Austin’s voice cracked like a whip, cold and sharp. He rushed to steady Yvette, shielding her behind him. “What the hell are you doing?!”

My vision blurred with tears. “What am I doing? This was my grandmother’s! You promised me… You promised that if you ever saw it again, you would buy it back for me. You don’t even remember, do you?”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Recognition. Guilt.

Then it was gone, buried under ice.

“That was years ago,” he said flatly. “How could you expect me to remember something like that? And Yvette didn’t drop it on purpose. How could you just shove her like that?”

Yvette clung to his sleeve, her eyes shimmering with tears that seemed rehearsed. “It’s my fault… I was careless.”

He turned to her, “It’s not your fault. Don’t cry.” He reached up, brushing her tears away with the gentleness he once reserved for me.

Then his gaze cut back to me, cold and unforgiving. “I’ll have it repaired. Stop embarrassing yourself.”

With that, he led her away, her hand in his, the broken comb still clutched in his other palm. He didn’t spare me a single glance.

---

Outside, rain began to fall. The sound bled through the walls, steady and merciless, washing over me like a reminder.

In my past life, this moment destroyed me.

But now, nothing.

I stood at the entrance, watching as Austin’s black Maybach pulled away with Yvette in the front seat.

The venue was far from the city. No taxis came. I waited half an hour before giving up and walking through the rain.

By the time I got home, my feet were screaming. When I peeled off my heels, the blisters had already burst, sticking to my stockings. Pain shot up my legs and dragged a hiss from my lips.

I collapsed onto the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, empty and numb.

And then I remembered.

That winter years ago, he carried me three kilometers through the rain to get me to the hospital. He had no money for a taxi, but he would not let me take a single step.

“Dahlia, hold on a little longer, we’re almost there,” he had said.

His back had been so warm that the rain felt sweet against my skin.

Now? He had a car worth hundreds of millions, yet couldn’t wait five minutes for me.

After cleaning my wounds, I buried myself in bed. Sleep was safer than thinking, because if I thought for even a second, grief would crush me.

No one knew the truth. I never wanted the heir of the Livingston family. I only wanted the man who once whispered my name in a tiny apartment, holding me close with nothing but love.

But that man disappeared the day Austin regained his memory.

Tears slipped free as I closed my eyes.

---

The next day, the sound of the bedroom door opening jolted me awake.

Austin stood there, perfect as ever in his suit. “There’s a family banquet tonight. You’re coming with me.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want him to notice I was preparing to leave. After a pause, I nodded.

Pain flared in my ankle with every step as I dressed.

Half an hour later, we arrived at the Livingston villa, its windows glowing with light.

The moment we stepped in, I saw Yvette on the sofa. She was dressed in Chanel, chatting warmly with Austin's Grandma, Mrs. Livingston. Mr. Livingston sat nearby, smiling proudly, as though looking at the family he wished he had.

“Austin is here!” Mrs. Livingston rose quickly, her face lighting up. She went straight to her grandson and took his arm. She didn’t even glance my way. “Yvette has been waiting for you.”

Austin’s eyes flicked toward me, as if expecting to catch pain on my face, or at least a crack in my mask. But I had nothing left to show him. My face stayed calm, as though none of it mattered.

Yvette turned her head with a look of surprise that I knew was fake. “Miss Calloway is here too? Please, sit. Don’t be shy.”

Only then did Mrs. Livingston spared me a glance. “Since you’re here, behave yourself! Do not embarrass my family.”

I said nothing.

At dinner, Mrs. Livingston and Yvette laughed together, trading stories about the social circle. Mr. Livingston and Austin discussed business.

Not a single word was spoken to me.

I sat quietly, eating my food, pretending to be invisible. Still, I couldn’t block out Mrs. Livingston’s barbs drifting across the table.

“Family background really matters.”

“Some girls just don’t know their place.”

“Yvette and Austin grew up together. They suit each other perfectly.”

I had heard it all before.

At the beginning, Austin would snap at her, telling her to stop. Later, he only frowned and said, “Enough, Grandma.”

Now? He didn’t even frown.

I sipped my soup, letting the warmth slide down my throat, though my chest stayed cold.

After dinner, Austin drove us back. Naturally, Yvette claimed the passenger seat, leaving me in the back like extra baggage.

The music playing was Yvette’s favorite. She and Austin chatted casually, laughing sometimes, their voices blending with the melody.

I leaned against the window, staring at the neon lights blurred by rain. Another winter came back to me. Austin, on a second-hand bicycle, pedaling through the freezing night. My arms around his waist, my frozen hands stuffed inside his coat pocket.

“Dahlia, when I have money, I’ll buy a good car. You’ll never be cold again,” he had promised.

Now he had money. But the passenger seat wasn’t mine.

The blare of a horn snapped me out of my thoughts. Headlights cut across the road. A truck swerved toward us.

CRASH!

In that split second, I saw Austin move. Not toward me. Toward Yvette. He threw his body across hers, shielding her from the impact.

I was flung forward, my forehead slamming into the windshield. Warm blood trickled down, blurring my vision.

In my past life, I had survived this.

But survival was the cruelest part, because even on the edge of life and death, Austin’s choice was clear.

He didn’t choose me.

And I heard it then. The sound of my heart breaking for the last time.

When I woke up again, I was lying in a hospital bed.

My forehead throbbed under a bandage, and my ankle wasn’t the only thing hurting anymore. New cuts, bruises, aches that flared with the slightest movement—I felt like my body had been chewed up and spit back out.

I tried to push myself up, but the door opened before I could manage.

The sharp sound of heels filled the room.

Mrs. Livingston walked in, towering in her silence.

“I told you to leave this country! Why are you still here? Still clinging to this ridiculous dream of marrying into the Livingston family?! Is a hundred million not enough?”

Her words sliced straight through me, but I kept my voice even. “It’s not that. The papers aren’t finished yet, Mrs. Livingston. Once my visa comes through, I’ll go. Somewhere far. Somewhere he’ll never find me.”

Her lips curved, amused, like she was already watching me disappear. “See that you do, or else I'll hire someone to shut you off… this is a warning. Leave while you still can.”

The door swung open again, and Austin stepped inside. He was limping but he looked okay.

His presence filled the room in an instant, dark, commanding, the kind of weight that made the air feel smaller.

“Leave? Who’s leaving?” His eyes cut between us, suspicious.

I lowered my gaze, forcing my voice into something steady. “Your grandmother came to check on me. I told her I’m fine. She can go.”

Mrs. Livingston, quick to change her mask, murmured a few empty words about hoping I’d recover, then left with her heels clicking like gunshots.

Now it was just the two of us.

Austin stood there, tense, like he didn’t know where to put his hands. “The accident earlier… It happened so fast. I couldn’t react in time.”

I gave a small nod. “I know. It’s alright.”

“You’re not angry?”

“No.”

His eyes searched mine, restless, almost desperate to find anger that wasn’t there. But I had nothing left to give him. My gaze stayed flat, hollow, like water that had already drowned.

He stepped closer, fingers lifting toward my cheek. “Don’t look at me like that, I—”

“I’m not angry,” I said softly, turning my face away. My voice was calm but final. “I just want to rest. Miss McKinsey is injured too. You should stay with her.”

The silence stretched. Finally, he left.

---

Days blurred after that. He came every morning, every evening, carrying his work into my ward. He’d ask if I was in pain, and I’d always shake my head.

But at night, when the halls were quiet and my eyes opened to the dark, his side of the room was always empty. And from the nurses’ whispers outside, I heard what I was never supposed to hear.

“The girl in the VIP room… her fiancee stayed all night.”

“They say he’s the Livingston heir. Handsome. Devoted.”

I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. Pretended I couldn’t hear. Pretended I didn’t care.

When the day came for me to leave the hospital, Austin came to take me home.

I limped toward the car, only to stop short at the open door.

Yvette was already there, settled in the passenger seat like she belonged. She wore a beautiful dress like they're going to a party. Her lips curled into a polite smile. “Miss Callaway, I hope you don’t mind me joining. I get carsick, so I can only sit in the front.”

Austin’s jaw tightened, as if he wanted to explain something.

But before he could, I spoke first. “It’s fine.”

I slipped into the back seat, small and silent, like a shadow trailing them.

Austin looked at me through the mirror, words hanging at the edge of his mouth. But nothing came.

Only silence.

---

The car stopped in front of a massive villa, its gates glowing with gold light. My stomach sank. This wasn’t home. He hadn’t brought me back to his estate. He had brought me to a wedding banquet. A golden anniversary of Mr and Mrs. Livingston. His grandparents.

As soon as we stepped out, the whispers started.

“Isn’t that Young Master Livingston? Why did he bring two women?”

“The one in white… that’s Dahlia, right? I heard she crawled out of the slums. No family, no name, nothing. Look at her outfit. Too poor."

“Miss McKinsey and Young Master Livingston… now that is a perfect match.”

The voices weren’t hushed. They wanted me to hear. I stood off to the side, as if I were invisible, as if the words didn’t pierce my skin.

Austin stayed with Yvette the whole time. Pouring her drinks, draping his coat over her shoulders, looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the room. His eyes softened when he looked at her—soft enough to drown in.

Then Yvette turned to me with her perfect smile and slipped her arm through mine. “Miss Callaway, come, let me introduce you to some friends.”

Before I could protest, she pulled me into a circle of well-dressed women.

“This is Dahlia,” she said sweetly, her voice carrying far enough for everyone to hear. “Austin’s… poor girlfriend.”

The word tasted false on her tongue, and before I could catch my breath, she switched into flawless Spanish, laughing and chatting as though I weren’t there.

The women caught on quickly, responding in German too. Their laughter rose around me, a language I couldn’t climb into. I stood there, stranded, an island with no bridge.

Then, out of nowhere, Yvette turned to me, “What do you think, Miss Callaway?”

“What?”

“Oh, right.” She gave an apologetic smile. “I forgot you don’t speak French.” Then she turned back to the others. “Miss Callaway hasn’t studied any foreign languages. Don’t mind her.”

Laughter rippled through the group. Soft, delicate, and cruel.

“It’s alright,” Yvette added, “You can always learn.”

Their eyes cut into me, mocking, pitying. My nails bit into my palm… until I lifted my head.

“Actually,” I said smoothly in flawless French, my accent crisp and effortless, “Je comprends très bien tout ce que vous dites.”

(I understand perfectly well everything you’re saying.)

Their laughter faltered. Yvette’s smile froze.

Before she could recover, I shifted into Spanish, my tone sharp as glass. “Pero tranquila. No soy como tú, que usas los idiomas solo para parecer lista.”

(But don’t worry. I’m not like you, who uses languages only to look smart.)

Gasps broke through the circle. A few of the women exchanged startled glances.

And then, for the finishing blow, I delivered the rest in German, my voice calm and cold.

“Ist es lustig, auf andere herabzusehen, nur weil ihr denkt, ich verstehe euch nicht?”

(Is it funny to look down on others, thinking I don’t understand all of you?)

Silence crashed over them.

Yvette’s face had gone pale, her lips pressed tight. The women who had laughed the loudest moments ago now looked down at their shoes.

I smiled faintly and about to turned my back when the host announced a game.

Couples would play a cello and piano duet. The best performance would win a set of rare jewels.

“That set is gorgeous!” Yvette’s eyes sparkled. She tugged at Austin’s sleeve like a spoiled child. “Austin, it’s my birthday soon. Could you and Miss Callaway win it for me?”

The women around her burst out laughing. “Don’t be cruel, Yvette. She might know some languages but you think she can play piano?”

“Why don’t you and Young Master Livingston perform instead?” someone suggested slyly.

Yvette tilted her head, voice soft as silk. “Would that be alright?”

Austin nodded without a second thought. “Yes.”

Her eyes flicked to mine, smug. “Then I’ll borrow him for a little while.”

They walked to the stage.

When the music began, the hall fell silent. Her fingers fluttered over the piano keys, elegant and light, while Austin drew his bow across the cello, each note deep and resonant, wrapping around her melody like a shield. His accompaniment was steady, protective, as though she were his queen. Together, they looked every bit the perfect pair.

The applause came like thunder.

And while the room roared, Yvette’s friends closed in around me.

“See? That’s a perfect couple. Not you. You’re nothing.”

“You grew up in the west slums, didn’t you? How does anyone even live in a place like that? No wonder you still carry the stink of poverty.”

“Trying to become a phoenix when you’re just a sparrow? What a joke.”

Laughter broke through me like shards of glass.

I clutched my skirt and turned to leave, but a foot slid out in front of me. I stumbled, crashing hard onto the floor. Pain tore through my body, but before I could push myself up, a red stiletto heel pressed down on my wrist.

“Oh dear,” the woman cooed, mocking innocence. “I didn’t see you there.” She ground the heel into my hand, cruel and deliberate.

Crack.

The sound sent lightning through my bones.

My vision blurred. Instinctively, I looked toward the piano. Toward him.

Austin’s head lifted. Our eyes met. My lips trembled, shaping his name without sound. My eyes pleaded.

He saw.

For one heartbeat, he saw.

Then his gaze slid away, cold, uninterested, as though I were a stranger on the street. He turned another page for Yvette, his expression softening again for her.

I remembered the boy he used to be—the one who skipped a whole night of work just because I’d sliced my finger in the supermarket.

Now my wrist was being crushed, my bones splintering under someone’s heel, and he couldn’t spare me more than a single glance.

Yvette laughed with him, their smiles gleaming under the lights, like a prince and princess in their fairy tale.

Then the heel pressed harder.

Another crack. The sound of bone shattering filled my ears.

The pain stole my breath, stole the world from me. My vision twisted, collapsing into black. The last thing I heard was the grand finish of the duet and the applause exploding around them.

---

When I woke up, the ward reeked of disinfectant, sharp and cold like a reminder that I was alive but broken.

The doctor stood at the end of my bed, talking to Austin in that detached, clinical tone.

“Mr. Livingston, her wrist is shattered in several places. Even if it heals, it won’t be the same. She won’t be able to carry weight anymore. For the next month she’ll suffer sleepless nights from the pain. Someone needs to care for her around the clock.”

The words settled on me like chains. My face went cold, and when I tried to reach for the water glass on the table, pain shot through my wrist. The glass slipped, crashed, and scattered across the floor.

The doctor sighed, muttered something about rest, and left.

Austin walked over, his polished shoes quiet against the tiles, and poured me another glass as if nothing had happened. He placed it in my hand, his brow furrowed, his Adam’s apple shifting before he finally spoke.

“Sorry. I didn’t see you fall. I was… busy.”

Busy. He meant at the piano. He always played for her. For Yvette.

I stared at him and for a moment all I saw was his gentleness with her, the softness in his eyes that he never gave me. Did he really not notice me fall, or did he just not care enough?

I forced my eyes shut to steady the storm inside me. My voice came out thin but firm.

“I want to call the police.”