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.”

She didn’t know how long she had cried, but when she finally stood, her head was spinning. A warm, sticky liquid oozed from her nose.

“Ah, Miss Carrington, you’re bleeding!” a passing staff member exclaimed, grabbing her arm. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

She wiped away the bright red blood and forced a faint smile. “It’s nothing—just a nosebleed.”

Lately, her hair had been falling out in clumps, and nosebleeds had returned for reasons she couldn’t explain. She assumed this one, like the others, would stop in a few minutes. But the dizziness worsened, her vision dimmed, and her face drained to an almost ghostly pallor.

Just then, her phone buzzed. A message from Soren: Linnea, you haven’t forgotten what day it is today, have you? Get over here!

Her hands trembled as she clicked the location—Greymount Cemetery. Today was the anniversary of Ellie’s death.

She hesitated, clutching her chest as a suffocating pain spread through it. “Soren, I’m not feeling well today. Can you—”

“What did you say?” His voice over the phone was like ice. “Unless you’re dead, crawl over here and apologize to my sister!”

Not daring to delay, she rushed out into the pouring rain.

By the time she arrived at the cemetery, drenched and gasping, she saw two figures not far away. Soren was kneeling on one knee, tying an immortal knot bracelet on Agatha’s wrist. His voice was gentle. “Sister, I’ve brought the person I love to see you. Her name is Agatha—she’s the most beautiful and kind girl in the world. Six years ago, in that car accident, she risked her life to donate 1,000cc of blood for me… if it weren’t for her, I’d be dead. Sister, I’ll treat Agatha well forever. Please bless us from heaven.”

Linnea froze, the pain she had been forcing down now roaring back—her chest felt like it was burning to ash.

Six years ago, when they were most in love, Soren had been in that accident while buying her a red velvet cake. Critically injured, he needed blood—his rare type. It had been the pregnant Linnea who rushed to the hospital and donated all 1,000cc. She went into shock and lost the baby. She’d even told the doctor not to tell him, afraid he’d blame himself. And yet, somehow, Agatha became the “savior” in his memory.

Even if she told him the truth now, he would only mock her.

Soren strode over, cold fingers clamping her arm. “Kneel.”

She said nothing, obediently sinking to her knees before Ellie’s grave, banging her forehead against the stone.

Every year on this day, he found a new way to torment her. The first year, he made her scatter her father’s ashes at the grave and gather them again, bone by bone, until not a gram was missing—her fingers shattered and bleeding. The second year, she carried a hundred-pound slab up the mountain to carve Yinyin’s tombstone herself. The third year, she copied the Sutra of Rebirth a thousand times, her hands raw and bloody. The fourth year, she spent the night locked in the cemetery with five half-starved dogs.

This year, bodyguards arrived carrying a large box. Inside were all her memories with Soren.

He picked up their wedding photo, his wrist trembling.

“Soren, don’t…” she choked, dragging herself forward to clutch his leg.

But he smashed the frame to the ground, glass shattering across the wet grass. One by one, he destroyed everything: the scarf he’d knitted for her, the couple’s mugs, the blood-stained wedding dress—until only their marriage certificate remained.

“Linnea, let’s get a divorce.” His eyes glistened, but his voice was steady. “In three days, I’ll marry Agatha. You’ll be our bridesmaid. After the wedding, I’ll let you go.”

She stared, stunned. For five years she had begged for divorce, and each time he refused. Now he was willing to throw away even his hatred for Agatha’s sake.

She smiled faintly. “Okay. Mr. Duvall, can I leave now?”

But Agatha caught her wrist. “Miss Carrington, you haven’t apologized to Ellie yet. As her murderer, don’t you feel even a shred of guilt after all these years?”

Linnea’s nostrils filled with the metallic tang of blood again. No—she couldn’t let them see her like this. She shook off Agatha’s hand, but the woman screamed, collapsing from her wheelchair.

“Agatha!”

She lay on the ground, wrists scraped bloody, the immortal knot broken. Soren rushed to scoop her up.

Between sobs, she gasped, “Linnea… you killed Ellie, and now you humiliate me because I can’t walk? Was I wrong to speak to you?”

Soren’s voice was a blade. “Linnea, are you looking for death? How many people around me do you have to kill before you stop?”

He seized her wrist—and froze. It was so thin, it felt like it would snap.

She lifted her head, trying to speak, but a surge of crimson poured from her nose. “I…”