"Shut up!" Christina shrieked, cutting me off.

I had clearly struck a nerve.

She slapped me hard across the face again, and I spat out a mouthful of blood. When I saw Roland's smug face, hatred boiled inside me.

"Stubborn and unrepentant!" I snarled.

Enraged, Christina kicked me in the chest with her high heel, digging it deep into my flesh. I staggered and fell. Shaking, I pressed my hand over the gushing wound.

Still not satisfied, she stepped on the back of my hand and ground down hard. Only when my hand was bloody and mangled did she speak, her voice dripping with malice.

"Since you refuse to learn, I'll just have to teach you myself."

At her command, her henchman—ignoring my struggles—dragged me like roadkill down to the basement, stripped me naked, and tied me to a cross.

Old wounds that had repeatedly split open and scabbed over the past three years tore apart again under the iron chains. Blood continued to gush out, and it was a horrifying sight.

Christina ignored it all. She lifted my chin with a leather whip soaked in salt water, forcing me to meet her eyes.

"I'll give you one more chance. Apologize and swear you'll never mention what happened three years ago again, and I'll let you go."

Roland stood behind her, a triumphant look in his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips.

My whole body shook from the pain. The eye that was glaring at them held nothing but raw hatred.

My gaze made Christina flinch, her brow furrowed as she whipped me even harder.

"Seems like you're tired of breathing."

The whip cracked loudly. My skin instantly split open, and the salt water seeped into the wounds. The pain was so intense I nearly passed out.

Blood flowed even faster from my chest wound, and my ribs—never set right to begin with—throbbed dully.

An undecipherable look flickered across her eyes.

"Dylan, don't be stubborn," she said, her tone softening slightly. "If Paige were still alive, she wouldn't want to see you going up against me like this. Just give in, and I'll take you to the hospital right away."

I snapped my head up, glaring at her. "You don't deserve to say Paige's name, Christina Ashmore! You're his accomplice!"

Seven years ago, when Paige saved her, she had dropped to her knees beside Paige's hospital bed, sobbing hard as she swore she'd protect her for the rest of her life.

After Paige's accident, she clutched my hand and cried until she passed out, vowing that she'd make the perpetrator pay with his life.

Before sending me to the psychiatric hospital, she feigned concern and said that once I got better, we would hold a proper funeral for Paige.

Even everything she had today—her status and her achievements—came from Paige and me downing drink after drink at countless social gatherings.

Now, all those memories felt like knives stabbing straight into my heart.

"Dylan, that's enough. Chrissy's just worried that I'll feel wronged. It hasn't been easy for her all these years," Roland said, leaning against the table, a taunting smirk on his face. "Besides, I was the one who picked out Paige's gravesite. The view is gorgeous. You should be grateful."

"Grateful?" I sneered.

The movement pulled at the wound on my chest, causing me to break out in a cold sweat. "My sister was three months pregnant when you ran into her and sent her flying 100 feet into the air. To this day, you haven't shown even a sliver of remorse, and you want me to be grateful?"

"Shut up!" Christina barked, her expression darkening.

She cracked the whip again, even harder than before. "Roland didn't do it on purpose. Stop harping on about it!"

I was in so much pain, I wanted to bash my head against the wall and just end it all. However, the fury blazing in my chest continued to chip away at my sanity, driving me to struggle, to resist, to kill the murderer with my own two hands.

When the bones in my hand were exposed, I finally broke free from the iron chains and lunged at Roland.

"I told you I'd send you to hell!"

My fists rained down hard. Roland cowered, letting out miserable screams.

"Stop!" Christina yelled, shoving me aside and pulling him into her arms. "Have you lost your mind, Dylan?"

Seeing the murderous frenzy I was in, she grabbed a metal bar from the table and smashed it down on my head.

Blood streamed down my forehead, blurring my vision. I staggered and collapsed onto the floor.

Before losing consciousness, I saw Christina wrap her arm around Roland protectively, then leave without another glance back.

I woke up from the searing pain. When I opened my eyes, I realized I was still in the basement.

"You're awake?"

Christina stood over me, holding an empty basin as she looked down at me.

"Just one basin of salt water and you're already awake? This feeble act of yours is too fake, Dylan. It's been three years, yet you still haven't learned to behave. How disappointing."

The pain left me gasping for air. My wounds were no longer just painful—they were turning white and showing early signs of infection.

Christina's gaze scanned over me, her brow deeply furrowed in disgust. "You think pretending to be on the verge of death will make me feel sorry for you?"

I struggled to look up at her—her expression cold and indifferent. Bitter and furious, I braced myself against the wall and slowly pushed myself to my feet.

She looked at me as if she'd seen something filthy.

"Put this on," she snapped, flinging a piece of clothing at me.

I recognized it as a housekeeper's uniform and looked up at her. Her eyes darted away, but Roland smiled and answered instead.

"My apologies, Dylan. I've already thrown out everything that belongs to you in this house. Chrissy said it was unlucky to have it lying around.

"We were planning to replace them once you got discharged, but… we haven't had time to do that yet. So, just make do with this for now. You don't mind, right?"

He picked up the uniform and dressed me in it, deliberately pressing his fingers into my wounds while he was at it.

Trembling violently from the pain, I abruptly raised my hand and dug my fingers into his shoulder.

"Of course… I don't mind."

Roland cried out in pain and shoved me away, clutching his shoulder as he stumbled backward.

Christina immediately steadied him. Seeing the deep nail marks carved into his flesh, her eyes reddened with distress.

"Dylan Nielson!"

Enraged, she picked up the leather whip, soaked it in more salt water, and rained blow after blow on me.

"Roland was being nice, helping you dress! How dare you hurt him!"

I staggered back from the whipping until I was backed into a corner with nowhere left to go. I stared at her in despair.

For the past three years, I had endured inhuman treatment in the psychiatric hospital. Six of my ribs had broken and healed repeatedly, now permanently set wrong. My left eye was blind, clouded a dull gray-white, rotting in the socket and giving off a constant stench.

But Christina had never shown a trace of concern. If anything, she instructed the staff to go harder on me.

I had merely pinched Roland, and she exploded like a cat whose tail had been stepped on—hissing and striking to kill.

The basement door hadn't been shut tight, so the commotion drew a large crowd of household staff. Dozens of heads crowded the doorway, watching me being whipped, yet no one dared intervene.

I laughed bitterly.

Christina froze, her voice cold and hard. "What are you laughing at?"

"I'm laughing because you're blind, mistaking trash for treasure. Do you think Roland returned to your side because he actually loves you? He only came back because you're a CEO now. Yet you treat a murderer as—"

A harsh slap cut me off. Christina's expression was as dark as a brewing storm.

"I won't allow you to insult Roland! He's not that kind of a person!"

I sneered. Not that kind of person?

Three years ago, Roland had been wearing clothes from the clearance rack. Now he was dressed head to toe in designer clothes, wearing a million-dollar watch on his wrist, and driving a car worth tens of millions of dollars.

Meanwhile, I—the former CEO of Ashmore Group—was now wearing a housekeeper's uniform.

I suddenly remembered the time I had risked my life to rescue Christina from a business rival, who had kidnapped her to threaten me into giving up land rights. Back then, I had seen Roland standing there next to that rival as a hired thug.

At the time, I had no idea he was the first love Christina couldn't forget.

Later, when Paige had her accident, and I saw him again, I never got the chance to reveal the truth before Christina shipped me off to the psychiatric hospital.

And now she had the audacity to claim that he was "not that kind of a person".

The household staff outside began whispering among themselves, talking about Paige's untimely death.

Roland panicked. His eyes reddened as he called for Christina, which made her heart ache unbearably.

"Your sister was the one who didn't watch where she was going and walked into traffic," she roared. "She deserved to die! You forced my hand, Dylan! Don't regret it!"

She dragged me upstairs and shoved open the room where Paige had once stayed before she died. Everything inside was exactly as it had been three years ago.

I trembled as I stepped inside, picking up Paige's favorite stuffed teddy bear. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably.

"Given how close you two were, I thought I'd keep things as they were when Paige was still alive. That way, when you got out of the psychiatric hospital, you'd have something to comfort you. But now, it seems like that was pointless!" Christina snapped.

She shoved me aside and ordered the maids to remove and burn everything.

Watching item after item being hauled out, I lost it and lunged forward to stop them.

"Christina, tell them to stop! Stop!"

Christina remained silent.

"Calm down," Roland said, smirking at me."We've still got one more surprise."

The words had just left his lips when he pulled something out of his pocket and waved it in front of me.

I looked closely. It was the scarf Paige had knitted for me when she was 15. She had stayed holed up in our rented apartment for one whole month, working on it.

That winter had been especially harsh. When she wrapped the scarf around my neck, her hands were frozen and red, but the smile on her face had warmed my heart.

The keepsake I had treasured all these years and now fallen into Roland's hands.

"This is your prized possession?" He tossed it to the floor, stepped on it, and ground it under his leather shoe. "How is a piece of junk even worth treasuring?"

"Give it back!"

I wanted to grab it, but Christina slapped me away.

That wasn't just any scarf. It was the only bit of warmth I'd known—thanks to Paige—through that brutal year after I'd severed ties with Dad.

Seeing this, Christina sneered, picked up the scarf, and lit it with a lighter.

"It's just trash. Is it really worth getting so worked up over? Since you like it so much, I'll turn it to ash so it can keep your sister company."

When I saw the scarf burned to ash, the fury boiling in me caused me to spit out a mouthful of blood.

But Roland still wasn't satisfied. He took out a wooden box from Paige's closet.

My heart sank. I recognized it immediately. It was the sandalwood urn I had chosen for Paige's ashes.

"Does this look familiar, Dylan?"

He opened the lid and shook it, spilling some ashes onto the floor.

Seeing my ashen face, he laughed cruelly.

"That crappy scarf was enough to make you lose your mind. Imagine if my hand accidentally slips and I spill all of this? Do you think you'd just die of anger on the spot?"

"Roland Burstyn! Don't you dare!"

I felt all the blood rush to my head. With my eyes burning with rage, I charged forward and tried to grab it, but Christina's men blocked me.

"Why won't I?"

He moved as if to smash it to the floor, but Christina stopped him. I had just breathed a sigh of relief when I heard her say softly, "Just smashing it is kind of lame. Why don't we dump it straight down the drain? It'll be less of a mess."

I looked at her, agony twisting through me, teetering on the edge of collapse.

I wanted to grab Paige's urn, but anger and heat rose uncontrollably in me, and I couldn't take a single step. In the end, I could only watch helplessly as Roland flushed all the ashes down the toilet.

Seeing him hold up the empty box to show it off to me, I spat out another mouthful of blood and completely lost consciousness.

…

I woke up to a suffocating sensation. Roland was shoving my head into the lake.

I struggled desperately as he sneered.

"Don't blame me for being ruthless, Dylan. If you want to blame someone, blame your dead sister for recognizing that I was one of the people who violated her back then. And because I want to live, you'll just have to die. Goodbye, Dylan."

He stood up and kicked me into the lake.

The icy water swallowed me instantly. A heavy stone tied to my waist dragged me down into the darkness. My consciousness began to fade.

Just as I was waiting for death to take me, the roar of a speedboat echoed from afar. Seconds later, someone pulled me up from the lake.

"Son, hold on!"

A voice, both familiar and distant from memory, rang in my ears. I forced my eyes open, barely making out Dad's anxious face before I lost consciousness again.