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.

When Sylvia opened her eyes again, she found herself in a hospital bed. Pain racked her body, as though it might tear itself apart at any moment. She had long since lost count of how many times she had been admitted to the hospital.

Her phone rang. A prison guard she had once quietly helped was on the line. His voice was low and urgent. "Miss Frost, your mother has received some… special attention inside. Did you offend someone?"

Sulvia's breathing caught. "What did you just say?"

"Someone high up ordered us to 'look after' her," he replied. "She hasn't been given proper meals. Other inmates are targeting her. They've forced her to stay outside under the sun for ten hours a day."

The words struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her vision wavered, and the voice on the phone seemed to drift farther and farther away.

The hospital door flew open without warning.

Victor walked in.

Sylvia slowly lifted her head and looked at him. In that instant, everything became clear. "You did this."

Only Victor had that kind of influence. He also believed she was the one who had threatened Rachel. His face showed no confusion and no surprise.

Sylvia stared at him as though she were seeing a stranger.

"My mother saved your family. You can't treat her like this. Her health has been fragile for years. She can't endure this kind of torment…" Her voice shook.

Victor stepped forward and seized her face, his fingers digging into her cheeks.

"She helped my family," he said, his gaze chilly. "But she did nothing for Rach."

His grip tightened. "If you're angry, direct it at me. I deserve it. But why did you hurt an innocent person again?"

Sylvia's face throbbed as though it might shatter. She met his gaze stubbornly, her eyes bloodshot. "I didn't take any photos. I didn't threaten Rachel. If you don't believe me, check the hotel entrance cameras—"

"If it wasn't you, then who?" he interrupted coldly. "Rach has a gentle nature. She's never had conflicts with anyone. Except you."

No matter what she said, Victor had already passed judgment.

Sylvia smiled bitterly. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and fell onto the back of his hand.

The warmth made him pause, as though something inside him had been lightly scorched.

"Fine," she said in a soft voice. "I admit I was wrong. Tell them to stop targeting my mother. From now on, I'll stay far away from Rachel."

She lowered her head in surrender. She no longer had the strength to fight. Resistance had proven useless. All she wanted was her mother's safety. She still needed to take her away.

When Victor saw her yield, he loosened his grip. His hand moved to her cheek, and his tone softened. "I don't want to hurt your mother either. But Rach is innocent. She won't appear in our lives again. If you don't want contact with her, then avoid her. Just don't hurt her."

He pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

Sylvia nodded numbly, obedient and lifeless.

Even so, she failed to save her mother.

The next day, the prison called again. Sylvia remembered nothing of the trip there. When awareness returned, she stood inside the morgue. Her mother lay silent on a gurney, her face drained of color.

Sylvia collapsed to the floor. Her hands trembled as she reached out, unable to bring herself to touch her.

"Mom. Didn't you say you were leaving with me? Wake up. We were so close to getting away. Why? Why did this happen?" Her voice broke as tears fell onto that cold face, unable to restore even the faintest warmth.

The guard beside her spoke in a hushed voice, unable to bear the scene. "Heatstroke. By the time she was discovered, it was already too late."

…

That same day, Sylvia arranged her mother's cremation. She stood alone at the funeral.

Before the service, she called Victor 19 times. He answered none of them. When she finally lowered her phone, a new video appeared on Rachel's social feed.

It showed a concert filled with blinding lights and deafening music. At Rachel's side stood the man Sylvia could never reach, his gaze gentle as it rested on her.

The noise brought back a memory of the livehouse show Sylvia had once invited him to attend.

"You know I don't like crowded, noisy places," Victor had said at the time.

Yet now he accompanied Rachel at a packed concert.

Sylvia smiled quietly, her expression tinged with self-mockery, and made no further calls.

At the funeral home, she bought a necklace. With her own hands, she placed her mother's ashes inside it.

"Mom, I'm taking you away," she whispered as she fastened it around her neck.

Sylvia did not get home until very late. Rain began to fall on her way back, and by the time she arrived, she was soaked to the skin.

When she opened the door, Victor was already home. She did not spare him a glance and headed straight for the stairs. She had just reached the bottom step when a bath towel wrapped around her from behind.

"Why didn't you call me to pick you up? You're completely drenched." Victor's voice carried a note of concern.

A trace of sarcasm flickered in her eyes. 'Would you have come if I did?'

Sylvia slapped his hand away and went upstairs. She took a shower. When she came out, Victor stood in the room with a bowl of soup, gently blowing on it to cool it.

In truth, Victor was a responsible man. Otherwise, he would not have taken care of her for more than ten years. He was so responsible that she had mistaken responsibility for love.

When he noticed her, he pulled her down to sit on the bed and fed her spoon by spoon. "Is it still hot? Drink it while it's warm. The wedding's coming up. You can't afford to catch a cold."

Sylvia lowered her eyes and finished the soup in silence. She watched his back as he left the room. Inside her, everything was utterly still.

'Victor… As you wish, there won't be a wedding.'

…

The next day, Sylvia went to the immigration office to apply for a visa.

As she walked out of the building, she ran straight into Victor and a group of interns under his supervision.

He glanced at the office behind her and frowned slightly. "What are you doing here?"

She replied calmly, "Someone in my band is going abroad. I came to help with the paperwork."

He did not ask anything further. No matter how hard he tried, he would never imagine that the one leaving the country was her.

One of the interns spoke up. "We're having a group dinner tonight. Mrs. Rothwell, come with us."

"Let's go," Victor added. "We'll head home together later."

They ended up at a smokehouse.

The first thing Sylvia did was look at Victor. In the past, whenever she asked him to eat barbecue with her, he always refused, saying the smoke and smell were too strong.

"That's strange," an intern beside them said with her arms crossed. "Why would Dr. Rothwell come to a place like this?"

Another smiled with quiet certainty. "Because Rach likes it. Not just barbecue. Tacos, street stalls, anything. As long as Rach likes it, Dr. Rothwell will go with her."

Sylvia lowered her eyes and gave a faint, self-mocking smile. She said nothing.

After they went inside, everyone naturally arranged for Victor and Rachel to sit together. Only then did someone seem to remember Sylvia.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot Mrs. Rothwell was here too," the intern said, sounding surprised. "Dr. Rothwell always sits with Rach at group dinners. You won't mind, right?"

A fine, needle-like pain spread through Sylvia's chest. She shook her head, kept her composure, and took a seat across from them. From there, everything lay in plain view.

Victor tied an apron around Rachel and moved with practiced ease. He remembered every one of her preferences and mixed her dipping sauce just the way she liked it. He barely touched his own food, devoting his attention to her instead.

Sylvia tightened her grip on her fork and stared down at her plate, her gaze unfocused.

At last, Victor seemed to notice her silence. He casually picked up some food and set it on her plate. "Eat more."

She looked down. 'Sesame-coated mushrooms…'

A bitter smile brushed her lips as she nudged them aside. She had been allergic to sesame since childhood. Once, it had nearly killed her. He had forgotten.

For the rest of the meal, Sylvia kept her head lowered and never once looked at the people seated across from her.

Then Rachel spoke. "Miss Frost, your necklace is so pretty. May I take a look?"

Sylvia instinctively clutched the necklace at her chest and was about to refuse when the person beside her reached out and yanked it from her neck.

"Mrs. Rothwell wouldn't be that petty," the intern said. "Rach, go ahead and look."

Sylvia reached out to stop her and looked at Victor, her voice sharp with alarm. "No!"

Victor frowned, displeased by her tone. "It's just a necklace. What's wrong with letting Rach see it? What did I tell you before?"

How dare he bring up before.

Sylvia watched him reach out to hand the necklace to Rachel and lunged to grab it back.

Rachel reached out as well, as if to refuse. "Since Miss Frost doesn't want to, forget it, Dr. Rothwell…"

The necklace slipped from their hands and fell straight into the charcoal grill. Grease popped, sparks leapt, and heat stung their fingers.

Sylvia panicked and reached in to retrieve it.

The rolling heat seared her skin. With her heightened sensitivity to pain, it felt as though her fingers were being cut off.

In the past, Victor would have rushed to her side at once.

Her head spun from the pain. Acting on instinct, she looked toward him. She saw him holding Rachel's reddened fingers and blowing on them gently.

When Rachel looked close to tears, he took her straight to the hospital. He did not spare Sylvia, who hovered on the edge of collapse, a single glance.

By the time Sylvia recovered enough to stand, the smokehouse was about to close.

She asked the staff to retrieve the necklace from the grill. When she pried open the grease-smeared casing, the ashes inside were gone.

They had burned away, lost to heat and smoke.

Sylvia collapsed to the floor and clutched the necklace. Her raw, broken sobs echoed through the empty restaurant until her voice was completely hoarse.

In this lifetime, she would never forgive Victor.