Thanks to the paparazzi sneakily taking a photo of Caitlin Randall in her swimwear, she's been rated as the most perfect woman in Lunbury for seven years in a row.

Countless men who wish to bed her can line up to the moon and back.

The thing is, everyone knows that Caitlin only favors me, the deaf man who stays by her side all the time.

When I was 18, I blew out my eardrums when I was saving Caitlin from danger. Since then, I can no longer hear the sounds and voices coming from the external world.

Whenever we're passionately entangled with each other in bed, Caitlin will always kiss my ears with red-rimmed eyes. But I can never hear what she tells me every time.

That is, until the night of Caitlin's birthday, when she blindfolds me and tells me that she wants to play a game. That's when I can finally hear her voice.

"Let's play something spicy, Terry."

Caitlin ties me up and convinces me to drink some alcohol. When the lashing heat pooling in my gut threatens to break me down, I'm so close to telling the truth to Caitlin—that my hearing is restored.

"Ms. Randall, the people and the tools are ready. Are you sure you want to do this to Mr. Boyer?"

When I hear the robotic voice coming from Caitlin's earpiece, I freeze up immediately.

But at that moment, she has already injected me with a dose of sedatives.

"Be a good boy, Terry. Everything will still be fine when you're asleep."

Before I could even process it, the drug had already taken effect, and I drifted into a heavy, groggy sleep.

A searing pain tore through my body. By the time I woke up, I was already dressed and lying in bed.

I shifted slightly, and a piercing pain shot through my lower body instantly.

The words I had just heard kept echoing in my mind. As I realized what might have happened, the color drained from my face bit by bit.

As the Randall family's only daughter, Caitlin Randall grew up in the lap of luxury without ever lifting a finger. She even had her own personal butler, Henry Weaver, to help her get dressed.

But when it came to anything concerning me, she always insisted on doing it herself.

Maybe I really did mishear just now. After all, didn't Dr. Alan Morse tell me that my hearing could be a bit impaired right after recovery?

Besides, the person Caitlin hated most in her life was Shane Tate, so how could they possibly still have anything going on between them?

"Caitlin, have you lost your mind? Even if you wanted someone to take the fall for the scandal of Shane being raped, you didn't have to actually have those men sexually assault Terry. How is he supposed to live with himself once he finds out?"

From inside the study came the hushed, furious voice of Caitlin's best friend, Leona Lambert.

Caitlin said nothing, her luminous eyes flickering between light and shadow under the lamplight.

"You don't understand, Leona."

"My ass, I don't! Have you forgotten how Shane treated you back then? When you were kidnapped, he turned his back and went abroad without a second thought. If it weren't for Terry, you'd be dead by now!"

Caitlin's fingers froze, and her back gradually stiffened. For a long moment, she said nothing more.

The abduction case that year had sent shockwaves through the entire city.

When the abductors called Shane, her fiance, he looked straight into the reporters' cameras and said in front of the whole world, "To me, a woman is nothing compared to my career. Besides, Caitlin has been going head-to-head with me for so many years, so what could possibly happen to her?"

Then, he boarded his flight without so much as a backward glance.

By the time the police arrived, the enraged abductors had already detonated the explosives. On pure reflex, I threw myself onto Caitlin, shielding her from the aftermath of the blast.

From that day on, I lay in a coma in the ICU for two whole months. When I finally woke up, I could no longer hear a sound.

Perhaps Caitlin was also reminiscing about what had happened back then, for she fell silent for a long time.

I took out my phone with trembling hands, and sure enough, I found a video on the trending searches.

In the footage, I was being folded into various positions by several leering men. The craft camera angles made me look almost exactly like Shane.

"What did I tell you? There's no way the person exposed could be Shane. A pampered rich heir like him could never sink as low as the son of a chauffeur."

"Ugh, that jerk Terry really deserves to die! Having a stunner like Caitlin isn't enough for him. He actually had to go out and let other men have their ways with him. I'm going to be sick just looking at this."

An overwhelming torrent of abuse was crashing down on me from all sides.

The more I read, the colder I felt all over.

Caitlin's voice, unhurried and measured, drifted out from inside. "Of course Shane has to pay for what he has done to me. But he's been proud his whole life, so this isn't the way he should go down in disgrace. Don't say a word of this in front of Terry. He has me protecting him, so he'll be fine."

I froze in place, gripping the phone so hard that my knuckles had turned white. It felt as though a piece of my heart had been carved out. Even breathing was painful.

This was exactly the sight that greeted Caitlin when she came out. Her expression shifted sharply. But when she noticed I wasn't wearing my hearing aids, she immediately let out a sigh of relief.

She signed to me in sign language, "Terry, why aren't you sleeping?"

My eyes were so bloodshot they looked crimson to the core.

"It's nothing. I just had a nightmare."

After getting back to bed, Caitlin nestled against my chest with tender concern and offered up her lips on her own accord.

I rolled over to avoid it. I was tormented by pain, both physical and emotional, so much so that it even hurt to breathe.

"I'm tired."

These years spent at Caitlin's side had indeed been like a dream.

It was just that it was time to wake up from it now.

Randall Group's PR team moved fast. By the next day, the scandal and vicious comments online had already largely vanished.

"Mr. Boyer, Ms. Randall ordered all of these for you."

The luxury items delivered by Caitlin's secretary, Sue Miller, filled the entire living room.

I gazed calmly at those lavish gift boxes, knowing full well that this was nothing more than Caitlin's guilty attempt to make amends.

Today was the birthday of Caitlin's mother, Maureen Walton. With little enthusiasm, I casually picked out a suit.

By the time I arrived at the old estate, I found the guests in the ballroom all looking at me with complicated expressions.

I had no idea why until a soft laugh drifted over.

Shane descended from the second floor, supporting Mrs. Randall by the arm. He was dressed in a black suit, his posture tall and commanding, instantly drawing everyone's attention to him.

It was only then that I noticed the formal wear we had on was the exact same style.

"A pleasure to meet you. Thank you for looking after Caitlin all these years."

Shane smiled and extended his hand toward me, his handsome face showing not the slightest trace of ill will.

"People always say the two of them look alike, but now that they're actually standing side by side, the difference is just staggering."

"Right? How does the same suit look so tacky on Terry? He can't hide that shabby, low-class air of his no matter what."

The guests covered their mouths, sizing me up and snickering.

I stood awkwardly in the center, like an ugly duckling exposed under a spotlight.

Then, a cold, indifferent voice cut through, "I was the one who picked out that suit. Do you have a problem with that?"

Caitlin walked over, her expression icy.

She smacked away Shane's hand and shot a warning glance at those who had been gossiping about me. Then, she turned back to Shane and said mockingly, "How hideous. You can't even begin to compare to Terry."

Shane's expression stiffened.

Having no desire to be part of this, I lowered my head and quietly sat down in the corner.

A while later, the sound of a piano filled the ballroom.

Shane sat before the piano, fingers dancing over the keys. It was a vision so beautiful it could have been a painting.

"Ms. Randall, I've heard that you're quite accomplished in music as well. Why not go up and play a duet with Mr. Tate?"

By the time she was eight years old, Caitlin had already achieved Grade 10 in piano.

But in the face of the guests' prodding, she merely raised an eyebrow and, without looking back, walked over and sat down beside me.

"I don't know how to play the piano. Shane's clothes are tacky, and his playing is even tackier. He can't even compare to a single finger of Terry's."

It was as if Caitlin had made it her mission to embarrass Shane in front of everyone.

After catching him play several wrong notes, she ridiculed him even more mercilessly. "Is this all you've learned after all these years abroad? Tsk! You're utterly unpresentable."

She took my hand, interlacing her fingers with mine in a way that brooked no argument. Yet, her gaze remained tightly fixed on Shane, as if she were unwilling to miss a single flicker of expression on his face.

Someone laughed, stepping in to smooth things over. But the words that came out made Caitlin's expression darken instantly.

"Ms. Randall, you must be joking. Everyone knows Terry is deaf, so there's no way he knows how to play the piano."

"That's enough," Mrs. Randall said coolly, taking her seat at the head of the table.

Alan, ever quick on the uptake, immediately presented the gifts everyone had brought.

When it was my turn, he made a special point of emphasizing, "Mrs. Randall, Mr. Boyer knew how much you enjoy theater, so he specially and meticulously prepared a short performance for you."

Beaming, Alan pulled up the video I had recorded in advance on the large screen.

But in the next second, the smiles on everyone's faces froze solid.

Instead of the planned theater performance, what played on the screen were photos of Shane being violated by various men.

The crowd instantly erupted into chaos. All eyes snapped toward Shane like knives.

"I heard Mr. Tate offended someone abroad, and his enemies rounded up a dozen vagrants to rape him. Never thought it'd turn out to be true."

Shane's face went deathly pale in an instant. Even with the piano for support, he could barely stay on his feet.

The household staff panicked, momentarily unable to find the switch.

Just then, a sharp pain suddenly shot through my hand.

Caitlin had already shot up and rushed forward, smashing the screen to pieces. In her desperate haste, she scraped my finger with her ring, drawing several lines of blood.

The gossip about Shane continued to ripple through the crowd.

"Shut up!" Caitlin roared in fury.

She looked at Shane's ashen face, then suddenly spun around, her gaze piercing straight through me.

When I saw the disappointment in her eyes, I shook my head instinctively.

"It wasn't me—"

"Who says that's Shane? Terry was the one who prepared that video. Isn't he the one who loves being screwed by guys? So, of course those photos are of him."

Several of Shane's old friends came out to defend him.

I immediately remembered the photos I had seen the night before.

Just as I began trembling uncontrollably, Caitlin drew a deep breath and declared with absolute finality, "The person in those photos isn't Shane. It's Terry."

Now, every single pair of eyes turned toward me.

Someone even pulled up the photos of me that had been leaked online.

"Terry's such a snake. He must have caught wind that Shane was back and figured he'd use Mrs. Randall's birthday party to muscle his way into the family."

"This disgusting creep ruined a perfectly good birthday party. He should just get the hell out!"

The guests, unable to contain their fury, grabbed their wine glasses and hurled them at me.

I couldn't dodge in time and was knocked straight into the champagne tower beside me. A cascade of glasses stacked waist-high came crashing down on top of me.

Caitlin quickly stepped in front of Shane to shield him from the flying shards of glass.

My skin was slashed open by the shattered fragments, blood seeping out in steady streams.

When Caitlin turned around and saw this, her expression shifted drastically. She was just about to come over when Shane suddenly grabbed hold of her.

"Caitlin…"

He wouldn't stop trembling. This rare display of vulnerability threw Caitlin into a panic.

Without hesitation, she took him upstairs. "Call a doctor!"

I collapsed to the ground, swallowed up by a flood of vile abuse.

Mrs. Randall swept a glance over me, then said lividly, "Get this shameless, filthy disgrace out of here at once!"

In the dead of winter, I was thrown out of the old estate.

In that moment, whatever faint hope I still had left for Caitlin was utterly crushed.

Today's setup had been aimed squarely at me. In a city as vast as Lunbury, I could freeze to death on some street corner and nobody would even notice.

Just before I lost consciousness, I suddenly remembered the number my father, Anthony Boyer, had made me repeat over and over on his deathbed.

After I dialed that number, I only managed to say two words before I couldn't hold on any longer and passed out.

"Save me."

…

When I woke up again, I found myself lying in a hospital bed.

Caitlin was seated beside me, holding my hand tightly. There were faint dark circles beneath her eyes.

The moment I stirred, she jolted awake.

"Terry, you're awake." Her eyes were bloodshot. "You were way out of line this time. Shane holds no ill will toward you, so why did you have to humiliate him like that in front of everyone? Go apologize to him later, and we'll put this behind us."

Wasn't I the one who had been humiliated all along?

I found it utterly laughable. For the first time, I looked at Caitlin through new eyes. Perhaps even she herself hadn't felt the anxiousness that flickered in her gaze whenever Shane was mentioned.

"Ms. Randall, Shane is emotionally unstable. Please come over immediately."

Caitlin hurried off to Shane's hospital room.

When she returned a while later, she had someone yank me right out of the hospital bed.

"Terry, the doctor says Shane's acute stress disorder is acting up severely. He has to undergo hypnotherapy so he can release everything completely."

Before I could make sense of what was happening, she had already pressed me down onto my knees in front of Shane's bed.

"You were the one who wronged him in the first place, so consider this making it up to him."

Shane seemed to have lost all reason. He rushed up and landed two brutal punches on me. Then, he grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head forcefully against the floor.

"You ruined me! It's all because of you! You did this to me!"

The wounds on my body split open again, blood streaming out uncontrollably.

Caitlin, unable to bear the sight, moved to step forward. "That's enough. Terry hasn't fully recovered yet."

But the doctor stopped her. "Ms. Randall, Shane has mistaken Mr. Boyer for the person who harmed him. If he isn't allowed to vent his resentment, he may never recover."

Caitlin's hand, outstretched in midair, trembled slightly before she finally drew it back.