Stacy never told Pat she had a sister. The fewer people who knew about Macey's work and identity, the fewer problems it would bring. But the truth was, Pat never asked about her family. In his mind, Stacy had always been nothing more than a wild girl from a poor, remote village.

As Stacy watched his retreating figure, a glimmer of hope flickered. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance.

Back then, Macey had returned to America, gravely ill. Stacy hoped Pat could help connect her with a skilled doctor in Canada. But on her way to meet him, she was involved in a car accident. She remained unconscious in the hospital for three days, and by the time she woke up, Macey was gone, leaving only a note behind.

Despite her failing health, Macey had rushed back to continue her experiments, ignoring Stacy's pleas. When the illness finally caught up to her, it was too late—she was diagnosed with advanced cancer, beyond the reach of effective treatment.

Stacy had sent a desperate text to Pat, but his reply came weeks later. By then, everything had changed.

She had once seen Pat outside his company, separated from him by just a single street. She ran to him, hoping for even a shred of acknowledgment, but he drove away without looking back. If only he had cared a little more… would things have turned out differently?

The memory brought a pang of regret. Stacy couldn't forgive herself. The accident had hurt more than just her and Macey; it had shattered what little hope she had left.

Now, standing amidst the aftermath, Stacy no longer blamed Pat. The fault was hers for putting her faith in him, for trusting a man to fix what was broken. She swore she would never make that mistake again.

When they arrived at Taylor’s restaurant, Stacy noticed Jeanie Hoover, the nanny, waiting at the door. She was gently pushing Tara’s wheelchair.

Pat seemed restless. The moment he turned off the car, he urged Stacy to get out quickly. He walked over to Tara and knelt in front of her, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

The pale girl in the wheelchair smiled weakly, but even speaking a few words left her coughing. Against the bitter wind, she looked even more fragile.

"Tara, it’s freezing out here. Who told you to come outside?" Pat’s sharp gaze landed on Jeanie, who flinched under his scrutiny, unsure of how to respond.

Despite the reprimand, Tara’s eyes sparkled with joy. Her voice was gentle as she held Pat’s hand. "Pat, I’m not as weak as you think. I heard you’d be back today, so I came to welcome you."

Pat’s expression softened, the tension in his shoulders melting away. He brushed her hair fondly and pushed her wheelchair inside.

Jeanie lingered, looking uncertain. Stacy placed a reassuring arm around her shoulders and offered her a kind smile.

"Miss Elder, I’ve made some pork rib soup for you. You should drink more later," Jeanie said, her voice warm.

Stacy returned her smile sincerely. Among the Taylor household, Jeanie was the only one who offered her any kindness.

But once inside, reality quickly set in.

Jeanie hurried to the kitchen, emerging moments later with Stacy’s favorite dishes. Just as she was about to invite Stacy to eat, a sharp voice rang out.

"Jeanie, whose servant are you?"

Anna Taylor, mother of Pat, descended the staircase, her tone icy and full of disdain. Stacy wasn’t surprised—she was used to such veiled insults.

Across the room, the figure on the sofa turned toward the commotion. Pat remained silent, but Tara spoke up in a soothing tone.

"Aunt, Stacy is a guest. It’s only natural for Jeanie to take care of her. Don’t be upset."

Stacy nearly laughed at Tara’s words. Her so-called kindness was misplaced. In Anna’s eyes, Stacy wasn’t even worth as much as her prized pets.

Back when Alfonso Taylor was alive, Anna pretended to be polite to Stacy. But after his passing, her true colors surfaced. She immediately drove Stacy out and brought Tara, her beloved niece, into the Taylor household, lavishing her with care.

Anna often sang Tara’s praises in front of Stacy. She would recount how Tara’s goodness had won over even Alfonso Taylor. Yet Stacy knew the truth—Alfonso Taylor had reluctantly agreed to accept Tara only after Stacy spoke on her behalf.

And now, that loyalty had left Stacy with nothing but resentment and regret.

She had naively believed it, but she was wrong. Tara was far from being a simple, innocent little white rabbit.

Stacy silently set down the violin. It had been a gift from Pat, and she had planned to return it to him today. Over the years, he had given her many gifts, most of which she never used. Some still had their tags attached. One day, she would return them all.

Alfonso Taylor had made him promise to take care of Stacy for the rest of her life before he passed away. But that wish was an impossible burden. Stacy couldn't stay with him forever, and neither could Pat, who was constantly surrounded by women.

When Tara noticed Stacy’s piano, she covered her mouth in mock surprise. “Stacy, are you playing the piano for me again today?”

Before anyone could respond, she turned to Pat, her face lighting up with glee. “Pat, you’re so good to Tara. You knew I was feeling down today, so you called Stacy just for me, didn’t you?”

Pat hesitated briefly, and Stacy lowered her head. She already knew what he was going to say.

Feeling down? That was hard to believe.

Anna, looking pained, took Tara’s hand and sighed dramatically. “My poor Tara. Losing her parents at such a young age. It’s all your aunt’s fault you’ve been left all alone.”

Pat disliked emotional displays, and his expression darkened. “Mom, enough.”

But Anna continued, her voice trembling with feigned sorrow. “It’s not about me. It’s your father. He’s trying to secure Tara a spot to study abroad at Toronto University. They’re treating her unfairly because of her health...”

Toronto? Did Tara also want to go abroad?

As Anna and Tara chatted, Stacy quietly moved to a corner, trying to disappear. Pat noticed and glanced at her way.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said.

Tara smiled, and Anna seized the opportunity. “Pat, Tara doesn’t just want to go abroad. She must study under Professor Morgan. Only as Robin Morgan’s student can she gain the prestige she deserves.”

“Our Tara is determined to join the national team! You have to help her, Pat.”

Pat nodded, and Anna’s face immediately brightened with relief.

When dinner began, Tara couldn’t resist causing another scene.

“Stacy, I feel so down I can’t eat. Could you play something for me? You know I love your piano.”

All eyes turned to Stacy. She paused, then looked up at Pat.

“What’s so hard about that?” Anna chimed in. “Play something for her. Stacy learned all this just for moments like these.”

Anna always spoke like that. Stacy reminded herself to stay calm, to see it as a way of repaying the Taylor family for all they had done for her.

Pat remained indifferent, sitting at the head of the table. “I haven’t heard you play in a while. Go ahead.”

Stacy clenched her fist under the table, her face a calm mask. At least Pat hadn’t said anything else, or she might have foolishly forgiven him again.

It was just a song. She had played for them countless times before. Forcing a bitter smile, she nodded. “Alright.”

When she opened the guitar case, she realized her palm was bleeding. The pain didn’t register. Her vision blurred as she stepped forward to play.

—Sadness and Sorrow

Winter—a season perpetually heavy with grief. The song felt painfully fitting.

If Pat had looked up even once, he might have seen the despair in Stacy’s eyes. But he didn’t.

Stacy didn’t remember finishing the piece; she only heard Jeanie’s voice mentioning blood.

Pat dabbed his mouth with a silk handkerchief, set down his utensils, and walked over. His gaze fell on her injured hand. Without a word, he asked Jeanie to fetch the medicine box.

Under the light, his eyes held a hint of regret as he gently touched the blood-stained strings.

"This violin is old. I'll have someone replace it for you," he said softly.

In the past, Stacy would have expressed her gratitude with many words. But now, she realized she wasn’t even as important as the violin. All her years of admiration had been nothing but wishful thinking.

A violin could be replaced if it was old or damaged, but what about a person?

Breaking the silence, Tara spoke in a sweet, teasing tone, “Yes, Stacy, good skills deserve a good violin. You didn’t play as beautifully today—it must be because the violin is broken.”

Stacy swallowed back her tears and carefully packed the violin. “There’s no need...”

He reached out and held her hand, his expression questioning.

“I can buy one myself,” Stacy added quietly.

She wasn’t lying. Macey had left her a significant amount of money, and with the funds from the Strong Foundation Project in the future, she could easily afford many violins.

Anna suddenly laughed, her voice mocking. “You? Buy one yourself? With that lousy construction job, how much could you possibly earn? In the end, it’s still Pat who supports you.”

“Mom!” Pat’s tone was sharp, clearly displeased. He couldn’t stand anyone bringing up Stacy’s so-called menial job—it embarrassed him deeply.

Stacy wanted to speak up. Since leaving the Taylor family home, she hadn’t used any of Pat’s money. He had given her jewelry and gifts, but she’d never used them. She earned her own income by doing freelance design work, modeling for sketches, and creating drafts. But compared to Pat’s prestigious job, her work seemed insignificant and wasn’t worth mentioning.

Without another word, Pat went upstairs, his frustration evident. Anna, seeing her son’s reaction, shot Stacy a glare filled with disdain.

It was clear this house had no place for her anymore.

Stacy lost her appetite. Grabbing her bag, she left, deliberately leaving the violin behind. That was the moment she decided she was done. From then on, she considered her debt to Pat fully repaid.

Later, as she waited at the bus stop after leaving the hospital, Tara appeared, wheeling herself out. There was no one behind her, and her fragile demeanor vanished as she stopped pretending. Moving leisurely toward the curb, she finally spoke.

“Stacy,” she said, her voice casual as she admired her perfectly manicured nails, “I heard from my aunt that you’re trying to marry into the Taylor family. Is that true?”

Tara’s posture was relaxed, her tone almost amused. “You should know Pat will never marry you. He’s set on the eldest daughter of the Wiley family—someone far above your status. So stop clinging to him like a desperate snake.”

She smirked and added cruelly, “If you’re interested, I can ask my aunt to introduce you to some wealthy men. With your looks and skills, you’d make a fine mistress.”

Stacy let out a cold laugh, unfazed by Tara’s venom. She glanced at the wheelchair and smirked. “Tara, you’re truly pathetic. To gain sympathy, you’re pretending to be disabled even though you’re clearly cured.”

If Stacy hadn’t caught Tara standing up the other day, she might never have discovered the truth. But Tara showed no fear, her expression composed as ever, her smile unwavering.

Stacy almost admired her audacity—Tara lied as effortlessly as breathing.

“Tara!”

Pat’s voice interrupted them. He emerged from the house, carrying a blanket. Approaching Tara, he draped it over her legs with care.

Tara tilted her face upward, biting her lip as her fingers lightly tugged at the corner of his coat. “Pat, you’re here. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault Stacy played the violin and ruined everyone’s mood at dinner. She seemed unhappy.”

Pat’s eyes shifted toward Stacy, his expression unreadable. She knew what he was thinking, but she didn’t care. Without a word, she turned away, unwilling to look at them any longer.

The snow was falling heavily now. The cold bit on her skin, the road was slick with ice, and the bus was late. Stacy’s legs felt stiff as she stood waiting in the freezing wind.

She assumed they had left when she no longer heard any noise behind her. But then, a voice broke the silence.

“Stacy, Tara is still young, straightforward, and a little immature. You’re always so understanding—”