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.

Cecelia forced herself to stay calm as she walked with the group, already mapping out a quick escape downstairs. The moment she hit the first floor, several security guards appeared in the crowd, scanning faces like they were hunting someone.

Were they looking for her? Panic slammed into her, rattling the composure she’d fought to keep. She hadn’t thought they’d notice she was gone this fast. What was she supposed to do?

Security teams moved to cover the mall exits, cutting off every route she could see. She was trapped in a sea of people. Would they catch her and drag her back? No. She couldn’t let that happen. If she went back now, she might never get another chance to escape.

“Miss Graham, I’m waiting for you at Gate One. Please come over immediately.” The announcement crackled over the speakers, and her panic spiked.

One thought blazed through her mind: Hide. Do not get caught. As the guards combed through every face, her anxiety climbed. She moved carefully, keeping out of their line of sight.

Then a tall, familiar figure stormed through the entrance—Marshall Robinson. He was here. Fear crashed over Cecelia, so thick it nearly choked her. She ducked her head, avoiding his gaze, terrified he’d spot her.

Marshall’s voice sliced through the noise. “How did you lose track of her?” Rage laced every word.

“Sorry, Mr. Robinson. I didn’t expect Miss Graham to vanish inside the store. We’re pulling up the security footage,” one guard replied. Cecelia went rigid. Once they reviewed that footage, her disguise would be blown. Not many people had gone in and out of the store—they’d spot the clothing mismatch in seconds.

She’d come too far to let Marshall find her now. The consequences would be devastating.

“Find her!” Marshall barked. “Tear this place apart if you have to!”

Watching him search like a man possessed, Cecelia almost let herself believe she mattered to him. But if she really mattered, why had he believed Margot Cook—the woman he was supposed to marry—over her? After ten years by his side? If he’d trusted her even a little, she wouldn’t have spent the past year in hell. Her hands balled into fists in her pockets, nails biting into her palms. But she felt no pain. Still, she didn’t dare step forward. She melted deeper into the crowd, hunting for a place to hide, inching toward the restroom in the corner.

Maybe she could disappear in there.

She was almost there when a cold voice stopped her. “Miss, excuse me. Could you turn around?”

Cecelia froze. Ice slid down her spine. Should she turn? Her feet felt nailed to the floor. Time ground to a halt. Just when she was sure there was no way out, two firm hands landed on her shoulders, and a low, soothing voice followed.

“Don’t be scared, darling.”

Her heart stuttered. She looked up and locked eyes with a pair of deep, dark ones. The face was devastatingly handsome—thick brows, a sharp nose, and lips curved into a cocky smile that was almost infuriating.

It belonged to Leon Cook—the man who’d stormed the business world after leaving the military three years ago, notorious for going head-to-head with Marshall Robinson, his sworn rival.

She’d never met Leon; Marshall had sent her abroad when she turned eighteen. So why was he helping her now?

“Sorry to drag you into a tabloid scandal, Mr. Cook,” she muttered, catching a glimpse of her over-the-top makeup in the reflection. God, it was ridiculous.

Leon chuckled, eyes teasing. “That’s quite the fiery look. How’d you end up in a mess like this?”

Cecelia said nothing, unsure how to answer. As Leon steered her toward the exit, her anxiety climbed with every step closer to Marshall. Everyone heading for the main exit had to pass Marshall’s men, who were watching faces and questioning anyone who looked familiar.

As they approached Marshall, her legs went weak and she nearly stumbled. Only Leon’s steady grip kept her upright as they walked straight toward him.

“Heard you lost your sister,” Leon taunted, sending a ripple of surprise through the crowd.

The two were always at each other’s throats, never missing a chance to provoke each other.

Cecelia’s legs went weaker, her head dipping lower. She regretted ever getting tangled up with Leon. Was she just a pawn in his game against Marshall?

Lost in her spiraling thoughts, she heard Marshall’s tightly controlled voice. “Get lost, Leon. I’m not in the mood for your games.”

Cecelia swallowed hard, relieved Marshall hadn’t recognized her. She was about to seize her chance to slip away when Leon’s taunting escalated.

“Ran her off, did you? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Leon was fearless—daring enough to taunt Marshall to his face.

Everyone knew Marshall treasured Cecelia. Even after two ruined weddings, he still hadn’t cast her aside—proof of just how much she meant to him.

Bitterness twisted through Cecelia. Leon’s jab had hit the truth. With her gone, his wedding wouldn’t be ruined again. He could finally be happy.

Marshall’s frustration boiled over, his voice tight. “You—”

“If you can’t see what’s right in front of you, get your eyes checked. Aren’t you tired of being played for a fool?” Leon shot back, leading Cecelia away. Marshall stood there fuming, his eyes locked on Leon’s retreating figure.

Damn it. Leon had gotten under his skin again.

Marshall didn’t have time to dwell on Leon’s words. He turned back to his men, determined to find Cecelia, vowing to search every corner.

In the car parked outside the mall, Cecelia kept her gaze fixed on Marshall, her tension slowly easing.

She had finally escaped.

Goodbye, Marshall.

“If you’re so torn about leaving Marshall, why not go back?” Leon suggested, unlocking the car door with a smirk.

His words were teasing, but his expression was ice-cold.