Sebastian’s shout sliced through the air, sharp and furious. He lunged toward Bianca at once, pulling her behind him like she was made of glass.

“What are you thinking? Have you lost your mind?!”

Tears blurred my vision as I stared at him.

“Lost my mind? That comb belonged to my grandmother! You swore to me—swore—that if you ever saw it again, you’d buy it back. You don’t even remember, do you?”

For a brief second, something stirred in his eyes. Guilt. A flash of memory.

Then it vanished, sealed behind a wall of frost.

“That was ages ago,” he said coolly. “You can’t seriously expect me to recall something so trivial. And Bianca didn’t mean to drop it. How could you push her like that?”

Bianca gripped his sleeve, her lashes wet, her sobs perfectly fragile.

“It’s really my fault… I wasn’t paying attention.”

He softened immediately. “Don’t blame yourself.” His fingers lifted, wiping her tears with a tenderness that once belonged only to me.

Then he turned back to me, his expression stripped of mercy.

“I’ll send it out for repair. Stop making a scene.”

With that, he took her hand and walked away, the broken comb still in his grasp. He never once looked back at me.

---

Rain started falling outside, the sound of it seeping through the walls like a slow, relentless drumbeat.

In my previous life, this moment had crushed me beyond repair.

Now, I felt nothing at all.

I stood at the entrance, watching Sebastian’s black Maybach glide away, Bianca sitting proudly beside him.

The auction hall was far from the city. There were no taxis. After waiting endlessly, I finally started walking under the rain.

By the time I reached home, every step felt like knives. When I took off my heels, my skin tore free with them — blisters ripped open, sticking to the stockings. I gasped at the pain and collapsed onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling.

And then the memory came.

That winter years ago, when he carried me three kilometers through pouring rain to get me to the hospital. We had no money for a cab, but he refused to let me walk even one step.

“Hang in there, Aurelia,” he’d whispered, breathless. “We’re almost there.”

His back had been so warm that night, the rain almost comforting.

Now he owned cars worth more than I could imagine — and still couldn’t spare five minutes for me.

After cleaning my wounds, I crawled into bed. Sleep was the only place where grief couldn’t reach me.

I had never wanted the Sterling inheritance. I only wanted the man who once held me in a tiny apartment, whispering my name like it was his entire world.

But that man vanished the day his memories returned.

Tears slid silently down my temples.

---

The next morning, the bedroom door creaked open, pulling me from sleep.

Sebastian stood there in a crisp suit, flawless as ever.

“There’s a family dinner tonight. You’re coming.”

I hesitated, afraid he’d notice I was preparing to leave. After a moment, I nodded.

My ankle screamed with every step as I dressed.

Half an hour later, we arrived at the Sterling estate, glowing warmly against the night.

The moment we walked in, I spotted Bianca already seated on the sofa, wrapped in Chanel, chatting happily with Mrs. Sterling. Mr. Sterling sat nearby, his expression filled with pride — like he was finally looking at the daughter-in-law he had always wanted.

“Sebastian!” Mrs. Sterling hurried over, clutching his arm without even glancing at me. “Bianca has been waiting for you.”

His eyes flicked toward me, as though expecting to see pain or jealousy. I gave him nothing.

Bianca turned with feigned surprise. “Oh, Miss Monroe is here too? Please, have a seat.”

Only then did Mrs. Sterling look at me.

“Since you’re here, mind your behavior. Don’t disgrace this family.”

I stayed silent.

Throughout dinner, Bianca and Mrs. Sterling laughed together, discussing elite gatherings. Sebastian and his father talked business. Not a word was meant for me.

I ate quietly, listening to the insults drift across the table.

“Background is everything.”

“Some girls don’t understand their limits.”

“Sebastian and Bianca have known each other since childhood. They’re a perfect match.”

Once, Sebastian would have snapped back. Later, he’d only muttered, “That’s enough, Grandma.”

Now, he said nothing at all.

Afterward, Sebastian drove us home. Bianca naturally took the front seat, leaving me in the back like excess luggage.

The song playing was her favorite. They laughed together, their voices blending into the music.

I rested my head against the window, watching the city lights blur. Another winter surfaced in my memory — Sebastian pedaling a battered bike through the freezing night, my arms around his waist, my frozen hands tucked inside his coat.

“Someday I’ll buy you a good car,” he’d promised. “You’ll never be cold again.”

Now he had the money. But the front seat wasn’t mine.

A horn blared suddenly. Headlights flared.

A truck veered straight at us.

The impact was instant.

In that split second, I saw Sebastian move — not toward me, but toward Bianca, throwing his body over hers.

I was hurled forward, my forehead smashing into the glass. Warm blood slid down into my eyes.

In my past life, I survived this crash.

But survival was its own cruelty, because even at the edge of death, Sebastian’s choice was unmistakable.

He never chose me.

And in that moment, I heard my heart shatter — for the very last time.

When I finally regained consciousness, the white ceiling of a hospital room hovered above me.

A tight bandage pressed against my forehead, throbbing with every heartbeat. My ankle wasn’t the only thing injured anymore — fresh bruises bloomed across my arms, shallow cuts burned along my skin, and every time I shifted, pain sparked through my bones like broken glass grinding together. It felt as though my body had been torn apart and poorly stitched back together.

I tried to sit up, but before I could, the door swung open.

The sharp click of heels echoed across the floor.

Mrs. Sterling swept inside, her posture rigid, her presence suffocating the room without a single word.

“I told you to get out of this country,” she snapped. “So why are you still here? Are you still foolish enough to think you’ll marry into our family? Is one hundred million not enough to buy you out?”

Her accusations struck like knives, yet my voice remained level.

“That isn’t the reason. My documents aren’t ready yet. Once the visa is issued, I’ll leave — somewhere far away, somewhere Sebastian will never be able to find me.”

Her lips curved in faint amusement, like she was already watching me vanish.

“Make sure you do. Otherwise, I’ll have someone make you disappear for real. Consider this your final warning.”

The door opened again, and Sebastian entered. He was limping slightly, but otherwise he looked unharmed.

The air in the room shifted instantly — heavy, oppressive, as though the space had shrunk the moment he arrived.

“Leaving?” he asked, suspicion flickering in his eyes as he glanced between us. “Who’s going anywhere?”

I dropped my gaze and forced steadiness into my tone.

“Your grandmother just stopped by to see how I was doing. I told her I’m fine. She can go now.”

Mrs. Sterling instantly changed her expression, offering a hollow wish for my recovery before sweeping out, her heels snapping like distant gunfire.

Now it was only Sebastian and me.

He stood awkwardly near the bed, uncertain, restless.

“About the crash earlier… it happened too fast. I didn’t even have time to think.”

I nodded faintly. “I understand.”

“You’re not upset?”

“No.”

He searched my face, clearly expecting anger or resentment, but all he found was emptiness. I had already burned through every emotion I once had for him.

He stepped closer, reaching toward my cheek.

“Don’t look at me like that, I—”

“I’m not angry,” I interrupted gently, turning my head aside. My voice was soft, but it left no room for argument. “I just need rest. Miss Rutherford was hurt too. You should stay with her.”

A long pause followed.

Then he left.

---

The days that followed blurred into one another. He visited every morning and every evening, bringing work documents into my room as if this were his office. He’d ask whether I was in pain, and every time I shook my head.

But when night fell and the ward sank into silence, his chair beside my bed was always empty.

From the hushed conversations of the nurses outside, I learned what I wasn’t meant to know.

“The girl in the VIP suite… her fiancé stayed overnight again.”

“They say he’s the Sterling heir. Handsome. Attentive.”

I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep, pretending those words meant nothing.

When I was finally discharged, Sebastian came to pick me up.

I hobbled toward the car — and stopped.

Bianca was already seated in the front, dressed elegantly, like we were attending a celebration instead of leaving a hospital. She smiled pleasantly.

“I hope you don’t mind me coming along, Miss Monroe. I get motion sickness, so I can only sit in front.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, clearly wanting to say something.

I spoke before he could.

“It’s fine.”

I slid into the back seat, quiet and unseen, like a shadow.

He glanced at me through the rearview mirror, words hovering unspoken. The engine started instead.

---

The car stopped before a vast, glittering villa, its gates glowing beneath golden lights.

My heart sank.

This wasn’t home.

This was a banquet — the golden anniversary celebration of Mr. and Mrs. Sterling.

The whispers began the moment we stepped inside.

“Isn’t that Young Master Sterling? Why did he bring two women?”

“The one in white… that’s Aurelia, right? The girl from the slums. No family, no status. Just look at her clothes.”

“Miss Rutherford and Young Master Sterling… now that’s what you call a match.”

They weren’t even trying to be discreet.

I stood slightly apart, invisible, while Sebastian never once left Bianca’s side. He poured her wine, draped his jacket over her shoulders, gazed at her like nothing else in the room mattered.

Then Bianca turned, all sweetness, and looped her arm through mine.

“Come, Miss Monroe. Let me introduce you to some friends.”

Before I could refuse, she pulled me into a group of impeccably dressed women.

“This is Aurelia,” she announced cheerfully, her voice loud enough to draw attention. “Sebastian’s… poor girlfriend.”

Then she seamlessly switched to Spanish, chatting and laughing as though I weren’t even present. The others joined in, replying in German, their conversation forming a wall I couldn’t breach.

Stranded, I stood there smiling stiffly, alone in the middle of their laughter.

Suddenly Bianca turned back to me.

“What do you think, Miss Monroe?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, right.” She tilted her head apologetically. “I forgot you don’t speak French.” Then she laughed softly and added to the group, “She never learned foreign languages. Don’t mind her.”

The laughter that followed was light — and razor-sharp.

“It’s alright,” Bianca added kindly. “You can always start now.”

My fingers curled into my palm until I finally lifted my chin.

“Actually,” I replied smoothly in perfect French, every syllable crisp,

“Je comprends parfaitement tout ce que vous venez de dire.”

I understand every word you just said.

The laughter died mid-breath.

Bianca’s smile stiffened.