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.

By the time Shane's outburst had run its course, he was nearly drained of strength.

"No!" I had just finished screaming myself hoarse when Shane drove the knife straight into my thigh.

An excruciating, bone-deep pain instantly shot through every limb and nerve in my body.

Staring at my bleeding leg, I collapsed to the ground in utter despair.

"Terry, you worthless piece of trash! Fight me for Caitlin, and I have ten thousand ways to kill you," Shane whispered with a laugh into my ear.

A shudder ran through my entire body as I realized he had been fully conscious the entire time.

With that, he pulled Caitlin into his arms.

"Caitlin, I'm sorry. The truth is, the moment I got on that plane all those years ago, I already regretted it. I know I had no right to come back, since you already have someone new by your side, but I just can't let you go."

He wept as though his heart were breaking.

A flicker of emotion stirred in Caitlin's eyes, but she still looked toward me first.

"Take Terry for treatment immediately! Get the best doctor!"

I was carried out, nearly blacking out from the pain.

I mustered the last of my strength to look toward the hospital room. Shane and Caitlin were kissing without restraint, and he had even slipped his hand inside her dress.

At the sight, I let out a dazed, hollow laugh. A metallic taste filled my throat as tears and blood poured out together.

I didn't know how much time had passed before I was jolted away by a surge of pain. Before my eyes wasn't the familiar hospital room but a cramped, dim box.

"Ms. Randall, we've found the person who hurt Mr. Tate. How should we deal with him?"

Caitlin's voice was cold and grim, as if even a single glance would soil her. "Send him to the auction house. You know what to do."

By the time I was let out, I was already in the dark, dank basement of the auction house.

A thick, nauseating stench hit me square in the face. I forced my eyes open with great effort and was instantly horrified by the scene before me.

Several filthy, reeking vagrants were tearing at my clothes, their eyes gleaming with savage hunger.

"Get away! Don't touch me!"

I crawled desperately toward the door but was yanked back by the hair and dragged across the floor.

"Ms. Randall has given her orders—whatever was done to Mr. Tate, you make this man suffer twice as much."

In utter despair, I shouted at the man, "That's impossible! Caitlin would never do this to me! Tell her I've already—"

The door slammed shut mercilessly, cutting off the rest of my words.

One of the vagrants had already picked up a tool from the shelf beside him and was walking toward me with a lecherous grin.

…

Meanwhile, Caitlin was tending to Shane's wounds. After all his thrashing and smashing earlier, he'd cut his finger open, and blood was seeping from the wound.

Caitlin paused mid-motion, a sudden pang stabbing at her heart. She had only ever felt this strange, unsettling sensation once before, and that was the time I had been injured in the explosion while saving her.

At that thought, she immediately summoned her subordinate. "Where's Terry? How are his injuries?"

Shane frowned and, from the shadows, shot the man a pointed look.

The man caught on instantly. "The best doctors have already been arranged to look after Mr. Boyer."

Only then did Caitlin breathe a sigh of relief.

After nightfall, Shane was finally coaxed to sleep.

Caitlin quietly pulled his hand away. Then, she rose to her feet and slipped out the door.

For the past few hours, there had been a vague sense of unease she just couldn't shake.

"Which room is Terry in? Take me to see him."

No sooner had she spoken that a few figures approached from the distance.

As if seeking credit, they pulled out a video and showed it to her.

"Ms. Randall, it's all done, just as you asked. I guarantee you'll be satisfied."

Caitlin frowned and glanced over it casually, because all she wanted was to go check on me as soon as possible. She never expected that this one glance would nearly give her a heart attack.