“Margot!” Marshall Robinson rushed to Margot Cook’s side, his face tight with worry. “Are you okay?”

Margot winced and bit down on her lip. Her voice trembled. “It hurts so much! My ankle… These heels are killing me.”

Romina Elliott whirled on Cecelia Graham, furious. “You little troublemaker! We should send you back to that place and make sure you never get out.”

Not back there. Not that nightmare.

Fear slammed into Cecelia. She dropped to her knees in front of Margot Cook, head bowed, desperate.

“Miss Cook, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Please don’t send me back. I’m begging you…”

Her apologies came out broken by sobs. Everyone went still.

Was this really the once-proud, defiant Miss Graham?

Even Marshall froze. It hurt him to see his sister humiliate herself like this. He took a deep breath, then spoke—firm, but gentle.

“Cecelia, get up.”

“Marshall, it’s all my fault! I won’t do it again. Please, just give me another chance.” Cecelia pleaded, clutching the hem of Margot’s dress as sobs shook her whole body.

She couldn’t go back. Those instructors would torture her to death.

Margot Cook watched with quiet satisfaction. When she spoke, her voice was smooth, soothing.

“Marshall, maybe Cecelia’s just overwhelmed by our wedding. Maybe she should talk to someone in psych?”

Cecelia froze. She glared at Margot, the truth hitting her all at once: no matter what she did, Margot would crush her. And Marshall was buying every lie.

Pathetic. Her life had turned into some cruel joke.

“Marshall, won’t you believe anything I say?”

“Is Margot’s word the only one that matters to you?”

Her voice was thick with helpless despair, edged with bitter self-mockery.

Marshall’s anger flared. “Fine. If you still haven’t learned your lesson, then take Margot’s advice. You need psychological help.”

Cecelia’s eyes filled with anguish. Then she coughed up blood and collapsed.

Chaos exploded. Screams filled the room as she lay unconscious in a pool of her own blood.

“Cecelia!” Marshall rushed to her, horror in his eyes. “Get her to the hospital—now!”

“Marshall, today is our wedding!” Margot tried to hold him back, desperate not to have another ceremony ruined.

Marshall’s eyes were fierce. His voice left no room for argument. “Move.”

After being rushed to the hospital, Cecelia slowly opened her eyes after emergency treatment. Her head throbbed as she tried to focus on Marshall.

“Marshall…”

Marshall hadn’t slept. He kept his anger carefully buried. His voice was calm but firm. “Why did you ruin the wedding again?”

Ruin the wedding? The memories crashed back. Cecelia clutched his hands, terrified.

“Marshall, I didn’t mean to ruin your wedding.”

“Please, don’t fall for Margot Cook’s lies.”

“I’m in danger.”

“She’s deceiving you. She bought off the instructors. They tortured me day and night—starved me, beat me…”

“Cecelia, are you making up stories just to stop my wedding?” Marshall shook her hands off, disappointment written all over him. “You’re hopeless.”

“I’m not lying! She sent me to a lawless black-market compound in Myanmar. They used electric shocks when I disobeyed. They tortured me with medieval methods. They even took one of my kidneys…”

Applause echoed from the doorway. Margot Cook stepped in.

“Cecelia, how can you spin such tales about Myanmar?” she said, her smile serene as she slipped her arm through Marshall’s. “If you were really sent there, how did your brother get you back so easily?”

Marshall’s gaze hardened on her.

Fear flickered through Cecelia. “I’m not lying. Have me examined. I really lost a kidney…”

“From now on, you’ll be under constant surveillance,” Marshall announced, turning to leave.

“No!” Cecelia ripped out her IV and tried to follow him, terrified of being locked up again.

Security guards moved in, blocking her. There was no escape.

All she could do was watch as Margot led Marshall away. Margot’s triumphant smile was a taunt, her victory thrown right in Cecelia’s face.

Yes. She had lost again.

If she had known her fate, she would never have followed Marshall ten years ago.

Mary said gently, “At least you’re okay now. Please, don’t make trouble for Mr. Robinson anymore.” She couldn’t bear to see the two children she’d raised hurt each other like this.

Cecelia froze for a moment, then closed her eyes in pain. “Mary, I…”

She wanted to say she had given up.

But no one would let her.

“Mr. Robinson canceled the wedding for you, stayed by your side all night, and now he’s gone back to the family estate to face his relatives.”

Cecelia fell silent, unsure what to say.

Mary handed her a medical report, resigned. “This is your health report. Mr. Robinson has seen it.”

Like grasping at straws, Cecelia read each line. Test results for nearly everything. Even her kidneys.

Every result came back healthy.

Desolation spread through her. This was Margot’s handiwork.

She must have bribed the doctors.

No wonder Marshall didn’t believe her.

During her time in Myanmar, electric shocks had been routine. Disobedience meant having her nails pulled out—one wasn’t enough, so they pulled another. She’d become a regular blood donor…

Beyond the physical torment, there was the psychological trauma: being forced to watch girls her age endure brutal abuse until they died. Methods so horrific they left her scarred deep.

She thought she had endured enough punishment. But she never foresaw losing a kidney, going into renal failure, and being left with less than five years to live.

After two days in the hospital, she returned to the home where she’d lived for ten years, ready to pack her things and leave. She might be doomed, but she refused to die at Margot’s hand.

No sooner had she walked in than she saw Marshall’s parents and Margot. Dread tightened her chest.

Then Abigail Robinson unleashed her fury.

“You ungrateful brat! I should’ve stopped Marshall from bringing you here. Then he wouldn’t be the laughingstock of the entire city.”

“Marshall treats you like a real sister, and you repay him with such nasty intentions. Why don’t you just vanish?”

The insults pierced Cecelia’s heart all over again.

“Cecelia, for your parents’ sake, I can overlook last night. But you must leave today,” Marshall’s father said icily, making his meaning crystal clear.

Cecelia Graham opened her mouth, her voice barely above a whisper, but Abigail Robinson cut her off sharp.

“Stop calling us Mom and Dad. We don’t have a daughter as shameless as you. Get out!”

Abigail’s voice dripped with disdain, her eyes cold and unforgiving.

Cecelia’s heart clenched. She dropped her head, swallowing the pain, words failing her.

Watching her pitiful display, Margot Cook’s lips curved in smug satisfaction. She looped her arm through Abigail’s with practiced affection.

“Aunt Abigail, my parents were really upset about last night’s reception. I’ll try to calm them down, so please don’t be too angry.”

Abigail’s tone softened for Margot. “Margot, don’t worry. We won’t let Marshall do anything stupid, and we’ll give your family a fair explanation.”

Margot belonged to the Cook family—social equals to the Robinsons—and both families were banking on the match.

Cecelia knew what a business marriage meant. She’d been foolish enough to believe Marshall Robinson would never fall for Margot Cook—and that delusion sent her chasing love like a reckless fool.

Now she’d lost everything.

Even the adoptive parents who’d once spoiled her rotten had taken Margot’s side.

Cecelia remembered how Abigail used to take her to amusement parks, ease her into the circles of the elite, treat her like the Robinsons’ treasured jewel.

Robert had always treated her with warmth. Every birthday, every academic win, came with a thoughtful gift.

Steeling herself, Cecelia faced the hatred in her adoptive parents’ eyes and thanked them for the past decade of care.

“Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, thank you for everything. But I’m leaving this family.”

Margot Cook’s lips curled in triumph. She’d waited over a year for this moment. Once Cecelia was out of the picture, there’d be no future trouble.

“And where will you go once you leave? You won’t pull some stunt and make Marshall bring you back, will you?” Margot taunted, needling Robert and Abigail to get rid of Cecelia once and for all.

Fear flooded Cecelia’s eyes as nightmares rose like a tidal wave.

“I... I promise I won’t bother... Marshall again. I swear,” she stammered, desperation coloring every word.

“Swear? Since when do your promises mean anything?” Abigail shot her a scathing glare, then turned to Robert. “Why not send her abroad—somewhere Marshall can’t find her?”

Cecelia’s face went white.

“No... I don’t want that. I can leave on my own.”

“Cecelia, you’ll go where I decide. I won’t mistreat you,” Robert said sternly.

Cecelia bolted before she could think better of it, fear chasing her from behind.

But the security guards were faster. Their hands closed around her, hauling her back before she made it two steps.

A sharp slap cracked across her cheek. Abigail had struck her hard.

Cecelia crumpled to the floor, her limbs cold, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

Abigail had never hit her before.

This was the first time.

Maybe now she was about to fall into Margot Cook’s carefully laid trap, with no way out.

Despair swallowed her from every direction, leaving her like a lost soul.

Escape was impossible.

Then, suddenly, a tall figure appeared before her—Marshall Robinson.

Cecelia’s body trembled. She instinctively recoiled from him, knowing he was the source of all her misery.

“Mr. Robinson, I was wrong. Can you make them stop tormenting me?”

“I promise I won’t bother you again.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

Her repeated apologies rang in his ears, painfully raw, yet a suffocating pressure settled in his chest.

Brow furrowed, Marshall lifted Cecelia off the ground. “Remember, I raised you. No one gets to bully you.”

With that, he set her down and shot his parents an unhappy look.

“If Cecelia does something wrong, I’ll handle it. You’re not to meddle in her matters anymore.”

Abigail was furious that he’d defended Cecelia.

“Marshall, how long are you going to keep covering for her? She’s ruined your wedding twice now. She’s a curse, and she’ll do anything to hurt you.”

Marshall’s expression turned icy as he cut Cecelia down. “What are you waiting for? Go upstairs and put your apology in writing. I want a signed statement.”

Cecelia knew she had no choice. Either Margot Cook shipped her off to some dreadful place, or she obeyed Marshall now and found a chance to escape later.

Still, she couldn’t understand why Marshall seemed to protect her while letting everyone else tear her apart.

Her heart was a tangled mess. Like a puppet on strings, she slowly climbed the staircase.

As she went up, a pair of harsh, resentful eyes bore into her back, as if willing a hole straight through her.

Margot Cook hadn’t expected Marshall to come back and shield Cecelia again. Jealousy burned through her.

How dare Cecelia compete with her for Marshall’s affection!

Time would tell.

Cecelia returned to her old bedroom on the second floor. A year away, and everything was exactly as it had been.

Her gaze landed on the warm, inviting four-poster bed. Her eyes stung with tears, and she was too afraid to go near it.

Everything here belonged to the dream world Marshall Robinson had built for her—a paradise from a past life, not the girl she was now.

Weary, she sat at the desk, closed her eyes, and made up her mind. She would leave.

After a while, she opened her eyes again.

She picked up a pen and paper and began drafting the statement Marshall had demanded.

When she’d confessed to Marshall, she’d been ordered countless times to put her remorse in writing. She’d stubbornly refused every time.

This time, she obeyed.

She was the one at fault, and she accepted all of it.

She began to write: Mr. Robinson, I am grateful for the warm home you gave me. Everything is my fault. I understand now that I crossed a line. I mistook your kindness for something more, and I will never make that mistake again. From now on, I won’t provoke you again. I hope you and Margot have a happy life together...

She rewrote the statement again and again, each version stripping away another piece of her pride.

Tears betrayed her, splashing onto the page.

Her cries were stifled, her body trembling, her hand moving in a frenzy.

Again and again, she revised the words until there was nothing left to defend.

She sincerely wished three simple words—I’m sorry—could wash away her mistake.

She should never have fallen for the man who had raised her like a sister.

Cecelia Graham sat there, numb. Her eyes were red and swollen from a night of crying; her fingers ached from writing for hours straight. Her mind was foggy, teetering on the edge of passing out. When the first light of dawn crept through the window, it gently nudged her awake.

The moment Cecelia opened her eyes, she reached into the nightstand drawer, grabbed every ID she had, and stuffed them into her pocket. She packed nothing. She’d come alone, and she planned to leave alone.

Before leaving, she clutched the signed statement tight. She took one lingering look at the room she’d called home for ten years, then turned and headed downstairs.

Halfway down the spiral staircase, she saw Margot Cook curled up against Marshall Robinson, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It was the first time Cecelia had ever seen them like that—so intimate. Their relationship was solid. Even if the wedding had been called off, it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

For a moment, Cecelia froze. Then her heart went cold, and a desperate urge to escape nearly swallowed her whole.

“Oh, Cecelia, you’re up!” Margot’s voice rang out, smugness threaded through every word.

Cecelia hesitated, thoughts tangling, then finally said, “Thank you, Margot.”

Hearing Cecelia call her “Margot” pleased Margot—but it left Marshall unsettled.

Cecelia walked over to Marshall and handed him the signed statement. “You wanted it in writing. Here it is.”

Marshall glanced at the statement covered in corrections, and irritation surged through him. He’d never seen her so compliant. She rarely finished anything unless he was watching over her.

Margot snatched the statement and read it aloud, stoking the irritation building inside him.

“Marshall, Cecelia actually signed away any claim on you. How sweet,” Margot said.

“She even wished us eternal happiness.”

“Should we forgive her, then?”

Marshall’s face darkened. He headed toward the dining room, leaving the decision to Margot.

Margot smirked at his silence, leaned provocatively toward Cecelia, and whispered, “I’ve got your fate in my hands. Scared?”

Cecelia gritted her teeth. It felt like being dragged into a dark, murky abyss—drowning.

She watched Margot return to Marshall and lace her fingers through his—a perfect picture of bliss.

Of course. When it came down to a fiancée versus an adopted sister, he’d choose his fiancée every time.

“Aren’t you coming to breakfast?” Marshall’s authoritative voice echoed, sending a shiver down Cecelia’s spine. She hurried into the dining room.

She sat quietly, eating without a word. When Marshall noticed she only touched the oatmeal and ignored everything else, his irritation boiled over. He slammed down his spoon and left.

Margot let out a cold laugh. “Looks like Marshall doesn’t even want to eat at the same table as you anymore.”

The words cut deep, but Cecelia held her composure.

She kept her head down, eating her breakfast in silence, ignoring Margot’s provocations.

Once they were gone, Cecelia looked up, listless, ran through her plans one last time, and headed for the door.

“Miss Graham, where are you going?” The bodyguard stepped in front of her.

Cecelia had nowhere to go. Friends? She’d lost them all a year ago; no one wanted her around. Family? She was an orphan, and even her brother, Marshall, was lost to her. Relatives? The Graham family wanted nothing to do with her.

She smiled bitterly and offered the excuse she’d prepared.

“My clothes are outdated. I want to shop.”

The bodyguard, whose job was to monitor her around the clock, immediately called Marshall for approval before escorting her out.

At the mansion’s entrance, Cecelia paused for a moment. Then she climbed into the car without looking back.

The familiar road was etched into her memory. It was as if she could still remember exactly how she’d arrived.

Marshall had brought her here, holding her hand, promising she’d have a home and a family.

But she’d thrown it all away.

No. There was no going back.

Her thoughts snapped back to reality when the car stopped. She stepped into the extravagant shopping center.

The bodyguard followed closely as she stepped into a boutique.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Graham!” Romina Elliott sneered, her eyes filled with contempt and amusement.

“How dare she show her face in public? Isn’t she embarrassed?”

“She has zero self-respect and absolutely no shame!”

“Ha ha ha... the audacity is astounding.”

Cecelia ignored the cruel remarks. They were nothing compared to the pain of the past year.

She glanced at the designer bags without interest, selected several, and handed them to the bodyguard. “Pay for these.”

The bodyguard frowned but made another call to Marshall.

“Mr. Robinson, Miss Graham wants to buy bags. Should I pay?”

Marshall paused, remembering Cecelia didn’t have her phone to pay for herself—it was with him.

“Let her buy whatever she wants,” Marshall replied.

The bodyguard used the authorized card Marshall had given him and purchased the bags for Cecelia.

Seeing Marshall willing to spend so lavishly on Cecelia made Romina seethe. “Cecelia Graham, how can you shamelessly spend Marshall’s money?”

Cecelia glanced at Romina coldly, picked up five more bags, and handed them to the bodyguard. “I’ll take these, too.”

Everyone in the shop stared, eyes wide in disbelief at Cecelia’s audacious display of wealth.

“Bitch! Just wait until I tell Margot,” Romina shouted, snapping pictures of Cecelia with her phone.

The name “Margot Cook” landed like a demon’s curse. Cecelia’s eyes darkened. She wouldn’t give Margot another chance to hurt her.

Without another word, Cecelia let the bodyguard pay and moved on to other stores.

Clothing boutiques, skincare shops, jewelry stores...

She bought item after item, seemingly indulging in a revenge-spending spree, but she was only creating a distraction.

The bodyguard kept swiping the card, looking more alarmed with every purchase, astonished by Cecelia’s reckless spree.

Within a few hours, she’d run up a staggering bill.

Marshall truly indulged her—his “let her buy” attitude was costing him dearly.

While waiting for Cecelia to change, the bodyguard noticed her exiting the boutique in new clothes and promptly went to pay.

At the lingerie shop, the bodyguard waited outside.

Cecelia had shopped lavishly all morning, but none of it brought her joy—only caution as she observed the bodyguard from inside the store.

She picked several sets to try on, occasionally peeking at the flow of people.

When a crowd entered, she swiftly changed—out went the white pants and green sweater, leaving her in tight black leggings and a gray long-sleeved tee.

Taking the makeup she’d just bought from her bag, she quickly applied a disguise.

Darkened her complexion, accentuated shadows, thickened her lips, crafted smoky eyes...

Adding a bucket hat, she transformed completely.

In ten minutes, she was unrecognizable. She blended in with the shoppers leaving the store and slipped past the oblivious bodyguard.

Just as the bodyguard glanced back to find her, she was already gone, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.