She shut her eyes against the pain, but the auctioneer’s voice kept cutting through her skull—over and over—reminding her that everything she’d once called her own was now on the block, parceled out by Soren for strangers to take.

“It’s painful, losing someone you love, isn’t it?”

His voice was a dull, serrated blade, carving her heart without mercy.

“When my sister died, Linnea, I felt a hundred times more than this. So keep your eyes open. Don’t you dare look away.”

Her lashes lifted, and tears blurred her vision.

The first lot: her mother’s treasured piano. The same one her mother had cradled her beside, guiding her small hands across the keys to play songs written just for her.

The second: her parents’ engagement ring.

The third: the diamond crown her father had commissioned for her eighteenth birthday.

Bids rose sharply. “One million!” “Two million!”

Her chest constricted. “Soren,” she choked, tasting blood, “you can do whatever you want to me—but not to them. Please… give me back my parents’ things. I beg you.”

She pounded his arm with shaking fists. “I was wrong, I admit it. Please, I’m begging you…”

For an instant, his eyes flickered with something almost human. He almost reached to wipe her tears—almost whispered, Linnea, don’t be afraid. I’m here.

Then the moment died. Hatred smothered it.

“It’s easy to get them back,” he murmured. “Several of my partners are here tonight. Appease them, and your parents’ belongings are yours.”

Her grip on his sleeve loosened. “You… want me to sleep with them?”

Could this be the same man who had once beaten an investor bloody for brushing his hand against her leg?

He didn’t answer—only pressed room cards into her palm. “You owe me this, Linnea.”

Nausea rolled through her, her fever from the leukemia stoking her skin hot and cold. Still, she forced herself upright and walked toward the first investor’s room. She had no choice.

---

The door clicked shut behind her.

A portly man advanced, eyes glinting. “So this is the woman Soren kept for five years. Tender indeed. He’s ruined you already—why pretend to be pure for me?”

Her scream went nowhere. The lock held.

He shoved her onto the bed, tearing at her dress. The wound on her back ripped open, white-hot pain shooting through her. She thought she’d learned to live with agony—until the moment his weight crushed down and a sob forced itself past her teeth.

Delirium dragged her under. She was twelve again, clutching her mother’s hand as they bent over a starving boy collapsed by the roadside.

Mom, he’s so pitiful. Let’s take him home.

She had pulled him to his feet, dabbing blood from his face with her handkerchief, never minding the stains on her pink princess dress.

Her father agreed, eventually, to sponsor the boy. Soren.

She had given him her lucky bear. With this, you’ll be as lucky as me.

But he’d refused to stay. When he left, she chased him until she fell, knees bloodied—he never turned back.

---

Years later, her father’s money had made him the new darling of Kingsport. Marriage offers piled at his door, but he courted her obsessively: renting every city billboard for ninety-nine days of proposals, planting a thousand and one roses in Bulgaria, climbing three thousand steps to pray for her safety.

Bleeding from the effort, he had pressed a string of heirloom rosary onto her head.

“Linnea, I love you. I’d die for you.”

She had believed him. Loved him. Married him.

And tonight, he had sold her.

---

After the man was finished, she stumbled to the bathroom, scrubbing at her skin until it burned—but she couldn’t wash the violation away.

Her reflection was a ghost: hollow eyes, wet cheeks, wrists marked with the pale ridges of old suicide attempts.

“Why?” she whispered, voice breaking. “Why?”

She had told him a thousand times she had never harmed his sister. He had never listened.

Through her tears, a brittle laugh tore out of her.

“There’s no going back, Soren. But I’m going to die soon. And then… you’ll never get to torture me again.”

She stumbled out of the room in a daze. Soren was already gone.

The night wind of Kingsport cut like razors, slicing through her exposed skin. Each gust felt like it was peeling her alive.

Snow whirled under the streetlamps, and for a moment Linnea was back in the first year they’d been together.

Her grandmother had just died. She’d run away, weeping, without telling a soul.

Soren had turned down deals worth millions to search for her, combing the city for three hours before finding her by the frozen lake.

It had been snowing then too. His eyes were bloodshot as he stripped off his coat and wrapped her tight.

“Linnea, how could you run off alone? Do you know how worried I was?”

He shoved her freezing hands into his coat, warming them with his own shivering body.

“Soren… I don’t have a grandmother anymore.”

His face softened instantly. His voice went hoarse.

“You know I can’t do anything to you.”

She had cried herself to sleep in his arms that night. He had carried her ten kilometers home through the snow.

Back then, she had never felt cold.

Now, walking alone in it, she felt frozen to the bone.

By the time she reached the villa, the soles of her feet were raw and bleeding.

She pushed open her bedroom door—and froze.

A girl in a white gauze dress sat in Soren’s lap. At the sight of Linnea, they sprang apart, breathing hard. A blush stained the girl’s cheeks, and the red mark on her neck spoke of what had just happened.

Linnea’s hand stilled on the doorknob, as if needles had stabbed straight through her chest.

Soren barely looked at her.

“I forgot to tell you—Agatha is moving in. This will be her room now.”

The girl tilted her chin in smug challenge.

“Soren, who is she?”

Linnea stared. The face was almost identical to Soren’s late sister’s—right down to the tiny red mole at the corner of her eye.

He took the girl’s hand and kissed it.

“Her? Just a dog I keep.”

His voice turned casual, cruel.

“Your leg’s not in good shape. She’ll be handling your rehab.”

Then, his arm slid around Agatha’s waist.

“You still here? Want to watch us—”

“Soren,” Linnea interrupted, voice shaking, “you promised me my parents’ belongings.”

“Promised?” He gave a sharp laugh. “I said I’d return them if you accompanied someone. You only went to Mr. Dale—so you get one thing.”

The bitter taste of blood rose in her throat. Pain radiated through her ribs as she crumpled to the floor.

“Soren, you—”

“Three seconds,” he cut in coldly. “Three… two…”

“My mother’s piano!” she screamed, dragging herself upright.

Agatha’s voice was syrupy sweet.

“Soren, is that the Carrington family’s custom piano? I’ve never seen it. Can I try?”

He smiled indulgently. “Of course.”

As he set her on the bench, she curled her fingers around a lighter, hiding it from him, and flashed Linnea a sly grin.

Linnea lunged forward, grabbing her hand.

“This piano is my mother’s last hope of remembering. Please—”

She dropped to her knees, bowing desperately.

Agatha’s eyes welled with crocodile tears.

“Soren, she hates me. I didn’t mean to steal it… I only touched it and she—”

His gaze softened at the sight of his sister’s double. In the next breath, his boot slammed into Linnea’s chest.

“Killed my sister, now you won’t leave Agatha alone? Still acting innocent?”

His grip on her hand was crushing.

“You like to act? Take it out and burn it!”

Bodyguards swarmed in, hauling the piano away. Moments later, flames roared into the night sky.

Linnea screamed and bolted after them—straight into the fire.

The heat scorched her skin instantly. The stench of burning flesh filled her nose, but she didn’t let go.

She clung to the blazing piano, and through the flames, she saw her mother’s gentle smile.

Linnea, you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.

I’ll give this piano to you as a dowry.

Then—blood on the stairs. Her mother’s body crumpled.

“Mom!” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry—”

Through the haze, she thought she saw Soren drop Agatha and run toward her.

“Linnea!”

Tears slid down her blistered cheeks.

Was this a dream? How could he possibly call her that now? Care about whether she lived or died?

No. He should be happy she was burning.

With that thought, she let go—and let the fire take her.

When she woke up, the pristine white ceiling of the hospital greeted her. She rolled her eyes numbly, her sore eyes no longer able to shed tears — perhaps they had dried up at that wedding five years ago.

While she was still dazed, Soren pushed the door open, holding a tube of burn ointment. Seeing Linnea awake, he stepped forward, tossed the ointment onto her, and said in a deep voice, “I was too impulsive yesterday, but you also scared Agatha, so let’s write it off. I’ve hired the best plastic surgeon for you. It won’t leave scars.”

He knew Linnea was obsessed with beauty; in the past, even a small cut on her face would have her crying for three days. To find her the best scar-removing ointment, Soren had scoured the city, using his connections to obtain special foreign medication. But now she was covered in burns, her left cheek bandaged, her expression blank.

Seeing her like this, Soren suddenly felt a flicker of fear. He reached out, wanting to touch her, but she trembled reflexively and said, “I was wrong. Don’t touch me! Soren, I was wrong. I deserve to die!”

He froze, anger slowly rising. “Okay, if you still want to act, then do it on your own!” He slammed the door and left, throwing the ointment against the wall so hard it left a deep dent. Whatever miracle ointment he had found never reached Linnea’s face.

After he left, a nurse came in, frowning as she shoved the medical records into Linnea’s hands. “Miss Carrington, you really can’t put off treatment any longer! You’re still so young. If your family knew, wouldn’t they be heartbroken?”

Linnea’s heart felt as if it were being squeezed, and she nearly cried. How devastated would her mother be if she knew?

After a long silence, she called the mental hospital. “Hello, how is Ms. Isabel Carrington doing? I’m her daughter. Can I visit her now?”

“Isabel?” the person on the other end asked doubtfully. “Didn’t her daughter just come to pick her up? Her name is… Agatha!”

The taut string in Linnea’s mind snapped. She yanked out her IV and stumbled out.

As soon as she got out of the car, she saw Agatha holding her mother’s hand, smiling as she led her into a café. “Mom!” Linnea screamed, rushing forward and pulling her mother behind her. Her chest heaved violently, tears streaming from fear. “Agatha, what did you do to my mother! Why… Soren is already yours — why won’t you let me go? You won’t even let my mother go!”

Isabel Carrington, Linnea's mother, trembled with fear, clutching her sleeve tightly. “Linnea, I’m scared… Linnea…”

Agatha sneered, not bothering to play the sweet, obedient act. “Linnea, you’re the one who murdered Soren’s sister, so why have you stayed by his side for five years? The place by his side belongs only to me! I advise you to leave immediately, or else next time it won’t be as simple as taking Aunt Isabel out for coffee.”

She raised her cup and pretended to pour it over Isabel. Linnea grabbed her hand, rage stripping her of reason, and slapped Agatha across the face.

“Soren, help!”

Hurried footsteps followed, and Soren appeared, his expression dark. He kicked Linnea in the chest, sending her sprawling. Scalding coffee splashed over her, the unhealed burns cracking open again as she grit her teeth in pain.

Before she could react, Agatha buried herself in Soren’s arms, sobbing. “Soren, you burned Aunt Isabel’s piano for me yesterday. I felt so bad, so I came to apologize to her… I didn’t expect Miss Carrington to scold me the moment she saw me. I just said a few words back, and she hit me! Soren, did I do something wrong… why does Miss Carrington hate me so much?”

Soren’s eyes burned red with heartache, but when they turned to Linnea, they held no warmth. He strode over and said coldly, “Apologize to Agatha!”

Linnea pushed herself up. “Why don’t you ask your Agatha what she did! Soren, she tried to hurt my mother—”

The slap came before she could finish. “I said, apologize to Agatha!” The strength of his years of training split her lip, blood trailing from the corner of her mouth.

People had begun to gather, pointing and whispering. “What’s wrong with this woman? She hit someone and refuses to apologize?” “Isn’t that Sir Soren? The woman beside him must be Linnea, the wife he’s secretly doted on for years.” “She’s so arrogant! Doesn’t she know Sir Soren dotes on Miss Agatha? And she still dares to seduce him? Serves her right!”

Ironically, she was Linnea — Soren’s legitimate wife. She forced a bitter smile, holding back her tears. “I! Won’t! Apologize!”

Maybe it was the thought of death that gave her courage, but the regret hit instantly when he said, “Okay, since you won’t apologize, I think Aunt Isabel will be happy to pay the price for her daughter’s misdeeds, right?” He made a call, his voice cold. “Notify the mental hospital that Isabel’s special medication will be discontinued from today.”

“No!” Linnea trembled, grabbing his hand. “I’ll apologize to Agatha. Please don’t stop my mother’s medication. Don’t—”

“Kneel down,” he cut her off, lips curling in cruelty. “You have one chance. If you don’t kneel now…”

She no longer dared to hesitate. She knelt before Agatha, bowing repeatedly. “Miss Agatha, I was wrong. Miss Agatha, I was wrong!” Her voice grew louder with each repetition until it tore at her throat, blood seeping from her scalp where it met the floor.

Only then did Agatha feign magnanimity, helping her up. “Soren, I want to go shopping. Let’s go.”

Soren bent down, picked her up, and said gently, “As you wish, little ancestor.”

Those three words pierced Linnea’s heart like a blade; once, they had belonged only to her.

When they were gone, she numbly helped her mother up, but Isabel shoved her away, squatting and sobbing. “You’re not Linnea, you’re not my daughter! Where is my Linnea? I want to find her.”

She was having a seizure, refusing Linnea’s touch. Soon, a foul-smelling stain spread beneath her — she had lost control of her bladder.

Linnea stood frozen, blood running cold. Her once-elegant mother, who would spend hours picking the perfect perfume, had just humiliated herself in public.

With everyone staring, Linnea fought back tears and dragged her mother step by step back to the mental hospital. After changing her clothes and coaxing her to sleep, she collapsed on the floor, biting her hand to stifle her sobs. “I’m sorry, Mom… I’m sorry.”