Sylvie strolled around aimlessly, her interest fading as she stepped out.

A sudden urge pulled her toward the chapel where Gideon practiced.

"Excuse me, which prayer hall is Gideon in?"

"He didn't come today."

The chapel attendant looked at her with confusion.

"Alright, I see."

Sylvie nodded in thanks, but a sense of unease crept into her heart. A bad premonition took root, making her restless.

She hurried back home, torn between rushing to confirm her suspicions and dreading the truth that might await her.

Reaching her doorstep, she placed a trembling hand on the handle, ready to push it open.

Then, a soft gasp came from inside.

Her hand froze. Her heart pounded.

Slowly, she leaned toward the door, peeking through the narrow gap.

Her breath caught.

Inside, Ivy lay atop Gideon, her delicate skin deliberately exposed. Her slender fingers traced lazy circles on his chest.

"Don't you want this to happen too?" Ivy's voice was low, laced with temptation. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes smoldering with intent.

Gideon chuckled, his tone deep and hoarse. "Isn't this what you wanted? It’s much easier without that nuisance around."

Ivy said nothing, only offering a sly smile.

She inched closer, her breath warm and sweet against his skin. Her lips hovered near his Adam’s apple, her gaze innocent yet filled with mischief. The air between them thickened with anticipation.

Gideon grasped Ivy’s wrist, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a deep swallow. His breath came hot and heavy, the hunger in his eyes burning uncontrollably.

With a low growl, he flipped her beneath him, pressing his lips to hers in a feverish kiss.

The room filled with breathless sighs and hushed gasps—sounds that pierced Sylvie like a dagger.

She stood frozen, eyes hollow, as if her soul had been wrenched from her body. Tears, long held back, finally spilled over, streaming down her cheeks, soaking into her clothes.

But she remained unmoving.

Then, as if the weight of her sorrow became too much to bear, her knees gave way, and she collapsed silently to the ground.

Her fingers trembled as they clutched the hem of her shirt—a desperate attempt to hold onto something, anything. Curling in on herself, she buried her face in her arms, her sobs muffled but uncontainable.

She wandered the streets like a ghost, her steps sluggish, her expression lifeless.

Eyes dull, gaze unfocused, she looked as though she had been hollowed out, left as nothing more than a fragile shell. Only the tears staining her cheeks proved she was still alive.

Then, she took a misstep.

Her foot caught on a stray stone, sending her sprawling onto the pavement.

Pain shot through her palms as her nails dug deep into her flesh, but it was nothing compared to the ache inside her chest.

And then—memories came rushing back.

...

Years ago...

Sylvie was still in college, home for the summer.

That night, just as she was preparing for bed, a knock sounded at the door.

She opened it to find Ivy standing outside, alone.

“There’s a power outage at my house,” Ivy said with a pitiful look. “Can I stay here for the night?”

Sylvie’s parents had gone to the countryside, leaving her alone. Without hesitation, she agreed.

In the middle of the night, a faint sound stirred her awake.

She cracked open her door just in time to see Ivy slip into her father’s room.

Curiosity gnawed at her, and she crept closer, peering through the narrow gap.

Inside, Ivy stood with her back to the door, dressed in shorts and a camisole.

“Uncle,” she cooed, her voice dripping with something Sylvie couldn’t quite place, “can I keep you company tonight?”

Sylvie’s father turned, his face impassive.

“Little girl, go back to sleep,” he said, his voice calm, dismissive.

But Ivy didn’t move.

Instead, she took a step closer, eyes locked onto him.

“Uncle…” Her voice softened, almost pleading. “Haven’t you been lonely all these years without your wife?”

Slowly, she reached out, her delicate fingers trailing over his shoulder.

Her gaze shimmered with something unsettling—pitiful yet calculating.

The girl's faint fragrance drifted toward Jude Harrington, mingling with the stillness of the night. Ivy’s fair skin glowed under the dim light, an unspoken temptation lingering in the air.

Since his wife left, Jude had dedicated his life to raising his daughter, never seeking another partner. To say he wasn’t lonely would have been a lie.

When he didn’t push her away, Ivy took a bold step forward, settling herself onto his lap.

Jude stiffened, frozen by the unexpected warmth in his arms. He dared not move, his breath hitching as he stared at the girl before him.

Ivy’s eyes shimmered with something unreadable—love, mischief, desire. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tilting her face up, her lips mere inches from his.

His Adam’s apple bobbed involuntarily. His breath grew heavy and warm.

Slowly, his hands rose to her shoulders.

Just as he was about to close the distance, the door burst open.

Sylvie stood at the threshold.

Silent.

Unmoving.

The air between them crackled with tension.

No one spoke.

The weight of unspoken words pressed down, suffocating, unbearable.

Jude’s gaze darted away, his face paling with the panic of being caught.

Ivy, however, remained calm. Without a word, she slid off Jude’s lap and strolled out, as if nothing had happened.

Sylvie’s gaze lingered on her father, cold and unreadable, before she turned and left without a single word.

From that day on, Jude never met Sylvie’s eyes again.

He spoke to her only in hushed tones, his head perpetually bowed, shame weighing down on him like a heavy chain.

And Ivy?

She never spoke of that night.

Never acknowledged it, as if it had never happened.

One afternoon, after school, Sylvie returned home to an eerie silence.

A silence so thick it pressed against her chest.

Something felt wrong.

She walked toward her father’s study, her fingers tightening around the doorknob before she slowly pushed it open and froze.

A pair of feet hung lifelessly in front of her, swinging gently.

Jude had hanged himself.

A scream tore from Sylvie’s throat—a sound of anguish so raw it could break stone.

But no amount of screaming could wake him.

No amount of tears could bring him back.

Jude had been on the verge of something great.

A well-respected writer, sought after by publishing houses. His novels were already printed, ready to hit the shelves. A signing event had been arranged.

He had a future.

A name to make.

A legacy to leave.

But now—

Now, he was gone.

The police ruled it suicide.

There was no evidence to suggest otherwise.

No one was punished.

And Ivy walked away, untouched by it all.

From that day forward, Sylvie never spoke to Ivy again.

Not once.

Not ever.

Ivy’s sudden reappearance shattered the fragile balance of Sylvie’s life.

First, she had ruined her once.

Now, she had stolen her boyfriend.

Wasn’t it enough?

Did Ivy intend to take everything from her?

The thought ignited a fire in Sylvie’s chest—hot, raging, consuming. But no matter how fiercely it burned, it could never erase the deep, suffocating pain within her.

It was late at night when Sylvie finally returned home.

The moment she stepped through the door, a concerned voice greeted her.

"Sylvie, where have you been? I couldn't reach you."

Gideon.

She barely lifted her gaze. "My phone died. I lost track of time while playing."

Her voice was hoarse, drained of warmth. She lowered her head, pretending to fumble with her slippers.

The air still carried the faint traces of laughter and sweetness. A home she once cherished now felt suffocating. Disgusting.

Without another word, Sylvie walked past him and shut herself in her room.

From that day on, something changed.

Sylvie no longer looked Gideon in the eye. Her words became fewer, her touch colder.

One evening, Gideon cornered her, his voice soft but laced with confusion.

"Sylvie, what’s wrong? I feel like you’re avoiding me."

She turned her face away, her tone indifferent.

"It’s nothing. The staff at the nursing home informed me that my mom's blood pressure has been high recently. Her heart condition isn’t good. I’ve just been worried."

"Then go spend time with her," he said gently, patting her shoulder.

She nodded, but said nothing more.

Days later, the phone rang.

A trembling voice on the other end.

"Sylvie! Hurry! Come to the hospital—your mother had a cerebral hemorrhage! The doctor says it’s serious!"

Sylvie's face turned deathly pale. Without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed her phone, booked the earliest ticket, and rushed to the hospital without stopping.

Along the way, she clutched her phone tightly, her fingers trembling as she silently prayed.

Please, let Mom be okay.

But when she arrived and saw her mother lying motionless on the hospital bed, tubes attached to her frail body, tears spilled uncontrollably down her cheeks.

"How… how did this happen?" Her voice cracked as she turned to her mother’s best friend, who stood anxiously by the bedside. "The nursing home said her blood pressure was stable! Why did she suddenly—?"

The woman hesitated, her face pale with fear.

"I… I don’t know! Rosalie was looking at her phone when she suddenly fainted! We struggled to carry her here in time!"

Sylvie’s heart pounded. She spun around, frantically searching.

Her mother’s phone—where was it?

Finally, she spotted it amidst a pile of medicines.

Her hands shook as she picked it up, her mind racing.

The passcode.

Her birthday.

With a trembling breath, she unlocked the screen.

A video was still playing.

Sylvie hesitated, her pulse erratic, before pressing play.

The moment the footage resumed, her entire body froze.

The screen revealed that nightmare—the day she was assaulted.

The man in black. The struggle. Her cries.

A choked sob escaped her lips as her vision blurred with fresh tears.

Her mother… had seen this?

Had this been the reason for her collapse?

Sylvie’s grip tightened around the phone, her nails digging into her palm.

There was only one person who could have leaked this.

Ivy.

Blood rushed to her head. Her chest heaved as she let out a gut-wrenching scream, her pain echoing through the cold, sterile hospital walls.

—

After her mother’s condition stabilized, Sylvie returned home.

But with every step closer, a searing pain tore through her chest.

It hurt.

Every breath, every movement felt like a blade slicing through her soul.

By the time she reached her doorstep, her feet felt like lead. It took everything in her to move forward.

Then, laughter drifted from inside.

A familiar voice rang out, light and joyful, shattering what was left of her sanity.

"Really? Am I really pregnant?"

Gideon’s eyes shone with uncontainable excitement, like twin suns burning with joy.

"It’s true! I just found out today," Ivy said softly, a faint blush tinting her cheeks.

Gideon ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth, his thoughts racing. "I have to tell my parents. How should I even start?"

His excitement was so overwhelming that he almost didn’t notice the figure standing in the doorway.

Sylvie.

"Sylvie, come in!" Gideon beamed, grabbing her hand as if eager to share his happiness. "Ivy is pregnant! I’m going to be a father!"

His joy was radiant, infectious. But Sylvie didn’t feel warmth—only an unbearable cold creeping into her bones.

She stared at him, numb, her fingers icy in his grip.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally whispered, "Congratulations."

The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

Her vision blurred as tears welled up, yet all she saw was emptiness. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, as if trying to contain the unbearable pain threatening to shatter her from within.

That night, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Ivy moved into Gideon’s bedroom.

Sylvie lay alone in her cold, empty bed. Her lips were pale, her body curled tightly, and silent tears soaked into the pillow beneath her.

She had lost.

In the dead of night, a sharp knock shattered the silence.

"Sylvie, are you awake? Get up!" Gideon’s urgent voice echoed through the door.

Sylvie forced herself up, her body heavy with exhaustion, and dragged herself to open it.

Before she could speak, Gideon cut in impatiently.

"Ivy is hungry. She wants shrimp wontons. Go make some."

Sylvie froze.

She looked at him, disbelief flickering in her weary eyes.

"It’s the middle of the night," she murmured, her voice hoarse. "Where am I supposed to find shrimp wontons at this hour?"