it seems you’ve had it too easy. Are you looking for trouble?”

“Since you refuse to wear those dresses, you won’t be attending the banquet tonight either. I won’t have you disgracing the event I organized for Evie.”

A wife barred from her own household’s banquet was a blatant humiliation.

But I felt nothing.

By the time the gathering ended, the mansion was alive with laughter, the distant hum of cheerful voices seeping through the walls.

I stepped into the hallway just in time to see Carlos and Stephen, their hands intertwined with Tessa Cavendish’s, heading toward the bedroom at the far end.

Seven years had passed in the blink of an eye. The once-young daughter of the Cavendish family had grown into a woman—one who bore an uncanny resemblance to Evie.

That room had once belonged only to Carlos and Evie.

I had once entered it by mistake. My punishment? After three days of kneeling in the snow, my legs were nearly ruined.

When I finally collapsed onto my bed, my knees raw and festering, the agony eating away at me, Carlos came.

For a moment, I had foolishly thought he had softened.

But instead, his voice was cold, void of warmth.

“If it hurts, good. Maybe next time, you’ll remember not to step where you don’t belong.”

Now, Tessa, with a face eerily similar to Evie’s, had moved in effortlessly.

The servants barely concealed their disdain, their whispers cutting through the air like knives.

“Some people can struggle all they want to climb into this family, but it’s useless. Neither the president nor the young master cares for her. Imagine being married for years, yet she’s not even allowed to be inside a bedroom in her own home. Pathetic.”

“Of course. The president’s heart has always belonged to his late wife. She was nothing more than a glorified nanny brought in to raise his son. But now that the young lady of the Cavendish family has grown up and looks so much like the late wife, how could he not be swayed? It’s only a matter of time before we have a new lady of the house.”

I ignored their ridicule and turned to leave; a flash of silver streaked toward me.

A sharp sting followed.

The metal dart sliced past my skin, leaving a thin, burning trail. Warm blood trickled down, slow and deliberate.

Stephen toyed with the remaining darts in his hand, a mischievous smirk dancing on his lips.