Dayana Stone walked out of the prison gates into a light rain and a gray, heavy sky. Her fragile frame swam in an oversized sweater, and she shivered as the cold wind cut through her. Three years. She’d never thought she’d see the outside of those walls again.

She limped along the shoulder of the road, an old injury slowing her down. Every step felt like walking on broken glass—a painful echo of her past as a ballet dancer. Then a Porsche Cayenne pulled up in front of her, cutting her off.

The second she recognized the plate, Dayana went pale, her eyes a storm of conflicting emotions. The window slid down, revealing Carter Munoz’s cold, aristocratic face.

“Having trouble walking?” Carter’s gaze flicked to her leg, his voice as flat as ever.

Dayana felt tears prick her eyes. This was the man she’d loved for seven years—the same man who’d put her in prison. Was this supposed to be his version of concern? Then she remembered what the inmates had told her from day one: Carter had paid them off to give her “special treatment.”

“Get in,” Carter ordered, one arm draped over the window frame like he owned the place, all cold superiority and indifference. If someone else hadn’t ordered him to, he wouldn’t have bothered picking her up.

Dayana could feel Carter’s patience thinning, just like her parents’ had. When she’d been brought back into the family at fourteen, her parents had wanted to make up for lost time—until they were completely won over by the child they’d raised in her absence. By the time she was twenty-one, Nora Porter’s false accusations had turned their lingering doubts into certainty.

“Sure, Nora isn’t our biological child, but she’s done nothing wrong. She’s been part of our lives for years. We brought you back—isn’t that enough?”

“How could you do this to your sister, Dayana? You’re nothing like her. She’s so much more sensible.”

What had she done to deserve any of this? Why couldn’t they trust her—just once?

“Get in the car!” Carter’s eyes dropped to Dayana’s leg, where a scar twisted around her ankle—a brutal reminder of what she’d been through. He looked away. “Zaiden.”

Zaiden Daniels, the driver, stepped out. “Miss Dayana, Mr. Munoz is asking you to get in.”

Dayana didn’t move. Zaiden reached out to help her, and she flinched, instinctively ducking with a whimper, “Please, don’t hit me...”

Zaiden froze, caught off guard by the fear in her eyes. She was nothing like the Dayana he used to know—the vibrant, beloved girl with the whole world ahead of her. Now she was a shadow of herself, all fear and insecurity.

Carter showed no reaction. His face stayed as unreadable as ever.

“Dayana, how long do you plan on keeping me waiting? Haven’t three years taught you anything?” Carter’s voice cut through the stillness.

Dayana slowly got up and climbed into the car, instinctively keeping her distance from Carter. The warmth inside clashed sharply with her rain-soaked skin, leaving her head foggy. She tried to hold it back but sneezed before she could stop herself.

The car hit a speed bump, jolting Dayana forward awkwardly. Carter, who’d been resting with his eyes closed, opened them at the sound.

He glanced at her, disdain dripping from his voice. “Dayana, you really are pathetic.”

Pathetic. The word stung, making the car floor feel unbearably hot under her feet. She shrank back, trying to disappear into the seat, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean the car mat later...”

Her apology was cut short by Carter’s icy response. “No need. It’s all going to be thrown out.”

Thrown out? Because she had touched it? Dayana’s lips trembled, bitterness flooding her face. She turned to look out the window, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

In Carter’s eyes, she was tainted. Even the things she touched were contaminated—needed to be disposed of.

“In your eyes, only Nora is spotless, right?”

Carter’s expression darkened, anger sparking in his eyes for the first time. “You’re not worthy to talk about her. This is your last warning. If you lay a finger on Nora again... if prison didn’t teach you, I’ll find another way.”

Dayana's face went pale, the light in her eyes dying as if the life had been drained out of them.

Understandably so.

Three years of living through a nightmare would leave anyone scarred.

She dragged in a deep breath, forcing back the storm building inside her. Her fingers curled into fists. The car slipped under a bridge, sending fleeting shadows across Carter's expressionless face. He was the same as ever—cold and remote.

Swallowing the bitterness, Dayana dared to ask, "Carter... was it really you who paid those people off in prison?"

She had been pushed to her limit, still clinging to the hope that he might care for her—even as despair threatened to swallow her whole. She had once feared that without her, his life would become unbearable. Now she couldn't understand how the man she loved could be so cruel.

When their eyes met, Carter answered with chilling indifference. "What answer are you hoping to hear?"

Dayana faltered. A bitter smile tugged at her lips. So was this his confession?

In Carter's eyes, she had been jealous of Nora—jealous enough to orchestrate a kidnapping that nearly ruined Nora's life. The evidence had been overwhelming, leaving Dayana powerless against the accusations.

Nora had been the only one willing to risk everything—and she had won.

A harsh laugh tore from Dayana's throat as the realization hit her: seven years of love, and she had been so naive. Her eyes stayed fixed on the window, vacant and unfocused, until the car stopped in front of the home she and Carter had once shared as husband and wife.

She had been meticulous about every detail of their home—choosing the flooring, placing the flower pots, even painting the walls herself. She had dreamed of spending her life here with Carter. Now Nora's belongings were scattered through every room.

Everywhere she looked, it felt like a thousand needles were piercing her heart. The pain was so sharp it almost didn't feel real.

Carter, oblivious to the storm inside her, turned to the waiting housekeeper. "She's a mess. Make sure she gets cleaned up."

The housekeeper nodded and led Dayana to the bathroom. Once inside, she paused, then said with barely concealed disdain, "Miss, when was the last time you showered? You're still young. How can you let yourself go like this?"

She was only twenty-four. Didn't she want to be clean?

Dayana said nothing. She dismissed the housekeeper with silence and locked herself in the bathroom, scrubbing herself almost raw for nearly an hour.

Her body carried the marks of the "special treatment" she'd endured for three years. The past month had offered some relief, but many wounds had barely begun to heal.

Some scars were hidden from casual view—bruises and cuts layered over one another. Pinches, scratches, kicks, knife wounds—each told its own story.

With no medical treatment in prison, some injuries had gotten infected. The worst was a long scar across her left foot. It had been there for over a year, throbbing whenever it rained—a constant reminder of what they had done to her. But she told herself it would heal. Somehow.

Whenever the pain became too much, Dayana clung to that fragile hope.

The clothes the housekeeper had laid out fit her surprisingly well. When she opened the bathroom door, she nearly collided with Carter.

Caught off guard, she lost her balance and nearly fell—until Carter instinctively caught her by the waist.

The movement was automatic. Pure reflex.

For one fleeting moment, Dayana was pressed against Carter's chest, both of them startled by the unexpected embrace. His cologne clung heavily to his clothes, and she felt the fabric crumple beneath her grip.

The instant she realized what was happening, she pulled back and stepped away, her expression carefully blank. "I'm sorry, Mr. Munoz. It was unintentional."

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the cigarette in his hand. He must have been about to head outside to smoke.

"What did you call me?"

Carter's eyes narrowed. His voice went sharp, his gaze fixed on her like an accusation. "Mr. Munoz? Dayana, what are you trying to pull now?"

Dayana bit her lip and looked down, her eyes filling with tears she refused to shed. No matter what she did, she was always wrong in the eyes of the man who had once loved her.

Even as she withdrew, Carter felt an unexpected emptiness—a hollow ache in the wake of her retreat. There she stood, eyes reddened by tears she wouldn't let fall... Something darker stirred in him, an inexplicable urge to reach out to her.

Carter lit his cigarette, his throat tight as he wrestled with his rising frustration. "Looks like those three years taught you how to play men even better." His words dripped with sarcasm. "What's the matter? Eager to put those skills to the test?"

Dayana Stone fought to catch her breath, her fingers gripping the fabric of her coat so hard they left marks on her palms. It was one thing to be unloved—but why did he have to make her suffer like this?

When she’d pulled herself together, Dayana lifted her gaze to Carter Munoz and gave him a sardonic smile. “Carter, just because I have feelings for you doesn’t give you the right to walk all over me.”

Carter looked momentarily surprised, caught off guard by a smile he hadn’t expected. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and she dropped her gaze again.

Loosening his tie, Carter stubbed out his cigarette. Dayana had changed—whether he wanted to admit it or not. The vibrant smile he remembered was gone.

Like a vase knocked from its stand, her bloom had wilted. It shouldn’t have mattered to him. And yet it did. Why was it getting under his skin like this?

Pushing aside the thoughts churning in his head, he reminded her, “It’s Nora’s birthday soon. I’ll take you back to the family, but remember—behave yourself. Nora is different from you.”

The words stung. To him, Nora was a precious rose; Dayana wasn’t even worthy of being the leaves around it.

An hour later, Zaiden Daniels drove Dayana to the family mansion.

Inside, the grand hall was buzzing. Nora wasn’t their biological daughter, yet the family threw her a lavish birthday every year—a display of their standing in high society and their unwavering support for her.

The social elite had all received invitations and turned out in full force. In the hall, a group of society women gathered, trading gossip about the upper crust.

“I thought Nora wasn’t their biological daughter. So why is she the favorite? There’s got to be more to it, right?” one asked curiously.

“She’s talented,” another added. “That’s what counts in our circle. Blood isn’t the be-all and end-all—it’s about what you bring to the family.”

A young woman nodded. “I heard Nora landed several major contracts in six months at the company. The family was thrilled—promoted her to assistant director and started grooming her as an heir.”

“True, but she’s still an outsider. The family is practically handing her the company. What about her real parents? Why hasn’t she gone back to them?” another wondered.

“They haven’t been found,” said one of the better-informed women. “Which is strange. Technically, the woman who raised Dayana should be Nora’s mother, but the DNA test proved she isn’t.”

Dayana overheard and clenched her fists. She still couldn’t understand why Nora and her foster mother had no blood relation. She’d suspected her foster mother had switched them to give her real child a better life. But Nora wasn’t even her daughter. What had gone wrong in this tangled story was still a mystery.

In the end, her foster mother had lost a daughter, Dayana had returned to the family, and Nora’s origins were still uncertain. But the couple had raised Nora for over twenty years and treated her like their own—if not better.

As the society women talked, their eyes drifted to Dayana. Feeling their stares, she lowered her head and hurried out of the hall.

Once she was gone, the woman who’d started the conversation said, “Did you see the one who just left? She kind of looked like Dayana, didn’t she?”

The others followed her gaze. “Dayana? No way. Remember how stunning Dayana was—slim and elegant? The woman we just saw was all skin and bones. Definitely not her. You’ve got to be joking.”

It was true: Dayana had a presence that made her stand out effortlessly, even in a crowd of beauties. But the woman they’d just glimpsed had been utterly unremarkable.

Unaware that she was the topic of conversation, Dayana reached a second-floor room and was about to step inside. But the voices inside stopped her cold, sending a chill through her.

“So it’s true? Dayana’s out of prison?” someone inside asked in disbelief.

“Dayana? The one who always hung around Carter? When did she go to prison? What happened?” another voice asked, curious.

To protect the family’s image, Dayana’s prison time had been kept secret; the official story was that she’d gone abroad to study.

Carter shot the speaker a cold look, and the man awkwardly corrected himself. “Oh, right. She just got back from studying abroad.”

The first speaker laughed. “Back from abroad, huh? And here I thought she was in prison. You’ve got quite a way with words.”

The man chuckled. “I’m quick-witted.”

The conversation circled back. “So Dayana’s back. Things must be interesting for you, Carter. Didn’t you get engaged three years ago? When’s the wedding?”

Dayana froze at the door as realization sank in. Her room was now a card room?

The man named Lee smirked. “Engaged? You’re kidding. Marriage is just a ball and chain. Carter’s not the type to be tied down easily.”