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.”

Dayana Stone felt a flicker of annoyance at the maid's words, but she rose and headed for the dining room.

There, Nora Porter—elegant in a vintage-style gown—stood surrounded by a cluster of wealthy heiresses. A cup of coffee balanced between her poised fingers. She was just about to take a sip when an urgent voice cut through the chatter. "Miss Nora, don't drink that! Someone tampered with it!"

Nora startled. "What do you mean?"

The maid's gaze slid to Dayana, knowing and sharp. "I saw it with my own eyes. Miss Dayana went into the kitchen and put something in your coffee—some kind of drug, most likely."

Faces went taut.

The Porter family was all too familiar with the kidnapping three years ago. Nora had vanished after drinking drugged coffee—that was how her abductors had taken her without a sound. Hearing that her drink might have been compromised again drained the color from Nora's face. The cup slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.

The crash of ceramic drew curious glances from nearby guests.

Nora's eyes welled with tears. She buried her face in her mother's arms. "Mom... I'm scared..."

Her mother, Sheila Stone, knew exactly what Nora was remembering. Gently, she soothed her. "That's in the past now. Don't worry."

Then she turned to Dayana. "Haven't you learned your lesson?"

With so many guests watching, Sheila didn't dare accuse her outright—not with the family's reputation on the line. But Dayana understood the warning.

The old accusation resurfacing made Dayana want to laugh. She never thought Nora would use this again—twisting the knife in the same old wound.

"It wasn't me." Dayana's gaze flicked to the coffee pot. Nora loved coffee; the setup seemed tailor-made for her. "I did go to the kitchen, but only to grab a bite. I didn't drug her."

The maid pressed on. "But I swear I saw Miss Dayana add something. I'd stake my life on it."

With that impassioned claim, the maid looked like a defender standing up to power, and the crowd answered with murmurs and judgmental stares.

Sheila was worried about the fallout—especially since it was family business—and would have preferred to handle it privately. Yet Nora spoke up, calm as ever. "Mom, it's probably just a misunderstanding."

"Dayana spent three years reflecting and working on herself. She wouldn't make the same mistake twice—I believe she's innocent."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

The revelation that the second Munoz daughter had spent time in prison—rather than studying abroad, as everyone believed—stunned the elite circle.

To these wealthy ladies, the word prison was worlds away from their lives. They understood that a mark like that could taint a reputation forever, bar her from any political ambitions, and even affect future generations.

The room buzzed with fresh gossip.

Nora suddenly covered her mouth, feigning surprise at her supposed slip. Her face filled with remorse. "Oh, I've had too much to drink. I'm babbling nonsense. Please, everyone, don't mind me. How could my sister have been in prison?"

But it was too late. Her words had landed, and the more she tried to take them back, the more the crowd believed what she'd said the first time.

"Dayana, you just got back from abroad—have you settled in with the time difference?" Nora asked, her sweet tone doing nothing to hide the tension underneath. "It's our birthday today. I've prepared a special gift for you. Shall we go see it?"

Perhaps drawn by the commotion, Carter Munoz and his friends came downstairs. They caught Nora's vulnerable act as she apologized to Dayana—eyes moist, hands fidgeting.

Dayana met Nora's eyes.

This wasn't the first time Nora had played the blameless victim—and it surely wouldn't be the last.

Dayana pressed her lips together, feeling the weight of suspicion settle around her.

Had she really done anything wrong?

Why should she be falsely accused and dragged through Nora's schemes again?

Was three years behind bars not punishment enough?

By exposing her imprisonment, wasn't Nora making it clear she meant to ruin whatever was left of Dayana's life?

Fine. Then let it all collapse.

"Yes, I did serve time," Dayana Stone admitted. Her gaze swept over the gathered crowd before finally settling on Nora Porter.

Nora reached for Dayana's hand. "Dayana, don't say things like that. I just misspoke earlier, that's all," she pleaded.

Dayana recoiled, yanking her hand back before Nora could touch her. In the process, Nora's heel somehow caught on the hem of her vintage-inspired dress, and she went down hard.

The floor was still littered with shards from the glass that had broken earlier. Carter Munoz instantly broke away from the crowd, rushed to Nora's side, and lifted her up.

Her hand was a mess—cut open, shards embedded in her skin. Fury blazed in Carter's eyes as he glared at Dayana, his expression icy and fierce. "Dayana, haven't you learned your lesson? I warned you..."

Dayana's heart gave a painful jolt. She knew Carter's affection was long gone, but seeing him so protective of another woman felt like a knife twisting in her heart.

"What did I do? All I did was pull my hand back. She's the one who fell," Dayana defended herself. She couldn't help but notice the irony in the way their fingers intertwined. She averted her gaze, her hand brushing against a spot on her chest.

There, hidden beneath her clothes, was a pendant someone had once given her. During her darkest moments in prison, when she was on the verge of breaking, holding on to it had been her lifeline.

Lifting her head again, Dayana's eyes took on a steely resolve. She smiled wryly and picked up where she'd left off. "Yes, I went to prison—but I was wrongfully accused."

Sheila Stone, witnessing Dayana openly admit to being in a place so reviled, felt her face go pale. At first, she suspected that Nora's revelation about Dayana's imprisonment had been intentional. But seeing Nora apologize in front of everyone, trying to smooth things over, she reconsidered. Could Nora—whom she had watched grow up—really harbor such malice?

Hoping to defuse the situation, Sheila cut in. "Dayana, perhaps you've had too much coffee. I'll have someone walk you upstairs to rest."

Dayana appeared not to hear. She kept going, following her own path. "Three years ago, if I had really orchestrated a kidnapping, I would have made sure Nora disappeared for good. Why would I leave clues pointing back to me?"

A sharp slap landed across Dayana's face. As she turned, she saw her father, Victor Stone, who had emerged from the study.

His voice was stern. "Dayana, stop this nonsense. Be quiet!"

The sting on her cheek was sharp, yet Dayana barely felt it. "At the time, Nora only suffered minor injuries. If those thugs truly intended to harm her, they would have assaulted her the moment she was dragged into the car. Why go through the trouble of taking her to an abandoned warehouse? Doesn't that seem unnecessary?"

The onlookers were shocked by Dayana's perspective, their eyes widening in surprise. Had Nora really come that close to being assaulted by thugs?

The pointing and whispering spread, casting a shadow over Nora. She bit her lip, her complexion growing pale.

Victor, infuriated by Dayana's outburst, was visibly shaking. The subject had been taboo in the family for three years—no one dared mention it. Yet Dayana had brought it up, airing their dirty laundry in front of guests. It was humiliating—a daughter in prison, another nearly harmed, all because of sibling rivalry. A disgrace.

Nora, meanwhile, was already in tears. Her head was bowed, her shoulders trembling as large teardrops splashed onto the floor.

Dayana chuckled sardonically. Is this too much for her? Compared to what she'd endured, what was this?

Sheila shot Dayana a warning look, urging her to be quiet. The matter had been settled three years ago. She and Victor had consented to Dayana's incarceration because Dayana had refused to admit wrongdoing back then; they'd thought it was the only solution. There were moments when Sheila wondered if the punishment had been too harsh—after all, Dayana was still a Munoz.

But Nora insisted that because Dayana was part of the family, the prison staff would hesitate to mistreat her. If this situation didn't teach Dayana a lesson, Nora feared she'd stray further off course. Sheila had to admit it made sense, considering Dayana's upbringing under Lila Janz.

And what of Lila Janz? Raising a son who gambled endlessly and lazed around all day. Dayana had grown up in that environment—maybe a little tempering was in order.

"Why bring this up, Dayana?" Sheila asked, her expression one of irritation and discontent. "Can't you see your sister is crying?"

A hint of scorn crossed Dayana's cool features. "Yes—I only went to prison for her, yet she's the one shedding tears."