I felt no comfort from Victor's words. Only a suffocating tightness in my chest, nausea rising in my throat.

Abigail, dressed in a puffy short skirt, approached with an apologetic look, offering me a cup of ginger jujube tea.

“Sis, I cried all night over this. You’re my idol—how could I ever play with your life like that? Please forgive me, okay? As for the mystery box…”

She effortlessly changed the subject, slipping a stack of photo cards into my bag.

“People online are saying the woman in the photos is you, but I don’t believe it. After all, my brother has never been into… things like that.”

She clung to Victor’s arm, looking up at him with a sweet, pleading expression.

“Brother, you have to do something. We can’t let outsiders ruin Faith’s reputation. I even spent all my allowance buying a hundred of them!”

Victor gently patted her head, his touch unbearably tender.

“I already gave you my secondary card. Just use that whenever you need money.”

One of the guys who had just been making dirty jokes about me chimed in with a teasing laugh.

“Abby, don’t cry, beautiful. You know it breaks your brother’s heart.”

Victor’s face darkened instantly. He shrugged off his coat and draped it over Abigail’s shoulders.

“Watch your mouth. She’s not someone you can even think about.” Then he turned to me. “Faith, wait here. I’m taking Abby to get changed into something warmer.”

I stood there in the cold for a long time. I used to believe that love could be measured by what someone was willing to give.

Victor had a terrible temper and rarely showed me any real care. Yet, he spent millions setting up an agency for me, gave me the title of his girlfriend and kept me by his side every night.

I thought that meant he loved me. So I gave him everything—my youth, my devotion—without hesitation.

But I was wrong. A person’s "sacrifices" have to be measured against what they actually have to lose.

Victor had more money than he could ever spend, more time than he knew what to do with and more women than he could ever get bored of. To him, I was nothing more than a toy he had paid for—one that wasn’t allowed to resist, only obey.

I left the estate. Suddenly, heat surged through my body. My limbs went weak. The world spun around me as I gripped my head, trying to stay conscious. The teacup slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor.

"You idiot! It wasn’t enough to seduce my brother—you actually thought you could marry him? Keep dreaming!"

"Should’ve just thrown you off from ten meters up! Dying in your own farewell performance—that would’ve been poetic!"

A sharp pain shot through my scalp.

Abigail let out a delighted laugh, her polished little boot grinding down on my hair. She patted my face again and again, like she was playing with a doll.

Behind her stood a man, his lips stretched into a disturbing grin.

The moment I recognized his face, my blood turned to ice. My ears rang. The metallic taste of blood filled my throat.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to beg. "You can have Victor. Take everything. Just let me go, please."

The stack of photo cards Abigail had slipped into my bag scattered across the floor.

The man’s eyes gleamed with sick excitement. He licked his lips, swallowing hard as he took a step closer. A violent tremor ran through my body.

Abigail, meanwhile, was doubled over in laughter. "I heard dancers are basically just high-class escorts—same deal, just pricier than the red-light district! You love your fans so much, right? What's a little fan service?"

The man pulled out a piece of lingerie and held it up against me, chuckling as he sized me up.

I curled into myself, trying to shrink away. Something filthy was shoved into my mouth. I knew exactly what it was.

With every ounce of strength I had left, I bit down. The man let out a shriek, kicking me hard in the stomach.

Pain caught me in its palm as my head snapped back, slamming against the steps. Warm blood trickled down my pale face.

Abigail suddenly dropped to the ground in the most dramatic way, clawing at her own dress. She clutched at her chest as she sobbed.

Victor had been so frantic that he trampled over my hand as he rushed to his knees before Abigail, carefully wiping away her tears.

"Abby, what's wrong? It pains me to see you cry."

Abigail’s eyes were red and puffy. She curled her shoulders inward, looking as fragile as a frightened fawn.

"Brother, don’t blame Faith. This isn’t her fault."

Victor shot a glance at me, crumpled on the floor. His fury simmered beneath the surface, but his voice remained gentle as he coaxed her.

"Alright, I won’t blame her. Just tell me what happened."

Abigail let out a breath, as if relieved. "I came to comfort her, but she said it wasn’t fair that she had been humiliated alone. She called over some obsessed fan of hers to force a kiss on me… to defile me… even threatened to take nude photos of me."

Victor didn’t see my torn clothes, nor the blood dripping steadily from my forehead, nor the fingers he had just crushed underfoot. All he saw was the faintest red mark on Abigail’s chest—so light it was nearly invisible.

Fury filled in his eyes. His palm cracked across my face. "Faith, I’ve never let Abby suffer even the slightest grievance. How dare you use such disgusting tricks to hurt her? I should’ve never saved you back then—I should’ve let those stalkers do whatever they wanted to you!"

I shook my head desperately. Tears slipped into my lips, salty and bitter.

"Victor, you don’t believe me? You know how much I hate them—how could I ever—"

"You weren’t screaming about hate when you were on your knees, were you?" Victor’s face was dark, his laugh cold and mocking.

So, he had seen everything. Seen Abigail press me beneath her heel like I was nothing but an insect. Seen those men pin me down like I was filth beneath their hands.

Back then, he was the hero who had saved me. Now, he was the one offering me up to the wolves.

When I first debuted, I had attracted the attention of a group of obsessive stalkers. I’d get calls in the middle of the night—heavy breathing on the other end, never a word spoken.

When I danced on stage, I could feel the eyes on me. Some would crouch low, angling their phones to snap photos no one should be taking.

They got bolder. One of them finally caught me alone, cornering me in a pitch-black alley. It ended when Victor came out of nowhere, pulling me back from the edge.

Now, I clung to the fabric of his pants, my fingers tightening like a lifeline. "Victor, please don’t leave me. They’ll tear me apart—"

He sneered, yanking his leg away. "Oh, spare me. You look thrilled to me." His voice dripped venom. "Faith, since you love this so much, why don’t you get your fill? If she wants to play, then take her outside. Don’t dirty the Whyttons’ floors."

This time, Victor didn’t stand for me. He threw insulting words and walked away without looking back.

I lifted my head, staring at the Whyttons’ estate, glowing brightly against the night—yet all I felt was an endless, suffocating darkness.

Behind me, pained screams echoed, but Abigail couldn’t quite hide the satisfied curve of her lips. "Good thing you never married Faith, brother. That would’ve been humiliating!"

"Abby, don’t be rude. Faith is still your sister-in-law! And what’s so humiliating? She was just acting. I’ll deal with her when we get home. Come on, let’s get your wounds treated first."

Abigail’s smile froze. She stared at Victor in disbelief. But he didn’t notice. His only focus was getting her to the hospital.

While waiting for her test results, he finally had a moment to return his assistant’s call.

"We’ve made enough money. Faith’s probably learned her lesson by now—take down the lingerie blind boxes tonight."

A pause.

"Oh, and Faith didn’t cry when she got home, right? If she’s still upset, buy her a few handbags to cheer her up."

The person on the other end hesitated, then stammered:

"Mr. Whytton, Ms. Paston… she—she jumped into the sea. They… they haven’t recovered the body yet."