“Miss Bennett, are you absolutely sure? The value of this school’s offer is beyond question, but the enrollment agreement clearly states that for the next five years, you are not allowed to set foot back in the country—not even if an immediate family member is critically ill.”

There was one last note of caution in the staff member’s voice as her finger landed on the clause marked “No return for five years.” The red stamp looked like an inescapable shackle.

My hand, gripping the pen, jolted violently. The tip scraped past the signature line, leaving behind a jagged streak of ink. The spreading blot looked painfully similar to my shattered heart at that moment. But in the very next second, my fingers tightened, and the last trace of hesitation in my eyes was replaced by resolve. I signed Clara Bennett firmly on the agreement, each stroke sharp as a blade.

“I’m sure.”

The three words were forced through clenched teeth—hoarse, yet unwavering, carrying the desperate courage of someone with no way back.

The staff member’s surprise deepened. After confirming repeatedly, she could only file the agreement away. “Alright. The admission notice will be sent to your registered phone number within a month. Please keep an eye on it.”

I said nothing more and turned to leave the office building. The noon sun was blinding, yet I felt ice-cold all over. My fingers glided across my phone screen as I bought a one-way ticket to a foreign country scheduled for a month later—my only lifeboat out of this wreckage.

The moment the payment confirmation chimed, a breaking entertainment alert exploded across my screen in blood-red letters:

[SHOCKING! Heiress Clara Bennett Exposed for Chaotic Private Life, Explicit Photos Leaked! Suspected HIV Infection. Fiancé Liam Foster Officially Announces Engagement Termination at 8 A.M. Today!]

Below it was a statement from Liam Foster’s studio, coldly worded, every sentence nailing me to a pillar of shame. The photos—maliciously blurred—clearly featured Vanessa Bennett, yet Liam’s team deliberately guided the narrative to make me the target.

The ninth time.

This was already the ninth time Liam had unhesitatingly poured all the filth onto me just to clean up after his half-sister Vanessa—using my reputation to preserve her “pure and innocent” public image.

My fingertips turned icy as I scrolled through endless curses and insults. My heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand, the pain so intense I could barely breathe. But my tears had long since dried up. All that remained was numbness, deep into my bones.

I put my phone away and walked toward the place called “home”—a place that had long since become a prison.

The key slid into the lock with a dull click. The moment I pushed the door open, the dazzling luxury of the living room stabbed my eyes. Vanessa was lounging lazily on the European-style sofa my mother had loved most when she was alive. Around her neck sparkled a diamond necklace—Liam’s engagement gift to me on my twentieth birthday.

Back then, he had said its brilliance suited only me.

Hearing the door, Vanessa slowly lifted her gaze. Her delicate face carried unconcealed triumph as her fingers lightly brushed the diamonds. Her voice was sweet to the point of sickening, laced with poison.

“Welcome back, Sister Clara. Look—Liam said this necklace looks better on me, so he gave it to me. You won’t blame me, will you?”

My eyes fixed on the necklace, and it felt like a needle pierced straight through my heart. I took a deep breath, forcing my emotions down.

“His things,” I said coldly. “He can give them to whoever he wants. It has nothing to do with me.”

The moment the words fell, Vanessa’s eyes instantly reddened. Large tears spilled down her cheeks like broken pearls as she looked at me, utterly wronged.

“Sister, I know you’re upset. About those photos… I didn’t want this either. But I’m about to appear on a variety show, and my reputation can’t afford even the slightest stain. Please help me just this once, okay? Just… think of it as you loving me.”

“Loving you?”

I laughed sharply, the sound filled with bitterness and rage. My nails dug deep into my palm until blood seeped out, yet I felt nothing.

“Vanessa Bennett, your reputation is priceless, and mine is worth nothing? You’re the one fooling around with men, and when things go wrong, you shove me out to take the bullet. And you still dare talk to me about ‘love’?”

I stepped closer, my gaze sharp as steel.

“When you were doing all those filthy things, did you ever think about the consequences? Vanessa Bennett—you disgust me.”

“Sister!”

Vanessa’s crying suddenly escalated. Her body trembled as if she had suffered an unbearable injustice.

“Clara Bennett! Have you had enough?”

A cold male voice cut through the room. Liam came down the stairs in quick strides. His eyes immediately went to Vanessa. When he saw her tear-streaked face, pain flared red at the corners of his eyes. He rushed over and pulled her protectively behind him.

When he turned to look at me, his gaze was filled with disgust and fury.

“Vanessa is your sister. How could you talk to her like that?”

My heart plunged into an icy abyss. I stared at the man before me—familiar, yet utterly foreign. Once, he had stood just like this, shielding me from every storm.

“How did I talk to her?” My voice trembled, but I refused to back down. “She did those filthy things herself. Why should I take the blame? Liam Foster, can you be reasonable for once?”

“Reasonable?”

Liam let out a cold laugh, his eyes full of contempt.

“Vanessa is so innocent. How could she possibly do something like that? You’re the one with a vicious mind, deliberately slandering her. Clara, I never thought you’d turn into someone like this.”

He lowered his head toward Vanessa, his tone instantly gentle enough to melt water, carefully wiping away her tears.

“Vanessa, stop crying. It’s my fault—I didn’t protect you well. Didn’t you say you liked that starlight gemstone set? I’ll have someone deliver it to you tomorrow, alright?”

Vanessa sniffed, looking up at him through tearful eyes. Twisting her fingers in her skirt, she pushed further.

“But… I also want Sister’s engagement ring. You said that ring was meant for the woman you love most…”

“Fine. You can have it.”

Liam agreed without hesitation, his voice indulgent.

“As long as you’re happy. Forget a ring—even the stars in the sky, I’d pluck them down for you.”

“You’re the best, Liam!”

Vanessa broke into a smile, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. From the corner of her eye, she shot me a victorious glance.

They left together, their intimate backs stabbing into my eyes. I stood frozen, every drop of blood in my body seeming to congeal. Sharp pain radiated through my chest, so intense I could barely stand, forced to lean against the icy doorframe for support.

When I was ten, my mother died of illness. Before her body was even cold, my father brought Vanessa and her mother home. From that day on, my world collapsed.

My father was no longer just mine. His tenderness and affection belonged to Vanessa. To please her, he even personally destroyed every relic my mother had left behind.

I thought I would never believe in love again—until I met Liam in my freshman year of college. He was a beam of light in my darkness, appearing when I was most lonely and helpless. He held an umbrella for me, stayed up late with me, and spoiled me like a princess.

I still remembered the day he confessed. Cherry blossoms filled the sky. He stood beneath the falling petals, holding a bouquet of white roses—my favorite. His voice trembled as he spoke, saying he had practiced his confession countless times, afraid of saying a single wrong word that might upset me.

He said, Clara Bennett, I will love you forever. I will protect you for life.

Back then, his phone lock screen was me. His messaging background was me. His password was my birthday. When introducing me to his friends, he would proudly say, “This is my future wife.”

I once believed he would be my salvation.

But the moment Vanessa appeared, everything changed. His tenderness belonged to someone else. His protection belonged to someone else. And for someone else, he pushed me into hell again and again.

I slowly slid down to the floor. The cold seeped through my clothes, yet it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. I covered my face, stifled sobs leaking through my fingers as tears fell like broken beads, soaking my sleeves.

My phone screen was still lit. The slanderous news continued to ferment, the comments beneath it unbearable to read. And the agreement I had just signed—along with the plane ticket to a foreign country—had become my only escape.

Five years without returning.

Maybe that was for the best.

Leaving this place filled with betrayal and pain, leaving behind the people who broke my heart—perhaps only then could I truly live again.

Back in my room, I locked the door behind me and leaned my back against the cold wooden panel, letting out a long breath. I raised a hand to press against my tightening temples, forcing myself to suppress the waves of grievance and pain surging inside me—what was past was past. Since I had already decided to leave for good, there was no point clinging to it anymore.

I walked over to the desk and sat down, opening my laptop. The sound of my fingers tapping on the keyboard was steady and rhythmic. If I was truly going to say goodbye, then everything behind me had to be settled properly. My funds, properties, and shares—all of it needed to be sorted out and entrusted to a trust fund. I wouldn’t leave anyone with a “mess” they could gossip about later.

Outside the window, the sunlight slowly slanted westward, fading from brilliant gold into a soft orange-pink before finally sinking beyond the horizon, leaving only a faint afterglow. I finally closed the laptop and rubbed my aching wrist. The documents on the desk were stacked neatly, every file organized precisely according to the trust fund’s requirements.

I stood up and stretched my stiff neck, only then remembering the phone I had casually set aside earlier. The moment I picked it up, the screen lit up—a message from Vanessa Bennett, completely filling the chat window.

“Clara, do you think this ring looks nice?”

Nine photos followed, each one dripping with deliberate flaunting.

The first photo showed a gradient evening gown. The pale blue skirt flowed in layered waves, like a sky soaked in sunset hues. Fine silver threads were embroidered along the hem, shimmering with restrained, classical elegance. I recognized it instantly—it was the piece I had fallen in love with at a haute couture show last year. Back then, Liam Foster had laughed and said he’d buy it for my birthday and take me to the annual charity gala in it.

The second photo was a pair of custom diamond crystal heels, the surface densely inlaid with tiny diamonds that refracted dazzling light even through a still image. Their sheer luxury was unmistakable—so eye-catching that even paired with the couture gown, they would steal the spotlight.

The last few photos showed Vanessa holding onto Liam’s arm as they stood before the mirror in the walk-in closet. On Vanessa’s finger was unmistakably the engagement ring that should have belonged to me. In the photos, she smiled sweetly, her eyes curved with happiness that practically overflowed as she leaned against Liam, their intimacy glaringly painful to look at.

There was another follow-up message, deliberately sent by Vanessa:

“Clara, I heard Liam say you spent half a month designing this engagement ring yourself, that every detail carried your hopes for a perfect marriage. Don’t you think it looks especially suitable on me? It feels like it was meant for me from the start.”

My fingers paused briefly on the screen, a faint stab of pain passing through my chest—so light it almost felt like an illusion. I knew Vanessa’s intentions all too well. Sending these was partly to flaunt Liam’s favoritism, and partly to provoke me, to watch me lose control.

If this were the past, seeing these would have sent my blood boiling. Even if it meant mutual destruction, I would have demanded an explanation. But now, my suitcase was already quietly more than half packed. I had only one month left before leaving. These people and these matters had long since become part of the past I needed to cut away.

Expressionless, I tapped the screen without hesitation and replied with three words, as calmly as if I were talking about the weather:

“Yeah. It’s pretty.”

After sending it, I immediately muted Vanessa’s chat. I tossed the phone aside, washed up, and prepared to rest.

I didn’t know how much time had passed when thirst woke me. I quietly went downstairs to get some water. Just as I reached the turn of the staircase, I heard a suppressed argument coming from the living room.

It was Liam’s voice, tense and furious in a way I had never heard before—there was even a trace of lingering fear beneath it.

“Who told you to go to that kind of shady drinking party? Do you have any idea that if I’d arrived just ten minutes later, you would’ve been drunk and sent into a guest room by those people?”

Vanessa’s voice was thick with sobs, every word soaked in self-pity, her eyes brimming with tears as if she had suffered an unbearable injustice.

“I didn’t want to go either… but the organizers said if I didn’t show up, it would affect my variety show opportunities. I can’t afford to lose this chance. I’m not like Sister Clara—even when scandals surrounded her, even when the entire internet cursed her, you still firmly chose to marry her and make her Mrs. Foster. She always had you backing her up.”

She sniffed, her shoulders trembling slightly, her tone humble to the extreme.

“But me? I’m just a helpless orphan. At the Bennett family, I have to read people’s faces. Outside, I get bullied too. Even if I were ruined… no one would care about me.”

“Who says no one would care?”

Liam’s Adam’s apple bobbed violently as the anger in his voice was instantly replaced by heartache. Suppressing the surge of emotion, his tone turned firm—almost obsessive.

“As long as I’m here, I dare anyone to lay a finger on you.”

Vanessa froze for a moment, then her eyes reddened even more. When she looked up at Liam, besides grievance, there was a barely concealed hint of triumph and reluctance.

“But you’re my brother-in-law… From the first time I saw you, I liked you. I’ve been holding myself back all this time—I didn’t want to interfere with you and my sister, didn’t want to put you in a difficult position.”

She probed cautiously, her voice light, yet sharp as a needle, stabbing straight toward the stairway where I stood frozen.

“Would you… break up with my sister for me?”

I stood there rigidly, my fingertips turning icy. I had clearly decided to let go. I had only one month left before escaping this cage. Yet hearing that question, my heart still felt like it was being tightly blocked, suffocatingly painful.

What would he say?

That he had long since lost all feelings for me? That Vanessa had always been the one in his heart?

Otherwise, how could he have splashed filth on me time and time again? How could he have given all the tenderness and favor that belonged to me to someone else? How could he even destroy my reputation with his own hands just to protect Vanessa’s career?

Suddenly, I found it absurd. A self-mocking smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I turned to leave quietly, unwilling to witness such a nauseating scene. But before I could take more than one step, I saw Liam reach out and carefully pull Vanessa into his arms, his voice gentler and firmer than ever before.

“Vanessa, even if I marry Clara Bennett, I’ll still protect you for the rest of my life. No one will ever be able to bully you.”

“Does that mean… as long as my sister agrees, I can stay by your side forever?”

Vanessa suddenly looked up. The grievance in her eyes vanished instantly, replaced by naked triumph.

My heart sank completely. I subconsciously stepped back half a pace, my foot accidentally bumping into the stair railing, producing a faint sound. That noise immediately alerted the two people in the living room.

Vanessa turned her head. The moment she saw me, a flash of viciousness crossed her eyes. She quickly rushed to the table, grabbed the heavy celadon porcelain vase, and charged straight toward me.

Bang—

A dull impact rang out as the vase smashed hard against my forehead. Shards of porcelain scattered everywhere. Warm blood instantly streamed down my face, blurring my vision.

I staggered backward, barely managing to steady myself by gripping the stair railing. I raised a hand to wipe the blood from my forehead. When I looked up again, I met Vanessa’s twisted, arrogant face.

“Believe it or not, Sister,” she sneered smugly, her voice dripping with triumph.

“Even if you died here today, Liam wouldn’t blame me for a single word—he’d be too busy feeling sorry for me.”

I woke up from a pain that drilled straight through my skull. A dull, throbbing ache at my temple mixed with a tearing sensation, and the moment I opened my eyes, tears surged up uncontrollably.

The smell of disinfectant was strong—so strong it tightened my throat and made my stomach churn. Instinctively, I lifted a hand to press the wound at my forehead, but my wrist hadn’t even reached halfway before someone slammed it down.

“Don’t move!” The nurse changing my dressing sounded urgent. Her fingers pressed on the IV in my wrist as she frowned. “Your line was just placed—if you move around, it’ll infiltrate. You got thirteen stitches on your forehead. The cut was deep. If you keep messing with it, it won’t heal well, and you’re going to scar.”

My hand froze in midair, my gaze drifting slowly to the IV bag above my head. The clear liquid dripped down the tube at a slow, steady pace, carrying a chill with it. I parted my lips—my throat was so dry and raw that every word scraped painfully.

“I… why am I in the hospital? Who brought me here?”

The nurse cleared up the tray as she answered casually, “Your boyfriend brought you in. He said you two had a fight, you got emotional, and you hit your own head with a vase. It caused quite a commotion.”

“He paid the hospital bill and left,” the nurse added, pausing briefly, her tone edged with helpless advice. “He said he had an urgent business engagement. He also specifically told me he hired a caregiver for you, so you can focus on healing. Honey, no matter how mad you get, you can’t gamble with your life. If that hit had been a little lower, your eye would’ve been in danger.”

Hit my own head?

My pupils shrank sharply. My fingertips turned ice-cold and started trembling—so much that even the fluid in the IV line felt like it had gone colder. Every word the nurse said hammered into my chest. I went cold all over, as if my blood had frozen solid.

I let out a low laugh. The sound was full of bleakness. Tears slid down my cheeks and dropped onto the white fabric of my hospital gown, blooming into a small wet stain.

So in his eyes, I was that kind of person—hysterical, unstable, pathetic?

All those years he claimed to treasure me, to hold me like something precious—so it had all been fake. I was nothing more than a stepping-stone in the relationship between him and Vanessa Bennett, something that could be sacrificed at any moment.

A ridiculous curiosity rose inside me: that “urgent business engagement” he mentioned… was he really by Vanessa’s side right now?

Were the two of them leaning together on a couch at this very moment, him gently blowing on the tiny cut on her fingertip, saying the same sweet words he once said only to me?

Enduring the stabbing pain in my forehead, I used my right hand—my free hand—to fumble for the phone on the bedside table. My fingers shook so badly that it took three tries for the fingerprint unlock to work.

I didn’t look at any unread messages. I went straight to social media, and Vanessa’s newest post was right at the top.

The caption was just one line, dripping with deliberate sweetness:

“Even if I’m not a princess, I can still meet a knight who’ll protect me with everything he’s got~”

Three photos were attached.

In the first, Vanessa sat on a sofa at home, slightly pouting, her right fingertips extended with a cartoon Band-Aid stuck on them. The wound was so shallow it looked like a tiny red dot—almost invisible.

In the second, Liam Foster knelt on one knee on the carpet, carefully cradling her hand as his brows knit tight, his eyes filled with pain and worry, as if she’d suffered some terrible injury.

In the third, the two of them posed together. Vanessa leaned against Liam’s shoulder, smiling. Liam’s gaze stayed glued to her face—soft, tender, devoted.

That look… had once belonged only to Clara Bennett.

I recognized it at a glance. The cut on Vanessa’s fingertip was from yesterday—when she smashed the vase into my head, and a shard of porcelain had accidentally nicked her.

I’d gotten thirteen stitches. Blood everywhere. I’d nearly died. And in his mouth, it became, “She hit her own head.”

But Vanessa’s tiny scratch—this barely-there wound—was enough to make him panic and ache, as if he wanted to place the entire world at her feet.

I stared at the screen, hard, until my fingertips turned white from the force and my knuckles creaked. The glow of the phone reflected in my reddened eyes. Every memory of being with Liam—every promise he’d made, every vow he’d sworn—stabbed into my heart like knives.

It hurt so badly I couldn’t breathe. My throat tightened until it felt blocked, and I couldn’t even make a sound.

I forced myself to breathe for a full half-minute before I finally swallowed down the choking lump in my throat.

Then I opened my photo album and pulled up the surveillance footage from the villa’s living room—something I’d installed a while ago, just in case Vanessa tried anything. A hidden micro-camera tucked behind a decorative piece.

On the video, Vanessa’s motion as she raised the vase and smashed it into me was crystal clear. So was her arrogant laugh afterward.

Once I confirmed the evidence was complete, I dialed the police without hesitation. My voice was hoarse, but every word came out unmistakably clear.

“Hello. I want to report an assault. Someone deliberately injured me, and I have complete surveillance footage as evidence.”

In less than an hour, the hospital room door was shoved open violently—bang—slamming against the wall and shattering the silence.

Liam walked in wearing a silver-gray suit, pressed perfectly flat. His shirt collar was buttoned, tie in place, hair combed immaculately—obviously he’d rushed over from some formal event.

But there was not a trace of worry on his face. Only blame—thick, heavy, impossible to miss.

The moment he stepped in, he barked at me, his voice low and harsh, full of impatience and anger.

“Clara Bennett, are you out of your mind? Vanessa is your half-sister! It was just a small dispute between sisters, and you actually called the police to accuse her of intentional injury? Are you trying to ruin her?”

“A small dispute?”

I leaned against the headboard and slowly lifted my gaze to him. There was no retreat in my eyes—only a cold, dead stillness. I tugged at the corner of my mouth. The movement pulled at the wound on my forehead, sending pain flaring through my skull, yet I didn’t care.

The sarcasm in my voice was impossible to hide.

“She smashed a heavy celadon porcelain vase into my head. I needed thirteen stitches. I almost died. And you call that a small dispute? Liam Foster—how far does your heart have to tilt? In your eyes, is my life really worth less than one of her fingers?”

Liam’s brows tightened further. His face darkened into something frightening, his tone hard and absolute.

“This really was Vanessa being impulsive. I already said something to her, and I told her to message you and apologize. We’re family—we’ll see each other every day. If this goes to the police station, it’ll damage everyone’s reputation—especially yours. You just came out of that kind of scandal. If you blow this up, who would still want you?”

He paused, then ordered as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re calling the police right now to withdraw the report. This ends here. I’ll have Vanessa come visit you more—consider it compensation.”

“An apology? Compensation?”

It was like I’d heard the funniest joke. I suddenly laughed out loud—sharp and shrill—echoing through the quiet hospital room like something breaking. I laughed until tears poured down my face, until my chest ached from it, and only then did I stop.

I stared at Liam and asked, each word deliberate, cutting, unmistakable:

“I got thirteen stitches. I almost died by her hand. And a light, casual apology is supposed to erase all of that? Liam Foster, tell me—who exactly is she to you? The little sister I’m supposed to ‘let win,’ or the person you protect at the tip of your heart? Your tenderness toward her, your coldness toward me—how could it be any more obvious?”

Something in my words struck a nerve. A flicker of panic flashed through Liam’s eyes—too fast to hold onto—then anger swept over it.

He stepped forward, looming over me, the disgust in his voice completely unhidden.

“Don’t be ungrateful! I’m only taking care of Vanessa because of you. And instead of appreciating it, you’re maliciously twisting things and implying there’s something going on between us?”

“Clara Bennett, how did you become like this? So vicious, so petty—clinging to the smallest thing! Where did the gentle, sensible you go?”

“I’m vicious?”

I clenched the bedsheet beneath me so hard my knuckles turned white, the fabric crumpling into a tight knot. The grievance, rage, and pain I’d held down for far too long finally exploded.

I screamed until my throat burned, tears falling like broken pearls.

“Liam Foster! You turned Vanessa Bennett’s explicit photos into mine, shoved me onto the chopping block of the entire internet, let them call me promiscuous, say I was sick, say I might have HIV—then you publicly ended our engagement. And you didn’t think that was vicious?”

My voice shook with sobs, yet every word still landed clean and sharp, like a blade slicing through Liam’s hypocrisy.

“For her, you threw filth on me for the ninth time, destroyed my reputation and my dignity—and you didn’t think that was vicious?!”

I forced the words out through tears, my gaze burning into him.

“If you cared about Vanessa Bennett that much, why did you get with me in the first place? What was I to you? A stepping-stone for your relationship with her? Or just some disposable entertainment when you were bored?”

Liam looked as if he’d been punched. For a second, unease flashed across his face. He even took a half-step back, then forced himself to argue back, his voice no longer as firm as before.

“I… I was with you because I loved you! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even bother with Vanessa!”

He paused, as if suddenly coming up with a way to “make it up” to me. His tone softened, but it carried a lofty arrogance, as if he were granting me something.

“I know you’ve suffered. I already called in favors and had the report withdrawn. You focus on healing. When you’re better, I’ll give you a grand wedding—consider it compensation.”

As he said it, his chin lifted slightly, smugness filling his eyes—like that wedding was some enormous gift, enough to erase all his betrayal and damage, enough to make me fall into grateful tears.

I looked at him like this, and my stomach twisted. The last lingering attachment I had to the past finally crumbled into ash.

Back then, he used to trail after me, eyes bright, clinging to me with boyish excitement, promising he’d marry me after graduation, promising he’d give me the grandest wedding in the world so everyone could bless us.

Back then, he sounded devout and sincere. He remembered the bouquets I loved, the dresses I liked. He would excitedly plan every detail with me as if giving me a wedding was the luckiest thing that could ever happen to him.

But now, the wedding he once begged to give me had become a tool—something to dismiss me, something to “compensate” me with.

---