I spent the next day sorting and packing all my things, moving into the room at the end of the hallway.

It was the farthest room from Ethan.

When the butler, Shawn, offered to help me with my belongings, I stopped him.

"Let's just leave it for now. I'll be staying on campus soon, and it'll just gather dust."

As I carried my suitcase downstairs, I saw Sophie playfully hanging on Ethan.

He held her waist with one hand and supported her back with the other, his expression tender as if he were protecting a precious treasure.

When he noticed me coming down, he gently nudged her. "Come on, it's time to go."

Sophie pouted and shook her head. "Kiss me, and I'll come down."

Ethan sighed in exasperation but leaned down to place a kiss on her lips.

I hadn't realized they were waiting for me.

I pressed my lips together, the words of refusal stuck in my throat.

Once in the car, Sophie suddenly turned to me. "Emma, why is it that Ethan just let you move in, yet you're going to stay in a dorm? Are you still holding a grudge over the past?"

As our eyes met, I recognized the familiar challenge in hers.

Back in freshman year, Sophie had seen Ethan drop me off and pretended to be friendly to get closer to him.

I had encountered countless women like her since I was thirteen; their eyes gleamed with ulterior motives, and I saw right through Sophie's intentions.

I had been spoiled by Ethan's affection and didn't grasp subtlety; I confronted Sophie directly without leaving her any dignity.

After that, she began isolating me with two other girls from our dorm and secretly sabotaging me—like when they soaked my bed while I was in the shower.

When I discovered what they'd done, Sophie would taunt me, saying, "What proof do you have that we did it?"

They would mix strange substances into my skincare products when I wasn't around, causing allergic reactions.

It wasn't until I confronted them physically that Ethan found out.

From then on, he personally picked me up and dropped me off at school to protect me from further bullying.

But all of that crumbled on my twenty-first birthday when my bold confession sent Ethan running from me like I was poison.

The one who picked me up became Shawn instead.

And there was Sophie—despite everything—still standing beside Ethan.

Seeing me silent and downcast, Sophie shook Ethan's arm as he held the steering wheel. "Ethan, maybe I should just stay in the dorm? It was my fault back then; it's reasonable for Emma to dislike me."

The car swerved slightly before Ethan quickly corrected it.

He didn't scold her for such reckless behavior; instead, he glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "Emma, what happened in the past is over. I've taught you to be magnanimous. Besides, Sophie will be my wife; you should learn to get along."

My hands clenched tightly together until they turned red.

In an instant, I released all tension and nodded obediently. "Okay."

Silence enveloped the car.

I didn't see Ethan frowning at me in the mirror for a long time.

Perhaps he had never seen me so compliant before.

In the past, I had been bold because I knew he was behind me; now, as Sophie said, I felt like a "pitiful creature" relying on others—what right did I have to say 'no'?

Sophie didn't like that Ethan's gaze lingered on me; she quickly changed the subject.

The front seat buzzed with chatter again as they seemed to have endless topics to discuss.

Meanwhile, I sat quietly in the backseat, gazing out at the blurred landscape outside—the colors of green and yellow merging into a hazy backdrop.

Between the front and back seats lay an invisible barrier that completely separated us into two worlds.

I had deceived Ethan.

I hadn't joined any project team; I was merely participating in a research competition.

From the day I applied for the exchange program, I had been planning to repay the nine years of kindness he had shown me.

However, all I had were my father's survivor benefits and memorial funds, which paled in comparison to what Ethan had spent on me.

For years, I had been working on a fireproof and explosion-proof suit, and my data was nearly complete.

I decided to use it for the competition.

If I could attract some companies to buy the patent, I would finally be able to repay him for everything.

After moving into the dorm, I only slept six hours a night, dedicating all my time to finalizing the data.

Finally, just two days before the competition, I left the lab and returned to the Hunter villa.

I needed to transfer all my data onto my custom computer for storage.

On the day of the competition, my suit was the last to be presented.

But as the data simulation of my fireproof suit appeared on the big screen, the judges frowned in unison.

"Emma, did you understand the competition rules before entering?" one judge asked.

"Of course," I replied, puzzled by their question.

But her next statement left me even more confused.

"If you understood, why are you using someone else's work in your entry?"

"I didn't use anyone else's work; this is my creation."

Instead of showing understanding, the judges' expressions grew more severe.

After a brief discussion with their staff, one judge projected content from her phone onto the screen—replacing my simulation with a post from three days ago by a blogger that mirrored my suit's data exactly.

"The evidence is right here, Emma. What do you have to say now?"

Shouts of anger erupted around me, but I couldn't believe this was happening.

I had tested those numbers tirelessly; how could anyone else know them?

Without proof, who would believe me?

Then it hit me—I had another USB drive containing the initial data for this project.

As my data grew larger, that drive had become insufficient, which is why I had abandoned it.

I quickly communicated with the judges and left the venue, taking a cab back to the Hunter villa.

But no matter where I searched, that USB drive was nowhere to be found.

As time passed, despair washed over me as I slumped to the floor.

Without that drive, there was no way to prove my innocence with just the refined data in hand—refined data that could easily be copied.

Calls from senior students flooded in; they were willing to vouch for me, but without evidence, who would believe them?

When Ethan finally returned home, it felt like a lifeline. I rushed over and grabbed his sleeve. "Ethan, my data has been stolen..."

Before I could finish, tears choked my voice.

A complex expression flickered across Ethan's face as he gently brushed my hand away. "You don't need those things. Even if you achieve nothing in life, out of respect for your father's memory, I will take care of you forever."

I stumbled back in shock; his words were unexpected and foreign.

In that moment, Ethan felt like a stranger to me.

The next day, all my information and that of the blogger were laid bare.

I discovered that it was Sophie who had stolen my data.

No wonder Ethan had acted so strangely yesterday, even uttering words that contradicted his principles.

He must have known the truth all along.

But because it was Sophie, he was willing to abandon his values and forsake his morals.

Not all the netizens were oblivious; some began to suspect that Sophie was the real plagiarist once they learned about our relationship.

After all, who would be foolish enough to present plagiarized data at a competition?

Sophie's actions seemed too selfless to be genuine.

However, those suspicions were quickly silenced.

Ethan organized a press conference for Sophie, where she presented her initial data.

Standing tall and composed, she confidently told the cameras that the refined data was derived from countless hours of work based on her initial findings.

After proving her "innocence," she generously advised everyone, "Please stop fixating on this issue; there's no question of who plagiarized whom between Emma and me."

"Though I'm not officially married yet, in my heart, we are already family. If I had known she would enter this work into a competition, I would never have released it; this is truly just a misunderstanding."

Her seemingly supportive words only fueled public outrage against me.

People called me brainless, claiming I lacked independent thought and could only rely on others' work.

They said I was ungrateful and had brought shame upon my parents.

I trembled as I clicked on the latest comment, "Thank goodness her parents died early; otherwise, they'd be dead from shame by now."

It felt like a boulder had lodged in my chest, making it hard to breathe.

My phone slipped from my grasp and shattered on the floor.

I drifted out of the villa like a lost soul.

Passersby pointed at me, and I raised my hand to shield half my face as I walked aimlessly forward.

I lost track of time and didn't even notice when a man approached me with a knife.

He pushed me down to the ground, pressing his leg against my back while hurling insults. "You filthy thief! You've embarrassed our tech academy with your plagiarism; keeping your hands is just a curse!"

As soon as he finished speaking, pain shot through my wrist.

The man ran away.

I struggled to get up, staring blankly at the dark red pool spreading around me.

Just then, a familiar figure rushed over and gathered me in his arms.

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself looking into Kyle's concerned gaze.

I tried to sit up, but he gently pressed down on my shoulder. "Don't move; you just had surgery."

As memories flooded back, I remembered what had happened before I fainted. "Did they catch him?" My voice came out hoarse and raspy.

Kyle quickly poured a glass of water and held a straw to my lips. "The police will handle it; just focus on recovering."

After I drank some water, he hesitated before saying, "I wasn't sure if you wanted to see anyone else, so I didn't notify anyone—Ethan included."

"If you want to see them, I can contact them right now."

I paused for a moment before shaking my head.

I didn't want to see him or Sophie.

During my ten days in the hospital, seniors and mentors visited me in turns.

Everyone tacitly avoided mentioning my hand injury or the competition.

As for Ethan? It seemed he had forgotten about me entirely; he hadn't even bothered to check in.