When Tracy struggled awake again from endless darkness and unbearable pain, she found herself lying in a hospital ward.

The door opened softly, and footsteps approached.

Even without opening her eyes, she could sense that familiar presence—Alston.

He stopped beside her bed, standing there in silence for a long moment. His gaze lingered on her face—so pale it was almost translucent, streaked with traces of tears that hadn’t yet dried.

“How do you feel?” he asked quietly.

Her eyes stayed shut. Her long lashes trembled violently, but she refused to open them.

With all the strength she could muster, she turned her body to the side, presenting her back and the back of her head to him.

The motion pulled at the wound on her back, sharp pain radiating through her spine until her body curled up involuntarily. But she would rather endure that physical agony than look at him again—or grant him a single word.

Watching her slender shoulders tremble faintly from the pain, seeing the clear tracks of tears still glistening on her face, Alston felt that strange, uncontrollable ache twist inside his chest once more.

His gaze drifted, almost unconsciously, until it fell upon her hair spread across the pillow. Among the blonde strands, he caught sight of her small, faintly visible fair ear—and on it, a tiny black mole.

That mole…

His pupils contracted sharply. A blurred but vivid image flashed through his mind. Many years ago, by that icy lake, a little girl had jumped into the water to save him without any hesitation.

When she was pulled ashore, drenched and shivering, a lock of wet hair had slipped aside, revealing… a tiny mole on her ear. The same position. The same shape.

His breath caught at the memory. Without thinking, he blurted out, “Tracy… when you were a child—at the orphanage in the west of the city—did you… Did you ever save someone?”

The question sounded absurd the moment it left his mouth.

He quickly shook his head, trying to drive the ridiculous thought away.

That incident—no one but him and his rescuer knew the details.

Besides, Avril had admitted it herself. She’d described everything perfectly—the clothes he’d been wearing, the pocket watch that had fallen into the water… How could it possibly have been Tracy?

But at his question, Tracy’s body stiffened ever so slightly.

Her dry, pale lips parted. Fragments of a long-buried memory seemed to stir awake at the edge of her mind, pried open by his words.

She was just about to speak when suddenly, the door burst open with a loud crash.

Avril stumbled in, panic written all over her face.

“Alston! It’s all my fault! I-I made a terrible mistake!” She threw herself into his arms, crying uncontrollably. “I just wanted to draw on her skin with a pen, but it didn’t look real enough, so I thought—what if I tried a tattoo instead? I never meant to hurt her! I didn’t know it would go wrong! I didn’t mean it!”

Alston frowned. His gaze moved from the trembling woman in his arms to the silent figure on the bed, still turned away from them. His voice sank low.

“Avril, this time you went too far. Apologize to Tracy.”

Avril turned immediately toward the bed, her tears streaming down her cheeks. “Tracy, I’m sorry. Please forgive me…”

But Tracy didn’t move or respond. It was as if she hadn’t heard a thing.

Her silence made Avril’s sobs sound all the more awkward and only deepened the restless frustration in Alston’s chest.

In the end, he said nothing more. He put his arm around Avril’s shoulders and led her out of the ward.

After they left, Tracy remained in the hospital for a few more days.

During that time, she scrolled aimlessly through her phone, numb and detached. The screen suddenly lit up with Avril’s latest post on Instagram: a collage of nine photos—intimate shots of her and Alston dining at a high-end restaurant.

And on her ring finger gleamed a dazzling diamond ring.

The caption read: [Thank you for your promise. Please take care of me for the rest of my life!]

Below were rows of comments from their mutual friends offering blessings and envy.

Tracy stared at that blinding diamond ring, but her eyes were empty. There wasn’t even a ripple left in her heart.

Just then, her phone chimed with two text messages.

[Notice: Your identity cancellation request has been processed. All related documents are now invalid.]

Her father called soon after, telling her that all the surveillance footage from that year had been found, and that the plane would depart in two hours.

After hanging up, her hands trembled as she opened the files her father sent—videos proving she was the one who had saved Alston all those years ago.

She copied the footage to a flash drive and sent it to Alston’s address by courier.

Then, she forced her battered body to sign the discharge papers, pack what little she had left—barely enough to fill a single bag—and walked out of the hospital.

She stood by the busy street, the city’s night air brushed across her face, carrying the noise and chill of the traffic.

As she gazed at the skyline, she felt a strange relief in her chest—a freedom she hadn’t felt in years.

Finally, she was leaving this city of lies and deceit for good. She was leaving it all behind to begin her new life.

She raised her hand to hail a cab.

But all of a sudden, a strong arm snaked around her neck from behind!

A rough hand pressed a soaked cloth tightly over her mouth and nose.

The pungent, chemical smell burned her lungs. In an instant, her breath caught, and her vision spun.

She didn’t even have time to scream before everything went black.

When her consciousness returned, the first thing Tracy saw was thick and suffocating darkness.

Then, a violent force yanked her up by the arms. Rope bit into her wrists as she was dragged and bound tightly against the rough bark of a tree, her body immobile.

Someone ripped the sack off her head.

A few filthy, ragged men stood before her, their eyes clouded with malice.

“Well, Ms. Clairborne sure is thoughtful!” one of them sneered, his thin, rat-like face twisted into a grin. He rubbed his hands together, his lecherous gaze raking over Tracy’s disheveled body. “She said you were a rare delicacy, something to help us unwind. And damn, she wasn’t lying!”

‘Ms. Clairborne…’ Her breath hitched. ‘These men… are sent by Avril?!’

Terror clawed up Tracy’s throat, constricting her chest until she could barely breathe.

She instinctively tried to curl up, but the handcuffs anchoring her to the tree dug into her skin, biting hard enough to draw blood.

The leader stepped forward—a burly man with a scar cutting across the corner of his eye, his face thick with muscle and cruelty. In his hand, he toyed lazily with a gleaming dagger.

Their greedy eyes wandered shamelessly across her torn dress and trembling form, hunger and lust burning without restraint.

Tracy forced herself to stay calm, her voice trembling but pleading, “Please… gentlemen, I beg you. Unlock the handcuffs for me. Let me go. I’ll pay you! However much you want, I’ll give it to you…”

The scar-faced man chuckled darkly. “Pay us? Baby, look at us. Do we look like men who care about money?” He leaned closer, his foul breath grazing her cheek. “Ms. Clairborne already gave us our reward, and we’re very satisfied!”

His calloused finger trailed down her face, slow and mocking. “Don’t be scared, baby. We’re good at what we do. We’ll make you feel real good, better than dying alone in this godforsaken place.”

Whatever faint hope she had sank like a stone into an icy abyss.

They didn’t bother talking anymore. With feral grins, they lunged at her like wolves.

Rough, greasy, and filthy hands clamped around her arms and legs, tearing at the thin fabric of her dress until it split with a shriek of cloth.

“Get away from me! Monsters! You filthy bastards! You all deserve to die!”

Tracy screamed with every ounce of strength left in her body, thrashing and twisting desperately. But her resistance only seemed to excite them more. Their laughter grew louder, crueler.

“Feisty one!” one of them laughed crudely. “I like it when they fight back!”

The man’s movements grew even more frenzied.

Then, just as her consciousness was about to be swallowed by darkness, a deafening roar split through the air, rolling across the forest like thunder.

In the next moment, a blinding white light exploded overhead, flooding the dark woods with searing brilliance as if daylight had been dropped from the sky.

Wind howled, whipping up dust and leaves, forcing everyone to shield their eyes.

Above the treetop, a helicopter hovered low, its blades roaring like judgment itself.

The cabin door swung open.

A middle-aged man stood at the entrance, his expression carved from stone. Cold. Commanding. Terrifying in its calm fury.

His sharp gaze swept over the scene—the struggling men, the chaos—before finally landing on the woman bound to the tree, her clothes in tatters, her face as pale as paper.

And in that instant, beneath his composed exterior, his eyes blazed with unbearable pain and rage.

“Tracy,” his deep voice trembled with emotion, “Daddy’s here to take you home.”

Almost at the same time, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

The screen lit up. It was a message from Alston.

[Someone saw you being taken! Where are you? Tell me your location. I’m coming right now! Reply quickly!]

Tracy’s lips curved into a cold, lifeless smile.

Several men in tactical black gear rappelled down from the helicopter. Within minutes, the thugs who had been laughing moments ago were sprawled across the dirt, groaning in agony, completely subdued.

One of the guards rushed forward, using a specialized tool to unlock her handcuffs.

Her legs gave out the moment she was freed. A guard caught her just in time, wrapping a thick and warm coat around her trembling and bruised body.

Supported by steady hands, she took slow and unsteady steps toward the dangling rope ladder.

Soon, the helicopter lifted off, rising higher and higher, leaving behind that sickening part of the earth.

Through the cabin window, Tracy gazed down coldly.

In the distance, a line of headlights cut through the dark, speeding toward the forest—led by a familiar black Rolls-Royce.

It was Alston’s car.

He was coming.

But it was too late.

‘Alston,’ Tracy thought bitterly, ‘only when I say goodbye to the wrong you can I finally meet the right version of myself—and my new life.’

Without hesitation, she snapped her SIM card in half, dropped both the phone and the broken card out the open door, and watched as they disappeared into the night.