When Cathy's name was mentioned, something in Connor's expression hardened.

Yes. It was Samantha who killed Cathy.

Whatever happened to her now—she deserved it.

And yet… why did his chest tighten ever so slightly when he thought of her, eyes red from crying, throwing herself into his arms?

He couldn't help himself. He downed several gulps of liquor. Sweat formed on his forehead. It numbed his nerves just enough to push the thought away.

Upstairs, Matt opened the door to his room. The air was thick with the sharp scent of alcohol, laced with the faint, cloying sweetness of perfume.

He instantly became alert, his voice sharp and cold. "Get out. Now."

From under the covers, a small figure stirred. Samantha's head slowly emerged from the bedding.

She looked straight at him, lips curling into a calm, almost defiant smile. "Let's make a deal."

Matt narrowed his eyes. "What kind of deal?"

"I'll give you one million. Just let me stay here for the night. You don't have to do anything. You don't even have to say anything."

He stared at her for a long time, silently, taking in the audacity of this girl who dared to speak so boldly in front of him.

She clearly had no idea who he was.

Matt was the kind of man who never lacked money. In fact, he was the richest person in Reystein City.

But for someone to offer him one million just for a night of silence—this was a first.

Strangely, he didn't hate her for it.

Instead of flying into a rage, as he normally might, he did something completely unexpected.

He agreed.

The night passed quietly. Nothing happened between them.

The next morning, there was a knock at the door.

Connor's voice rang out anxiously from the hallway. "Samantha? Are you in there? Are you okay?"

Samantha was still in the bathroom doing… something. Matt sat on the couch, arms crossed, an amused look on his face, like he was waiting for the show to begin.

When she finally stepped out, she wore a silk slip dress. Her hair was tousled, her eyes red, as if she'd just been crying.

Faint marks—bluish-purple bruises—dotted her pale, slender neck. They looked suspiciously like… hickeys.

Matt's gaze lingered on her, curious now.

Samantha walked unhurriedly to the door and opened it.

The moment it swung open, tears streamed down her face like pearls spilling off a broken string. Without a word, she collapsed into Connor's arms.

She didn't speak. Just cried.

Connor and the people behind him froze in place, stunned by what they were seeing.

"You… how could you—" His voice cracked as he held her close, his tone filled with disbelief.

She cried like a broken doll, her tears soaking his shirt, clinging to him like a kitten that had been kicked one too many times.

"Connor… I… I… what do I do… I don't want to live anymore…"

His eyes slid past her, settling on the man still seated inside, and his gaze hardened into burning fury.

Matt exuded an oppressive stillness, a cold and eerie aura.

The friends behind Connor sensed something was off. One by one, they tugged at his sleeve, urging him to calm down.

Connor clenched his jaw, face twisted in fury. Without a word, he bent down, scooped Samantha into his arms, and walked off. His expression was like ice.

The group followed behind, lost and unsure.

Back in the room, Matt sat casually, lips curling into a faint smile. In his hand was the bank card Samantha had given him.

"Interesting," he murmured.

Samantha continued to cry.

No matter what Connor asked, she wouldn't respond.

He held her tightly, gently patting her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her—as if afraid that if he pressed even a little too hard, she might shatter.

"Samantha, I'm sorry. It's all my fault. Cheer up. You can hit me, yell at me—whatever you want, as long as it makes you feel better."

Samantha just stared at him, her eyes wide and glistening like a wounded pup.

She didn't say a word. Just sat there, looking heartbreakingly fragile.

No one else dared to speak.

It took Connor a long time to finally soothe her into sleep.

The moment he rose from the bed and gently closed the door behind him, the warmth on his face vanished completely, replaced by a biting cold.

Downstairs, he glared at the group, rage simmering behind his eyes like it might set the whole room on fire.

"What did you tell me? Wasn't this supposed to be foolproof? Didn't you say that Matt never touches women? What the hell happened?"

Everyone stood frozen, holding their breath, exchanging nervous glances but not daring to speak.

Hannah pressed her lips together in frustration and cautiously stood up, placing her hand on Connor's shoulder. "Connor…"

"Get your hand off me." He shook her off immediately.

Her hand froze awkwardly in the air. After a beat, she scratched at her hair and forced a bitter smile.

"Connor, so what if someone else slept with her? What's the big deal? You don't even really like her, right? Why are you so angry?"

Others chimed in, trying to help.

"Exactly, Connor. Don't tell us you've actually fallen for Samantha? Have you forgotten? She's the one who got Cathy killed!"

The mention of Cathy made the vein at Connor's temple twitch.

He waved a hand irritably. "Of course not. I'm just mad because this didn't go according to plan. The plan was for Samantha to get beaten. But now look at her…"

Without warning, an image flashed in his mind—Samantha, tangled in bed, helpless beneath another man's weight. His breath quickened.

"It's okay, Connor. So what if the plan failed? We still got back at her in a way. Didn't you see how hard she was crying just now? And I've still got more tricks up my sleeve." A sly grin curved Hannah's lips.

"I just—what if she can't take it? She loves me so much. What if she kills herself in a moment of despair? What if she breaks up with me? Then what?"

Even voicing the possibilities made a flicker of anxiety flash across his eyes.

A snide voice replied, "Break up with you? Come on, Connor. Samantha has no one in this world but you. If she leaves you, where would she even go?"

Only then did some of the tension in Connor's body seem to ease.

That's right. Samantha had no one left.

No family. No support. No future.

He was the only one she had.

And the best revenge? Would be to slowly become someone she couldn't live without. Then one day, toss her aside without warning. She'd be shattered. Completely.

Samantha stood quietly at the top of the stairs, hiding behind the wall.

She had heard everything. Not a single word had escaped her ears.

After a while, a smile tugged at her lips. Beautiful, but broken.

Even now—after everything—Connor still wasn't satisfied?

Her parents' ashes were scattered and lost. Her college diploma was gone. She'd nearly been thrown in jail with a criminal record.

What more did Connor want?

What kind of ending would finally satisfy his need for revenge?

Samantha stepped quietly back into the room, closed the door behind her, and made a call.

"Uncle, there's something else I need your help with," she said. "Can you look into something for me? Three years ago, at a dance academy in Reystein City—a girl jumped off a building. I want to know what really happened."

It had only been three months since she'd reconnected with her uncle. Before that, she hadn't known she still had family in this world.

He'd been urging her to come home ever since, to inherit the family estate. But she had loved Connor too much back then—so much that she kept refusing.

Now she finally understood. No matter how passionate love might seem, it could never compare to the quiet weight of blood ties.

This time, she would play the game herself. She would make sure that Connor spent the rest of his life drowning in regret and misery.

…

"Samantha, there's a party tomorrow," Connor said. "Reystein City's elite will all be there. I'll take you with me—introduce you to everyone. Once we're married, events like this will be a regular thing. You should start getting used to it."

He wrapped his arms around her from behind as she stood in front of the bathroom sink. His lips brushed against the delicate curve of her earlobe, lingering there before he inhaled deeply, as though savoring the scent of her hair.

In the mirror, Samantha looked at herself, forcing a smile that never touched her eyes. "Okay," she said.

His hand slid down, fingers tugging at the sash of her nightgown. Instinctively, she reached back and caught his wrist.

"Connor, I'm not feeling well today. Can we not?"

His gaze lingered on her, his eyes searching hers for a moment—quiet, uncertain. Something seemed off. But then he remembered the night she had spent with Matt. His mouth curled into a bitter smile as he nodded.

"Alright. You should rest. I'll sleep in the other room tonight. Don't want to disturb you."

"Mm. Good night, Connor."

"Good night, Samantha."

As the door clicked shut, Samantha's body, tight with restraint, finally began to ease. Her exhaustion spilled across her features.

She braced herself on the sink, ripped two tissues from the box, and scrubbed at the place on her skin where he'd kissed her.

For all she knew, his saliva might be laced with poison.

Men like him—venom lived in their touch, in the sweet nothings they whispered.

And she had no idea what tomorrow would bring.

…

At the party, she wore the gown Connor had sent someone to deliver first thing that morning—a custom piece from a high-end boutique. The pale teal fabric complimented her already fair skin, giving her a fragile, almost untouchable elegance.

She held onto his arm as they moved through the crowd, greeting one person after another. Her expression never faltered—gentle, poised, appropriate.

"Mr. Reddington, it's been a while," Connor said with a smile. "Let me introduce you—this is my fiancée, Samantha."

Fiancée.

The word lodged itself in her chest like a splinter.

Her fingertips trembled ever so slightly where they rested on the sleeve of his suit. Through the thin fabric, she could feel the warmth of his body.

Her nose stung, and she swallowed hard.

That word—fiancée—had once been everything she'd dreamed of. She had longed for it, prayed for it, even begged for it in silence.

Now, it felt like a dagger pressed against her ribs.

"Samantha, are you alright?" Connor's voice pulled her back. He was watching her, concern flickering behind his eyes. "You don't look well."

"I'm fine."

"Come on, I'll take you to sit down for a bit."

"Alright."

Not far off, Hannah approached them, a glass of wine in her hand.

"Samantha, you look gorgeous tonight," she said with a smile, eyes scanning Samantha from head to toe. "No wonder Connor's so taken with you."

There was something thin and sharp hidden in her voice, something just beneath the surface.

Samantha didn't react. Her face remained still. "Thank you," she said.