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.

That night, Sylvia spiked a high fever. She drifted in a haze for two full days before her consciousness finally cleared.

Victor sat by her bedside. When her eyes opened, he reached out and touched her forehead. "The fever's finally come down a bit."

She stared at the ceiling, unfocused. She did not respond to anything he said.

Not until he added, "Via, don't worry too much. I'll fix your voice. I promise."

Her eyes shifted. She looked at him and tried to speak, but no sound came out. A burning pain tore through her throat.

Panic crossed her face. Victor patted her gently. "The fever was too severe. Your throat was badly inflamed, and your vocal cords were affected. It's a minor procedure. You'll be fine."

His tone was steady and reassuring. Sylvia slowly relaxed.

…

Three days later, Sylvia had a performance scheduled. She took an anesthetic injection and barely managed to sing through the entire set.

The band had not seen her in days and insisted on going out to eat together. She declined and explained that she had surgery the next day.

They were disappointed but did not push. "We can always get together later. There'll be plenty of chances."

"I'm leaving," Sylvia said quietly, looking at them. "My flight's in five days."

The room fell silent.

After a long pause, someone finally spoke. "But Via, isn't your wedding in six days? We all got the invitations."

She lowered her head. "It's not happening. Just pretend you never saw them."

No one spoke after that. Everyone knew how deeply she had loved Victor.

Sylvia forced a smile and lightly punched the person nearest to her. "What's with those faces? People say marriage is a grave. I'm just not jumping in anymore. Why aren't you happy?"

She paused, then added softly, almost too softly to hear, "Don't worry. I won't give up singing. It's all I have left now…"

Only then did they relax.

"Then remember to come back and see us, Via. Don't just disappear on us…"

A hand suddenly closed around her wrist. Victor's low voice sounded at her side. "Where are you going?"

He had come to pick her up.

Sylvia did not answer. After saying goodbye to the band, she got into the car. Only when he asked again did she speak. "I'm leaving the band."

He froze for a moment and steered with one hand. "Why? You don't like it anymore?"

"I don't," she replied flatly.

He did not press further. "The surgery is tomorrow morning. I've arranged everything."

Sylvia assumed he would be the one operating, or at least a senior attending. She did not ask.

Only when she lay on the operating table, anesthetic flowing into her veins, did she realize the surgeon was Rachel. Victor stood beside her as the assistant.

Sylvia cherished her voice above everything else. She would never have entrusted it to an intern.

Terror surged. She tried to sit up, but the anesthetic left her body limp. Her voice came out broken and breathy. "Change… the surgeon… Not her… Victor… you do it…"

Victor stroked her cheek gently. "Be good. Rach needs hands-on experience for her thesis. Her grades are the best. Don't worry. Go to sleep. It'll be over when you wake up."

As his words faded, her consciousness slipped away.

…

When Sylvia woke again, she was back in the ward.

After a few blank seconds, the memories before the surgery rushed back. She opened her mouth to speak. Only shattered, rasping fragments escaped, like air leaking from a broken bellows.

She pressed a hand to her throat and tried again.

Nothing changed.

Her eyes reddened with panic.

The door opened.

Victor walked in, with Rachel close behind him.

Sylvia looked at him desperately and pointed at her throat.

Victor avoided her gaze for a moment before he spoke. "There were some complications during the surgery. But don't worry. I'll fix your voice."

Her eyes widened, while her body went rigid, as if struck by lightning.

A complication? If it were truly minor, why did he look like this?

Her gaze met Rachel's by chance. Behind Victor, Rachel looked back at her with open provocation and triumph.

Disbelief flashed through Sylvia. Before the photo incident, she had suspected Rachel, but she had never imagined someone would go so far as to orchestrate everything personally.

Now she understood. Because of her, her mother was dead. Because of her, her voice was ruined.

Rage exploded. Sylvia grabbed a decoration from the bedside and hurled it.

Victor frowned and stepped sideways, pulling Rachel into his arms to shield her. "Sylvia! Have you lost your mind?!"

Sylvia's fists clenched until they trembled. She glared at Rachel, hatred blazing in her eyes. "She… did it… on purpose."

Victor's frown deepened. His voice turned cold. "All surgeries carry risks. What does that have to do with her? Don't start hurting people just because things didn't go your way."

Sylvia froze. Slowly, she looked at him. Impatience filled his expression, as though she were simply being unreasonable.

She lowered her head and let out a quiet, hollow laugh.

How could she forget? Without Victor's blind faith, what power would Rachel truly have?

…

In the days that followed, Sylvia did not say a single word.

Victor came to see her every day and repeated his promises to cure her voice. She never once looked at him.

On the fourth night, a message arrived from Victor's father. It contained flight details and a transfer of money.

George: [Via, take this money and live well with your mother.]

She had never told him about her mother's death. She had not wanted him to worry.

She replied with a single word: [Okay.]

Just after she saved the message, Victor spoke from the sofa. "Via, I have something to deal with tonight. I won't be staying. The surgery is scheduled for after the wedding. We'll do it then."

She did not lift her head.

Ten minutes later, Rachel posted a photo of fireworks in the night sky. Victor stood beside her, watching her with a gentle expression.

Sylvia's hand trembled. She opened Rachel's profile and pressed Delete.

…

The next day, the endless rain finally stopped. Sunlight broke through the clouds.

When Sylvia reached the front of the hospital, she snapped her SIM card in half and dropped it into a trash bin. Then she stepped into the light alone and walked toward a brand-new life, one without Victor.