Sylvia Frost and Victor Rothwell's wedding had been postponed 33 times.

This time, it happened on the night before the ceremony. She was struck by a car and left with 19 broken bones. She was rushed to the ICU three separate times before her condition finally stabilized.

Once she was strong enough to leave her bed, she braced herself against the wall and shuffled into the hallway. As she reached the corner, she overheard her fiancé speaking with a friend.

"Last time it was drowning. This time you used a car. That gets you another two months. What are you going to do next?"

Sylvia's blood turned to ice.

Victor stood there in his white coat, his phone turning slowly in his hand.

"No more delays." His voice remained flat.

The friend sounded surprised. "So you're really resigning yourself to marrying Sylvia? What about that intern under you, Rachel Summers?"

"When Sylvia was sent to my family as a child, my father told me to treat her well. We were meant to get married someday," Victor Rothwell said. "So I took care of her as if she were already my wife. Over time, it became a habit. That is, until I met Rach."

A trace of warmth flickered in his eyes. "Her background is rough, but she never bows her head to adversity. She's strong-willed. I noticed her the moment I first saw her."

"If you like her that much, then go after her," the friend said, clearly baffled.

The air fell silent for several seconds before Victor lowered his gaze. "Sylvia's mother once saved my family. She's my responsibility. Those 33 times were me struggling against it. Now I should shoulder that responsibility."

He paused, his voice softening. "As for Rach, being able to watch her from afar is enough. I don't dare ask for more."

Every word stabbed into Sylvia Frost's heart like a blade. She clung to the wall just to stay upright. Her face felt damp and itchy.

When she reached up, her fingers came away wet. She stopped listening. Staggering, she fled back to her hospital room. Tears streamed down her face without a sound.

She had never imagined that all 33 accidents had been Victor's doing.

The first time, she had been caught in a street fight and stabbed by mistake.

The second time, a snake had bitten her in the garden at home. The venom had nearly killed her.

The third time, Victor had taken her hiking. She had slipped and fallen, spending half a month in the ICU.

…

All of it had been because he did not want to marry her.

Their engagement had been set when Sylvia was 10 years old. At the time, the Rothwell family had been under investigation, facing financial ruin and prison. Her mother, an accountant, had taken responsibility for everything. That was how the Rothwells survived.

Afterward, Walter Rothwell, Victor's grandfather, brought Sylvia into their home and arranged her engagement to Victor as a form of protection.

As she grew up, everyone in the Rothwell family, including Victor, treated her well. They supported everything she did, even the band she played in, something elite circles looked down on.

Because of that, she had always believed they loved each other. She never expected it was all duty, or that his heart belonged to someone else.

The dull ache in her chest sharpened and twisted like a knife. Pain rippled through her entire body and tugged at every injury.

Ten minutes later, Victor came in to clean her wound. When he saw her reddened eyes, he paused. "What is it? Does it hurt again?"

She looked at the concern on his face, and the word "responsibility" echoed in her mind, stabbing until her chest tightened.

Her pain sensitivity was higher than most people's. Even wound cleaning required anesthetic.

Victor picked up the syringe. Just as he was about to inject it, his phone rang. He set the anesthetic down and answered the call.

Her gaze drifted to the cartoon charm hanging from his phone. It stirred an old memory. The charm had been a prize from her band's first competition win. She had happily given it to him. He had tossed it into a drawer without a second glance.

"Too childish," he had said, frowning.

Now, the same kind of cartoon charm hung from his phone. The matching style swayed back and forth, making Sylvia's eyes ache.

In the quiet room, Rachel's voice carried clearly from the phone. "Dr. Rothwell, I ran into a patient here, and I'm not sure how to handle it. Could you come over for a moment?"

The moment she spoke, Sylvia felt the change in Victor's presence. His mood visibly lifted.

"Okay. I'll be right there," he said, his tone light.

She had once thought this was nothing more than care for an intern. Now she understood. Every feeling left a trail.

Victor hung up. His hand passed over the anesthetic and went straight for the instruments.

Agony exploded from the wound and tore through Sylvia's body. She let out a muffled cry as cold sweat poured down her skin and her head spun.

"Vic, you didn't use the anesthetic…" Her voice trembled.

His hands did not slow. Distracted, he said, "It works better this way. Anesthetic interferes with the medication. Just bear with it."

Her body jerked in pain. Her fingers clenched the bedsheet until it nearly tore.

"Vic, can you use the anesthetic? It really hurts," Sylvia pleaded.

"Be good. Hold on. It will be over soon," he said, moving faster.

A few minutes later, the cleaning was finished.

Victor tossed the tools onto the tray.

Sylvia lay collapsed on the bed, barely conscious. In her tilted field of vision, she saw him leaving in a hurry.

Anesthetic did not interfere with the medication at all. He had done it only so he could rush to Rachel. He had not even been willing to wait five minutes for the anesthetic to take effect.

Sylvia's heart twisted violently. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes onto the white sheets. Pain gnawed at her without mercy. At last, her vision went black, and she passed out.

When Sylvia woke again, several people stood gathered around her bed. All of them were interns under Victor, with Rachel among them.

Sylvia pushed herself upright and braced her hands against the mattress. "What are you all doing here?"

A plain-looking girl spoke with hesitation. "Dr. Rothwell said to use you as a case study, so he told us to come first—"

Before she could finish, someone elbowed her. "Why explain so much to her? Someone who lives off a favor like that doesn't deserve politeness."

Sylvia's face drained of color. In the past, those four words would not have affected her. Now, she could not even refute them. In a way, they were true. Because she lived off a favor, Victor had been bound to her side.

"Exactly," another intern added. "If it weren't for her, Dr. Rothwell could pursue his true love."

As she spoke, her gaze slid meaningfully toward Rachel at the center of the group.

Sylvia noticed the faint embarrassment on Rachel's face. A sharp ache pierced her chest.

Someone clapped her hands with sudden enthusiasm. "Do you think her mother took the blame back then just to force her daughter to marry Dr. Rothwell? With his family background, they could work their whole lives and still never reach that level."

The others echoed the sentiment at once. "That's it. Like mother, like daughter. Her mother was even more calculating."

Sylvia's hands curled into tight fists. They could insult her as much as they wanted. She could endure it. She knew she owed the Rothwell family. But her mother had taken the blame out of gratitude alone. She had never sought anything in return.

The words grew sharper and more vicious.

Sylvia could not let them drag her mother through the mud. She rose abruptly and lifted her hand toward the loudest speaker.

From the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Victor about to enter. She rushed forward and blocked the blow.

A sharp smack rang out as the slap landed squarely across Rachel's face.

Sylvia froze.

Victor arrived just in time to witness the scene. He crossed the room in two long strides, pulled Rachel into his arms, and shoved Sylvia aside.

"Sylvia, what do you think you're doing?" Anger cut through his voice.

Sylvia staggered and stared at him in shock. He had never spoken to her like this.

Victor did not spare her another glance. All his attention remained on Rachel as he led her away to treat the injury.

Ten minutes later, he returned.

"Go apologize to Rach." His first words were blunt.

Sylvia turned her head aside and stayed silent.

"I've spoiled you too much over the years," he said coldly.

Her body stiffened, eyes burning as she looked at him. "They started it. They said I'm living off a debt. They said my mother took the fall just to claw her way into your family. And I wasn't trying to hit Rachel. She stepped in front of her on her own."

Victor's expression did not soften. His voice cooled even further. "Were they wrong?"

Her pupils constricted and her breath caught as disbelief, grievance, and heartbreak surged together, nearly overwhelming her.

'Of course. Has he not always believed that? Otherwise, why would he keep hurting me to delay the wedding? Why would he insist that everything between us is nothing more than responsibility?' she thought bitterly.

Sylvia lowered her head and let out a faint, self-mocking smile. "Fine. I'll apologize."

With her body on the verge of collapse, Sylvia followed Victor to his office. When she opened the door and saw Rachel sitting alone in his chair, she paused.

A memory surfaced. Once, she had offered to pick Victor up after work. He had told her he would be late, and she had suggested waiting in his office.

He had refused. "My office has important files. I can't leave someone alone there."

Yet Rachel could sit there freely. So that was the truth. A man's principles applied only to the people he did not care for. In front of the woman he loved, they vanished.

Sylvia suppressed the spreading ache in her chest, walked up to Rachel, and lowered her head. "I'm sorry. I hit you by accident earlier."

Rachel looked startled and covered her mouth. "Mrs. Rothwell?"

Victor stepped closer and gently patted Rachel's head, his expression displeased. "We're not married yet. You don't need to call her that."

In the past, he never corrected anyone who addressed Sylvia that way. Now, because it was Rachel, he did.

Was it because he did not want the woman he loved to speak that title?

Bitterness flickered through Sylvia's eyes.

Rachel nodded obediently and corrected herself. "Miss Frost, you don't need to blame yourself. I forgive you."

Her generous response finally satisfied Victor. "You can go back and rest."

Sylvia's nails pressed hard into her palm. She turned and left the office.

Just outside the door, someone brushed against her shoulder. She lost her balance and fell heavily to the floor. Pain tore through her body, and cold sweat broke out at once.

From inside the office came Victor's gentle voice. "Does your face still hurt? I'll apply some more medicine."

That was when her tears finally fell.

They struck the floor in heavy drops. She covered her mouth to stifle the sound. Only the trembling of her shoulders revealed her grief.

…

The next day, Victor left for another hospital as part of an exchange program. He took only one intern with him: Rachel Summers.

During the week Sylvia remained hospitalized, interns kept stopping by her bed. They said Victor chose Rachel because he wanted to take her out. They said he treated her to good food. They said he took her to visit popular places.

These were all things he had never done with Sylvia.

Sylvia never responded. Each word cut into her heart until the pain threatened to split her open. At last, a sense of release flickered through her eyes. 'Victor. I'm letting you go.'

After her discharge, Sylvia went straight to the Rothwell estate. She intended to cancel the engagement.

"Mr. George, I want to cancel the engagement." Sylvia stood in the living room with her back straight and her voice steady.

Victor's father, George Rothwell, froze. "Why so suddenly? Isn't the wedding about to take place?"

She lowered her gaze to hide the bitterness in her eyes. "Vic and I aren't in love. There's no point wasting each other's time. My mother will be released soon. I want to take her away and spend time with her properly."

Her resolve left no room for argument.

George nodded at last. "Alright. I'll arrange the tickets. Once your mother is out in half a month, you can leave—"

"Who's leaving?" Before he could finish, a voice cut in from behind them.

Sylvia stiffened and answered before George could speak, "No one. Why are you back?"

Victor did not pursue it. "I heard you came home. I'm here to pick you up."

Later, George asked them to stay for dinner.

At the table, Victor slipped back into familiar habits. He placed food in front of her with quiet precision. He never erred in small gestures like these, picking her up, serving her meals, attending to details.

That was why she had once believed he truly cared.

Halfway through the meal, Victor brought up the wedding. "Dad, the ceremony will proceed as planned in half a month. Remember to notify the guests."

George paused and looked from one to the other. "Didn't Via tell you? She wants to cancel the engagement."

A ringing phone drowned out his words.

Victor answered it.

Sylvia sat beside him and heard every word clearly. "Dr. Rothwell, Rach has a fever and refuses to leave work. Please come talk to her."

His grip tightened on the phone, urgency seeping into his voice. "Stay with her. I'll be there immediately."

The call ended.

Victor turned back. "Dad, what were you saying just now?"

Before George could reply, Victor continued, "We'll talk later. Something urgent came up. I have to go."

For the first time, he dispensed with all courtesy. The chair screeched as he stood, then he strode straight to the door.

Sylvia watched his retreating figure. It felt as though an invisible hand had closed around her heart, tightening until a dull ache spread through her chest.

After leaving the Rothwell estate, she went straight to the prison to visit her mother, Cassandra Collins.

Holding the receiver, she studied Cassandra's gaunt face through the glass. Her nose stung, but she forced the tears down.

Cassandra's eyes brightened as she pressed the phone to her ear. "Via, have the Rothwells treated you well all these years? Has Vic treated you well?"

Sylvia tugged her sleeve lower to hide her injuries and smiled. "They've treated me very well, Mom. Don't worry."

Only then did Cassandra relax. "Your wedding should be soon, right? It's a shame I can't attend."

"We're not getting married anymore," Sylvia said, keeping her tone light. "He doesn't like me. Mom, when you're released, let's leave this place, alright? I'll stay with you from now on. Just the two of us."

Tears welled in her mother's eyes. "Alright. We'll do whatever you say."

…

When Sylvia returned to the empty house, she realized a month and a half had passed since she was last there. Everything looked unchanged, yet nothing felt the same.

She went upstairs and packed her belongings. She left behind anything the Rothwells or Victor had given her. None of it truly belonged to her, and she had no right to take it.

Victor did not come home that night. He returned the following afternoon with a stylist and a makeup artist. "There's a medical gala tonight. I'll take you. You should meet some people."

Victor had never hesitated to acknowledge Sylvia in public as the Rothwell family's future daughter-in-law. In his mind, she was a responsibility. Nothing more.

Once she was ready, Sylvia walked to the car and reached for the front passenger door. It did not open.

From the driver's seat, Victor said, "We're picking up Rach later. She gets carsick. Sit in the back."

Her fingers tightened around the handle. Had he forgotten that she got carsick too?

She lowered her head and let out a faint, self-mocking smile. Without a word, she opened the rear door instead.

…

When they picked Rachel up, her first words as she climbed in were, "Thank you for staying with me all night, Dr. Rothwell. Otherwise I wouldn't have recovered so quickly."

Victor smiled at her with undisguised fondness and rubbed her head. "As long as you're better. Your health is fragile. Be more careful from now on."

The sight pierced straight through Sylvia.

Only then did Rachel seem to notice her. She spoke with surprise. "Miss Frost, you're here too? Then I shouldn't sit here. I'll move to the back."

Victor started the car. "It's fine. Stay where you are."

Halfway through the drive, Sylvia's nausea surged. Acid crept up her throat. Fortunately, they reached the venue just before it became unbearable.

She took Victor's arm as they entered. Rachel remained close at his other side.

Throughout the gala, he did introduce Sylvia to several people, but only in passing. Soon after, his attention shifted entirely to Rachel. He guided her through introductions to senior figures in the medical field. Sylvia faded into the background.

The lingering nausea left her drained. She did not want to stay any longer. After informing Victor, she headed toward the restroom. She lingered outside for half an hour, then drew a deep breath and turned back.

At the entrance, she saw Victor supporting an unsteady Rachel and guiding her upstairs. Rachel's cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven.

"Rach, hold on. We're almost there." His voice sounded hoarse and strained.

Sylvia's heart lurched. She followed them to the upper floor, then down the guest room corridor.

She watched helplessly as they entered a room together and the door closed behind them.