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.”

The wealthy heir laughed along with the rest. “Dayana really is stunning, isn’t she? She’s got the looks and the charm to be a perfect trophy wife.”

He tossed a card onto the table and needled Carter. “Still not engaged? You’re really fine with her marrying someone else? You can fool us, but don’t fool yourself, Carter.”

Carter’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “She’s damaged goods. You still like her?”

The group leaned in, curious. A flash of irritation crossed Carter’s face before he went on. “If you’re that into her, she’s all yours.”

The rich heir hesitated. “Everybody knows Dayana only has eyes for you. She’s been by your side for years. I doubt I’d get that lucky.”

Outside the room, Dayana froze, tears welling up before she could stop them.

Her feelings for Carter were an open secret in their circle.

Did he really think so little of her feelings—treating her like something he could toss aside?

A dizzying wave of betrayal hit her, stealing her breath.

Her mind dragged her back to when she was fourteen.

Her father had brought her from a tiny village to the bustling city and enrolled her in the best private school, with strict instructions to look after her sister and be sensible.

Nora Porter never acted like a sister. If anything, she led the rich kids in freezing her out.

At the age when she needed family and friends most, she was locked in a bathroom and drenched with ice-cold water.

Wind and snow raged outside while she shivered, her voice scraped raw from screaming.

It was Carter Munoz who kicked the bathroom door open.

Dayana had never forgotten that scene.

Carter stood with one foot on the steps, snowflakes swirling around him. His coat hung open and flapped in the wind, wet hair falling across his forehead, everything about him crackling with youthful energy.

“Here,” he said, and tossed her his scarf.

From that moment on, seventeen-year-old Carter Munoz became the first ray of hope in her life.

For seven long years, she followed Carter like a shadow.

But now that light had moved on to someone else. Completely. Unreachably. No longer hers.

Dayana swallowed the bitterness and made up her mind to leave…

She moved to the window, fished out a number she hadn’t dialed in years, and called it.

The phone rang twice before a voice came from behind her.

“Dayana? Three years went by that fast? You’re already out?”

Her throat tightened. She hung up and turned to see who it was.

Sheila Stone stepped closer, surprise written all over her face. “When did you get out?”

Dayana’s hard-won smile faded.

Unbelievable.

Sheila remembered Nora’s birthday but forgot the day her own daughter got out.

“You’ve gotten so thin. What happened?” Sheila frowned and looked her up and down. “A little hardship can be good for you. You need to learn not to compete with your sister or stir up family trouble. Let’s not dwell on the past. Today is your birthday and your sister’s, so behave. Change into something nice and come downstairs to celebrate your sister.”

Then, as if she’d just remembered something, she added, “Oh, while you were away these three years, your room was turned into a game room. Use your sister’s room to change. I’ll have the dress sent over.”

Dayana was led to Nora’s room and was immediately hit by the heavy perfume. Her body reacted before she could stop it.

She bolted to the bathroom and started retching.

Just then, there was a sound at the door. A maid arrived with the dress.

She gripped the sink, eyes stinging, and waited for the nausea to pass. Then she splashed water on her face and stepped out.

The maid lingered in the room, watching her.

“I’m not pregnant,” Dayana said before the maid could ask. The hard retching had left her eyes red and made her look even more fragile. “Tell Nora not to make a big deal out of this.”

The maid gave an awkward little laugh. “Oh, Miss, why would you say that? Come now, put on the dress. Madam is waiting.”

Dayana said nothing. The birthday party was for Nora. She was just an accessory.

She had no interest in pretending to be close to Nora, so she headed to the kitchen to grab something to eat.

She’d barely taken a bite when someone knocked.

It was the same maid. “Madam wishes to see you, Miss. Please come downstairs!”

Dayana took her time finishing her bite before looking up. “I’m not feeling well. I’d rather not go downstairs.”

The maid paused, clearly caught off guard. Her expression darkened. “Madam said today is your birthday, and the family expects you downstairs. Your absence would look bad. She also hinted that if you can’t behave, a few more years in confinement might do you good.”