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—”

Before he could finish speaking, Stacy interrupted him. “I understand.”

Tara was only two years younger than her, yet in his eyes, she was always the little sister—a child to be indulged. And Stacy? She was expected to play the ever-considerate older sister. The Taylor family had always been fiercely protective of their own, even if it meant ignoring inconvenient truths. Tara’s father, after all, had been a convicted drug dealer. Despite that, Anna had always shielded him and tried to soothe the damage to their family’s reputation.

Because of this, Tara was desperate to prove herself, to shake off the shadows of her father’s crimes. And Pat? He bent over backward to help her.

Stacy knew exactly what he meant, but she was tired. Too tired to listen to another lecture.

Pat sighed heavily, his frustration evident as he walked toward his car. “Let’s go. I’ll drive you.”

The white mist curled around him as he lit a cigarette. Pat rarely smoked, but when he did, it was a clear sign that he was in a foul mood—likely because of Tara. Stacy instinctively took two steps back, putting distance between herself and the smoky air.

“There’s no need,” she said.

His expression darkened. He clearly wasn’t used to being disobeyed. “Stacy, playing hard to get doesn’t suit you.”

Stacy tilted her head, a faint, mocking smile on her lips. Did he actually think she was doing this for his attention? The idea was so absurd it almost amused her. Even Pat had moments of self-delusion. How rare.

He was reaching for the car door when the headlights of another vehicle illuminated the driveway, casting sharp shadows across his face. Stacy glanced at the license plate, then calmly slipped into the back seat.

As they pulled away, she caught his expression in the rearview mirror—a mixture of dissatisfaction and something else. In that moment, a dark thought crept into her mind. She imagined how he would look if he ever received her death notice.

There were countless ways to leave, but Stacy had chosen the cruelest. Pat, she thought, you should taste the pain and humiliation I’ve endured. Only then can I feel justified for the years of my wasted sincerity.

On the way back, memories weighed heavily on her, each one a bitter reminder of her unreciprocated efforts. The ache in her chest felt unbearable, but no one could see it. To mask her tears, she rolled down the car window and let the icy wind sting her face. It made the tears less obvious.

When she returned to her apartment, Stacy found a message from Mr. Morgan. All the necessary procedures were complete. She would be free to leave soon.

Within two days, Macey’s account showed a substantial deposit. Macey had wanted Stacy to use the money to start a new life elsewhere, but Stacy had her own plans. She insisted on sticking to them.

Wanting to make her farewell meaningful, Stacy decided to organize something special for Macey at the hospital. But Macey declined, instead asking her to buy things she enjoyed.

That day, Stacy wandered the mall for hours, carefully picking out Macey’s favorite snacks and small trinkets. She was meticulous, choosing only things she knew would bring a smile to her friend’s face.

But when she passed by a maternity and baby store, something drew her inside.

The clerk, a young woman with a professional smile, greeted her warmly. “Hello! Are you shopping for your baby? Would you like some assistance?”

For once, Stacy didn’t deflect or walk away. She hesitated before asking, “What size clothes would fit a one-year-old baby?”

The clerk picked up a tiny winter coat decorated with festive Christmas patterns. “Is it for a boy or a girl?”

Stacy froze for a moment, caught off guard. Finally, she murmured, “A girl.”

The clerk asked about the baby’s height, but Stacy could only shake her head. When the clerk asked if she had any photos, Stacy waved her off with a faint, awkward smile. Feeling the clerk’s curious gaze, Stacy abandoned the idea of buying clothes and settled for a small, delicate toy instead.

As she headed to the cashier, something unexpected caught her eye—a familiar wheelchair.

“Stacy! It’s really you!”

The voice made her freeze. Turning, she saw Tara rolling toward her, excitement lighting up her face. “Aunt, Sandra, come here! Look who I found!”

Tara didn’t stop there. She whipped out her phone, ready to snap pictures.

Anger surged through Stacy, and without thinking, she stepped forward, reaching for the phone.

“Tara, stop!” she hissed, her voice low but furious.

“Stacy, don’t you dare!” Tara shot back, clutching the phone tighter as if it were her lifeline.

In the next moment, Stacy was shoved forcefully by Anna. The items she had been holding flew out of her hands, scattering to the ground with a loud clatter.

A girl quickly stepped forward to help her up. Stacy looked at the face—one she knew far too well. She had seen it countless times in photos in Pat’s room, a face she could never forget.

"Are you okay?" The girl asked, her voice soft and gentle.

Anna threw Stacy a disdainful glare, her irritation evident. But before she could say anything, the girl tightened her grip on Stacy's hand and spoke with enthusiasm.

“You’re Stacy, aren’t you? I didn’t expect to run into you here! Pat talks about you often. He mentioned that you’re an excellent pianist. I’m having a birthday party next week—would you consider performing?”

She was beautiful, elegant, and carried an air of nobility. This was clearly the kind of person Pat admired. Stacy could barely process her words. Her mind buzzed with a single, overwhelming thought: So this is the kind of woman Pat truly wants.

Before the girl could finish speaking, Stacy shoved some cash at the clerk and bolted out of the store, her panic mounting with every step.

Her sudden departure might not have mattered to others, but it set Anna on edge. Later that evening, fueled by Tara’s dramatic account of the encounter, Anna stormed into Pat’s office to confront him.

Inside, Anna’s voice rang out, sharp and accusatory. “Pat, didn’t you promise me you’d stop entertaining the idea of marrying her? You don’t even like her, so why are you still involved with her?”

Pat rubbed his temples, already frustrated. “Mom, what are you even talking about? I’m busy, and I told you not to show up here unannounced.”

Anna’s face twisted in disbelief. “Stacy was at a maternity store today, buying baby clothes! Tara said she might be pregnant. Don’t tell me you don’t know about this!”

Pat stiffened, his voice flat. “That’s impossible, Mom. There’s nothing between us anymore. Stop jumping to conclusions.”

Still skeptical, Anna pulled out her phone and shoved it toward him, showing him a photo. The moment Pat saw it, he shot to his feet, grabbing his coat without a word.

Anna followed close behind, her thoughts spinning. Judging by his reaction, it seemed clear that he had no idea about Stacy’s situation.

“Good,” Anna muttered, almost to herself. “It’s not yours. I knew it. Stacy is nothing but an ungrateful girl. She’s probably hooked up with someone else and tried to pin it on you!”

Her voice rose as she continued. “Tara’s friend saw her at the hospital several times. Imagine, a young girl pregnant out of wedlock! She’s indecent and shameless. There’s no way we can let someone like that into our Taylor family.”

Pat’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white as his anger burned hotter with every word Anna uttered. By the time they reached Stacy’s apartment—a drive that should’ve taken thirty minutes but was done in ten—his fury was barely contained.

The doorbell rang urgently. Stacy, assuming it was someone from the furniture recycling company, opened the door without hesitation. She froze when she saw Pat’s stormy expression.

Anna pushed past her, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she looked around the modest apartment.

“What’s going on?” Stacy asked, her gaze shifting warily between them.

Pat stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room, noting the packed bags scattered across the floor. “Are you moving?”

Stacy gave a casual nod, confused by the tension in the air.

The anger in Pat’s expression deepened. Before Stacy could process his reaction, Anna’s sharp voice cut through the silence.

“Look at her, Pat! Stacy’s got everything planned for her shameless little adventure. She’s probably hoping some unsuspecting fool will take her in! Do you really think anyone else in Hamilton would want a girl like her? And now, pregnant on top of it all!”

Those words clicked something into place for Stacy. Anna’s behavior, the accusations—it all made sense now.

Pat’s voice was low and strained as he spoke, his emotions barely restrained. “Stacy, when did this start?”

Stacy let out a bitter laugh, finding the situation almost absurd. “I have nothing to say.”

Pat’s temper snapped. He grabbed her wrist with more force than necessary, his eyes blazing. “You’d better not let me find out who he is.”

The pain in her wrist was sharp, but Stacy remained silent, her face stoic. If he wanted to jump to conclusions, let him. She’d tried explaining herself before, but it had never mattered. He had still turned his back on her, throwing her out of the Taylor family.

So why should she explain now?