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.

---

For several days in a row, Liam Foster didn’t set foot in the hospital even once.

I didn’t care at all—in fact, I found it peaceful. Every day, I changed my dressings on time and focused on healing, my only hope fixed on the day I could be discharged—half a month more, and I’d be on a plane to a foreign country, leaving this city full of betrayal and hurt forever.

But on the morning I was preparing to be discharged, the hospital room door was pushed open gently, and an unwelcome guest walked in.

It was Vanessa Bennett.

She carried a delicate food container in her hands. The arrogant, domineering look she usually wore was gone. Instead, she bit her lower lip lightly, her eyes rimmed red, looking fragile and pitiful. She tiptoed to my bedside, her voice soft like cotton.

“Sister Clara, I know I was wrong before. This is chicken soup I made myself. Try some—just… just take it as me making amends. I hope you can forgive me.”

I didn’t respond. I just stared at her coldly, because I knew Vanessa never showed kindness without a reason.

Sure enough, Vanessa hesitated, rubbed her fingers together, and spoke carefully.

“Um… the company wants to build me an ‘academic genius’ image lately, and you’ve won so many competition trophies before—it’s really convincing. Sister, could you lend me those trophies for a while? Just for a bit. I’ll return them after I finish filming the promotional materials.”

Lend trophies?

I almost laughed at how outrageous her request was. Those trophies were honors I’d earned after countless sleepless nights and endless practice problems. They were the only light left in my dark youth. I curled my lip, the mockery in my tone undisguised.

“If you want to pretend you’re a genius, go earn it yourself. Or what—can’t pass, don’t have the ability, so you want to borrow someone else’s achievements to make yourself look good?”

After saying that, I withdrew my gaze, turned around, and continued packing my things for discharge, not even bothering to look at Vanessa again.

After being choked off like that to my face, the fragile expression on Vanessa’s face cracked for a split second. A flash of malice darted through her eyes. But she quickly pulled it back, stepped forward, and lifted the container toward me, her voice trembling with tears.

“Sister, I’m only borrowing them, it’s not like I won’t give them back. How can you say that about me? I know you’re still angry, but I really need this opportunity…”

I didn’t budge. I kept packing the items on the table.

Seeing I wouldn’t take the bait, Vanessa’s eyes flicked sideways. She deliberately set the container at the edge of the table, leaving more than half of it hanging over the side. When she saw I still didn’t react, she hardened her heart and suddenly loosened her fingers.

Clang—

The container crashed to the floor. Scalding chicken soup splashed out instantly, spreading across the ground. The air filled with a rich, heavy aroma mixed with the sharp sound of porcelain shattering.

Almost at the same time, the door was shoved open violently, and Liam rushed in. The first thing he saw was the mess on the floor—and Vanessa’s red-rimmed eyes. He strode over and immediately pulled her behind him, his voice packed with panic.

“Vanessa, are you okay? Did it burn you?”

Vanessa bit her lip. Tears fell like broken beads, but she didn’t say a single word—she only shook her head pitifully.

Liam looked even more distressed. Without asking permission, he lifted her skirt hem, and when he saw the faint red mark on her calf, the pain in his eyes turned into fury in an instant.

He whipped his head toward me, accusation in his voice sharp as an ice spike.

“Clara Bennett! You’ve gone too far! Vanessa came here to apologize to you and bring you chicken soup—she’s done this much already. Why do you still have to make everything difficult for her?!”

“I’m making things difficult for her?”

I stopped packing, turned to face him, my chest rising and falling violently with anger—so furious I almost laughed.

“She came to borrow my trophies. I said no. And that means I’m making things difficult for her? Liam Foster, just how far does your heart lean? It’s probably sunk into the Mariana Trench by now—so far you’ll never pull it back!”

I pointed at the wreckage on the floor, my voice cold enough to freeze.

“She dropped the chicken soup herself, and you come in here blaming me without even asking what happened? If you protect her so much, if you feel sorry for her so much, then just be with her already! Why keep coming to provoke me at all?!”

I thought that even if Liam favored Vanessa, hearing those words would snap him into some kind of clarity.

But instead, his anger burned hotter. The disgust in his eyes scraped across my face like a blade as he cursed me word by word.

“Clara Bennett, stop twisting the truth! Vanessa is your half-sister. She’s been so good to you, and you treat her this viciously—doesn’t your conscience hurt?”

“It’s just a few stupid trophies. You think they’re that precious?”

His voice dripped with contempt.

“Your reputation is already completely ruined anyway. The whole internet knows you’re a promiscuous slut—what use are those trophies to you? You might as well lend them to Vanessa. At least you’d be helping her!”

The word “slut” was like a poisoned blade, stabbing straight through my heart.

After saying that, Liam didn’t even look at how pale my face had gone, or how my body was trembling. He simply scooped Vanessa up in his arms and hurried toward the door, his voice urgent.

“Vanessa, don’t be scared. I’m taking you to get it treated right now. It won’t scar.”

The room fell silent in an instant, leaving only the spilled chicken soup and shattered porcelain on the floor.

I stood there rigidly, as if every drop of blood in my body had frozen. Liam’s vicious insult echoed again and again in my head.

I was a slut?

After everything that had happened—my name destroyed, my reputation shattered, the whole internet spitting on me—wasn’t it all caused by him?

He was the one who turned Vanessa’s explicit photos into mine. He was the one who publicly ended our engagement. He was the one who threw filth on me again and again. He was the one who personally pushed me into an irreversible abyss.

And now he turned around and cursed me with the most vicious words?

Liam Foster, you really are something.

The crushing pain in my chest made it hard to breathe. And only then did I belatedly notice a burning pain spreading over my calf.

I looked down. A large section of my pant leg was soaked in chicken soup. My skin had already blistered into a swollen red patch, and along the edges, tiny beads of blood were starting to seep out.

I clenched my teeth, forcing down tears and pain. I bent over to pick up my luggage, limped out of the hospital room, and went to the emergency department downstairs alone to have the burn treated.

By the time the wound was handled and I returned to that so-called “home,” it was already late at night.

The moment I unlocked the front door with my key, my phone rang. It was the admissions office from the overseas school. The teacher on the other end asked gently, “Miss Bennett, hello. About housing after you enroll—would you like the school to arrange accommodations for you?”

I paused, thought for a moment, then refused calmly.

“No, thank you. I’ve already rented a place near the school in advance. I won’t need the school to arrange housing.”

“Alright, then we won’t reserve a dorm for you. Wishing you the best.”

After I hung up, I was just about to push the door open and step inside when Liam’s voice came from behind me, carrying a faint, barely perceptible confusion.

“Renting? Renting what?”

My movement stalled.

I turned slowly, and there, not far away by the elevator, was Liam supporting Vanessa—clearly just returning.