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.

Sylvia's head buzzed, and her thoughts went blank. She did not want to consider what going into a hotel room together implied.

Still, a thin sliver of hope clung to her. Maybe he was only taking Rachel back to her room.

Sylvia walked to the door. Through the thin wooden barrier, she heard labored breathing and muffled sounds near the entryway, followed by the unmistakable, intimate rush of running water.

That final shred of hope vanished.

Sylvia did not kick the door open. She was humiliated enough already, and she refused to drag herself into something even uglier. She covered her mouth, forced the sob back down, and stumbled out of the hotel.

That night, she sat on the sofa and stared out the window until dawn. Her mind replayed what must have happened in that room after she left. The pain cut so sharply that it felt unreal.

Victor did not come home until the next day. His clothes were badly wrinkled. Dark, unidentifiable stains marked the fabric. His entire body reeked of Rachel's perfume.

Sylvia's eyes were bloodshot from a sleepless night. She looked at him and said flatly, "You slept with Rachel."

Victor paused as he loosened his tie.

After a moment, he spoke. "I'm sorry. This was my fault. But yesterday she drank something she shouldn't have. The effects were strong. I was the only one who could help her—"

"But you still slept with her." Sylvia stood and walked toward him. Her voice shook as her control slipped. "Do you even remember that you have a fiancée?"

Victor had not slept all night. His head throbbed, and his patience had run out. "I already told you. I was just helping her. And it was only this once. Don't overthink it. I'll still marry you. The wedding is coming up soon. Stop making a scene."

With that, he turned and walked out, as though dealing with her distress was beneath him.

The front door slammed.

Sylvia collapsed onto the floor. Tears streamed down her face without restraint, and yet she laughed.

She thought herself ridiculous. She had always known that Victor felt only responsibility toward her. What, exactly, had she still been hoping for?

She did not know how long she sat there before she finally dragged herself to bed and sank into a heavy, lifeless sleep.

…

Sylvia was yanked awake without warning.

Victor grabbed her and hauled her straight to the car. No matter how fiercely she struggled, she could not break free. "Victor, what are you doing?!"

The car tore through the streets.

"What am I doing? I told you not to cause trouble. Why did you take those intimate photos in bed and threaten Rach with them?!" His voice was dark and stretched to its limit.

Sylvia was completely confused. "I didn't do that."

"If it wasn't you, who else could it be?" His teeth clenched with fury. "This afternoon, Rach handed in her resignation and went straight to the rooftop. If anything happens to her, I'll never forgive you."

They reached the hospital quickly, and he dragged her up to the rooftop.

Rachel sat at the edge. Onlookers had been blocked downstairs. On the rooftop, there were only the three of them.

Victor stared at Rachel, panic etched across his face. His voice softened without thought. "Rach, I brought her here. She'll promise not to send the photos. Come down, okay? It's dangerous up there."

He did not give Sylvia a chance to explain. In his mind, her guilt was already decided.

It felt as though countless needles pierced her heart.

Sylvia said coldly, "I told you it wasn't me."

Rachel stood. Her eyes held just the right measure of pain and fragility. "Dr. Rothwell, if those photos get out, my life will be over. If that happens, what's the point of living?"

Victor panicked. He grabbed Sylvia and edged forward, his voice trembling. "Rach, don't act on impulse. I won't let the photos spread…"

He kept soothing her, step by step, until only two steps separated them.

The instant Rachel lowered her guard, he released Sylvia and lunged forward, pulling Rachel back to safety.

Sylvia was shoved aside. She struck something hard, lost her footing, and fell straight off the fourth floor.

Time slowed.

The sight of Victor clutching Rachel burned into her vision. Weightlessness swallowed her. She stared up at the deep blue sky and closed her eyes in despair.

When the pain came, it was far worse than she had imagined. It was so overwhelming that she did not even have time to cry before everything went black.