Back in the guest room, Helena sat motionless on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on her phone.

On the screen, the flight information for four days later glowed faintly—a small, distant beacon of freedom. But now, that fragile light could no longer pierce through the numb, suffocating darkness inside her.

Three years ago, she had been framed, trampled, stripped of everything.

And now—was he planning to destroy the last thing she had left? Her dignity, her innocence?

She would never let that happen again!

...

The next morning, Helena forced her aching body out of bed.

Downstairs, Laica was sitting gracefully on the very sofa Helena had once handpicked for the house. Dressed head to toe in Chanel's latest collection, she sipped her coffee with practiced elegance—like the true mistress of the house.

The moment she saw Helena, Laica set down her cup and rose with a sugary smile. "Helena, you're awake? I heard something happened to you yesterday—I was so worried! I came to check on you personally."

Helena's gaze was icy. "I don't need your fake concern."

The smile on Laica's face faltered—but only for a second. Then, it curled into a smirk, sharp and taunting.

She reached into her designer bag, took out her phone, and turned the screen toward Helena.

"Really? Then I suppose you won't need this either."

Helena's gaze dropped—and her heart stopped.

On the screen were photos from last night—her clothes torn, her face streaked with tears, humiliation captured in cruel, deliberate angles.

Every photo screamed shame.

Laica watched the color drain from Helena's face, her voice dripping with venomous delight. "I've already sent them out. Every media outlet in Boston should have received them by now."

She leaned closer, whispering like a demon savoring her victory. "Stop investigating my thesis from three years ago. Otherwise, these photos will just be the appetizer."

Her voice hardened. "I have a hundred ways to ruin you, Helena—to make sure you'll never rise again."

"Damn you, Laica!" Helena's vision went red. She lunged forward, fury exploding as she tried to snatch the phone from Laica's hand.

"Ah!" Laica screamed and dramatically stumbled backward, collapsing in an exaggerated heap. The phone clattered to the floor.

"Laica!"

A man's furious voice thundered from the doorway.

Jackson stormed in. Without even glancing at Helena, he rushed to Laica's side, cradling her protectively.

"Jackson, I... I just came to check on Helena..." Laica whimpered, tears sparkling as she trembled pitifully in his arms.

Jackson turned, his eyes cold and cutting like shards of ice. "Helena—what the hell is wrong with you now?"

"She—she sent those photos online!" Helena's voice shook with rage.

But Jackson only looked more disgusted. "Those photos were leaked by those thugs from last night! I've already handled it!"

"Laica came out of kindness, and you still slandered her?!" His voice cracked like a whip. "Apologize to her!"

Apologize?

Helena stared at him, eyes burning with disbelief and hatred. "I did nothing wrong."

"I won't apologize."

Jackson's expression hardened into fury. His patience snapped. He turned to the guards at the door, his voice like steel.

"Lock her in the basement."

"No food. No water. Let's see how long she can keep that stubborn mouth shut."

The guards grabbed her roughly. Helena didn't struggle.

She only turned her hollow, lifeless eyes toward Laica—who was nestled in Jackson's arms, smiling triumphantly.

...

Darkness. Cold. Hunger.

Time blurred.

Helena didn't know how long she'd been locked in the basement. Her lips were dry, her body weak, her stomach twisting in pain.

Just as her vision began to fade into black, the door finally creaked open.

Jackson's tall figure blocked the only light in the dark basement, his shadow stretching long across the floor. He looked down at the woman curled up on the cold ground, his expression devoid of even a trace of warmth.

"Remember this lesson," he said flatly. His voice was as cold and unfeeling as steel.

"If you dare to hurt Laica again, it won't end as easily as this."

That night, Helena was finally allowed back to her room.

The first thing she did was grab her phone.

The screen lit up, and a message popped into view.

It was from her brother, Henry.

Attached were a series of files and recordings—undeniable evidence.

Evidence proving how, three years ago, Laica had stolen another researcher's work and fabricated the award-winning thesis that made her famous.

A minute later, another encrypted email quietly appeared in her inbox.

Hands trembling, Helena opened it.

Inside was an investigation report from her senior at the research institute—and the truth struck her like lightning.

Jennelyn was innocent too.

Laica had been a corporate spy, but she had framed Jennelyn, destroying her career to cover her own crimes.

Helena stared at the evidence for a long time, then slowly smiled.

It was a cold, sharp smile that sent shivers down the spine.

At dinner, the air was suffocatingly tense.

Helena ate in silence, as if the ordeal in the basement had never happened. Then, she suddenly looked up at Jackson. Her tone was unnervingly calm.

"I've thought it through," she said softly.

"I won't go out anymore. I'll stay home and continue my research in the lab."

Jackson paused mid-cut, his knife and fork hovering in the air. He studied her carefully.

Her expression was blank, almost numb—like someone who had finally accepted her fate.

"That's good," he said approvingly.

He set down his cutlery, his tone softening, as if granting mercy. "You can focus on your research here. I'll help compile your work into a paper for publication."

Helena's eyes flickered with a cold, mocking light.

'Help me publish?' she thought bitterly. 'You mean give them to Laica—to pave her way to glory with my blood and sweat.'

But she nodded obediently, playing her part. Then she rose and walked upstairs.

When she returned, she was holding a thick stack of documents in her hands.

"These are my research manuscripts from before I was imprisoned," she said quietly. "Sign your name on the cover page, and they'll be ready for publication."

Jackson took the papers, the sight of her docile obedience made the irritation in his heart began to fade.

He flipped to the first page, ready to glance through it—but before he could, his private phone buzzed sharply.

The name flashing on the screen softened his entire face in an instant.

"Hello, Laica."

On the other end, Laica's sweet, excited voice chimed through. "Jackson! My thesis just won the award! There's a celebration party tonight—will you come with me?"

"Of course," he replied without hesitation.

As soon as the call ended, he was already on his feet.

He picked up the stack of documents Helena had given him, glanced at the cover page only briefly, and scribbled his signature without reading another word.

Sliding the signed papers back across the table, he grabbed his jacket from the chair and headed for the door.

"Jackson." Her cold, steady voice stopped him.

He frowned slightly, turning back impatiently.

"What is it now?"

Helena looked at him quietly. Her voice was steady, but her words cut deep.

"Do you remember what day it is today?"

His brows furrowed deeper, impatience flashing openly in his gaze.

"Today is Laica's award ceremony."

"Stay home and behave. I'll come back later."

He left without another glance.

Helena stood still, staring at the empty doorway.

A faint, self-mocking smile touched her lips.

He remembers Laica's big day... but forgot this one.

Five years ago, on this very date, he lit fireworks across the entire city—held her in his arms beneath the dazzling night sky—and whispered solemnly, "Helena, I'll never forget this day. The day you said yes to me."

The villa door slammed shut behind him.

The world fell silent.

Helena stood in the vast, empty living room, then slowly opened the stack of research papers he'd just signed.

At the very last page, hidden beneath the research notes, was a document titled: [Cabrera Group—30% Equity Transfer Agreement (No Compensation)]

And under the recipient, the name signed in bold ink—was hers.

Pulling out her phone, she dialed Henry.

"Brother, it's done," she said, her voice steady. "You can start the full withdrawal."

"Good," Henry's deep voice replied. After a pause, he added, "And the flight ticket you asked me to book for Jennelyn—I've sent the details to your phone."

"Got it."

When the call ended, Helena gathered the signed equity agreement and her research documents, locking them carefully into her suitcase.

Then she took one last look around the house—the gilded cage that had imprisoned her love, her youth, and her dreams.

Without a single trace of hesitation, Helena wheeled her suitcase to the door—and walked out of the villa, leaving it all behind.

Boston Logan International Airport was ablaze with light.

All the immigration paperwork had been handled by her brother long ago.

As soon as Helena arrived, she spotted two familiar figures waiting by the terminal—Jennelyn and her former senior, Emmett.

"Helena!" Jennelyn's voice trembled with emotion. "I never thought I'd see you again."

Helena smiled softly, reaching out to pat her head.

"Don't worry," she said gently, but her eyes were filled with coldness. "I'll make sure every single person who hurt us pays for what they did."

Jennelyn's eyes reddened. She was an orphan—framed, disgraced, and imprisoned just like Helena. The years had been cruel to both of them.

After saying goodbye to Emmett, Helena walked up to the counter, her voice hoarse yet unwavering.

"Hello, I'd like to change my ticket—two seats on the earliest flight tonight."

...

Moments before the plane took off, Helena opened her social media app.

Her fingers were steady as she composed a final message and uploaded a series of carefully prepared files.

The first document was a public divorce statement between her and Jackson.

The second was a signed property transfer agreement, in which Jackson had personally given her 30% of Cabrera Group's shares.

The third was a complete evidence of the Jordan family heiress's kidnapping three years ago: investigation reports, transaction records, call logs—every last detail laid bare.

She tapped send.

When the posts went live, Helena quietly turned off her phone, removed the SIM card, and dropped it into the trash can.

'Jackson... you forged evidence to send me to prison. You destroyed my career, stole my freedom, took my child from me—and even staged a "rape scene" just to make me a stepping stone for Laica.'

'And Laica, with all your scheming and lies—you won't escape either.'

This time, it was their turn to fall.