The day I discovered I was pregnant, the entire city was buried under a blizzard.

With numb, trembling feet, I made my way to the private dining room where Kurt was having dinner, wanting to surprise him.

I also wanted to tell him that the Crown Prince he had offended had finally grown tired of me before the one-year "atonement period" was up.

We no longer had to pay off that million dollar debt!

"Kurt, isn't your proposal to Daniella coming up next week? Is the surprise ready?"

Hearing the voices leaking through the cracked door, I brushed the snow from my coat.

My cheeks were frozen red, yet I couldn't stop smiling.

Kurt was even planning a surprise...

"Daniella probably doesn't know you were the one who volunteered to send her to the Crown Prince as his personal secretary, right?"

"With a twisted personality like his, she must've been tortured miserably."

My hand froze mid-knock. My fingertips went numb.

Volunteer?

"What else could he do? She bullied Olivia so badly she developed depression and couldn't even go to college! Olivia is Kurt's first love. To punish Daniella, Kurt had it rough too—sleeping with a secondhand woman must've been disgusting."

Cruel words sliced into my ears like knives. But I never did any of those things...

Panic surged through me. I looked toward the hazy reflection of Kurt inside the room.

He didn't deny it. He only let out a lazy, mocking laugh.

His friend continued.

"You guys don't know, right? The Crown Prince really went all out with Daniella. A few days ago he forced her to drink strong liquor until her stomach almost ruptured. Before that, he left her hanging on the balcony for a whole day and night! Oh, and the roller-coaster incident—she was tied to the seat for seventeen rounds. She almost ended up in the ICU!"

Laughter exploded inside the room.

"And Kurt just asks, 'You okay, baby?' Then she says, 'I'm fine.' If she knew that every time she was tortured, Kurt got a project worth tens of thousands from the Prince, hah—she'd probably break down on the spot for you all to see!"

"She has no idea that the happiness she feels now will turn into despair in seven days."

A gust of wind hit my back, but I could no longer tell if the cold was from outside... or from the ice forming in my chest.

The laughter kept pouring out of the room.

I tried to speak, but it felt like someone had sealed my throat shut.

How... how could this be?

I remembered every time I was hurt, and Kurt's eyes would redden as he dabbed medicine on my wounds with trembling fingers. I remembered him apologizing, "It's my fault. I made you suffer."

I remembered him waiting for me every night, no matter how late, smiling softly as he said, "You're home."

Those gentle moments—those tender words—were the only reason I survived this past year.

But now... all of it was a lie?

Then someone inside teased, "What's wrong, Kurt? Already feeling sorry for her? Olivia will come back tomorrow. If you regret it and want to return to your miserable life with Daniella, there's still time!"

Kurt seemed to snap back to himself. He laughed and mocked, "Sorry for her? How could I?"

"She's nothing but used trash. She disgusts me."

The room erupted into another round of laughter.

"One week from now, at the proposal ceremony, I'll expose everything in public—let her fall from the clouds straight into the mud. Then she can get out of my life, and I'll confess to Olivia."

——

I couldn't remember how I walked out of that restaurant.

My limbs were cold, as if blood had stopped bothering to flow to them.

The pregnancy test report slipped from my pocket, landing in the snowy road.

A truck rolled over it, crushing the damp paper until it disappeared—

as if it had never existed.

I stared blankly at the street, every sentence I heard moments ago echoing in my skull.

Each replay carved another fresh wound into my chest. Especially that one sentence from Kurt, "She's just used trash."

That tone—disgust, contempt.

He had never spoken to me like that.

I couldn’t understand.

I truly couldn’t understand how things had become like this.

My breath hitched, and I held my head, trying to stop the chaos in my chest.

Kurt and I grew up in a broken family.

My father was an alcoholic; his mother struggled with mental illness.

For as long as I could remember, life had been nothing but torment—my stepmother stabbing me with needles, my father smashing bottles over me.

Only Kurt was kind to me.

I was two years younger. Every time I was about to collapse, he stood in front of me and said, "Don't be scared. I'm here."

When the belt came down, he shielded my head with his own body so I wouldn't be beaten to death.

We survived those hellish days together.

Then, as if heaven took pity on us, our stepmother got drunk one night and fell into the river.

After that, only our father remained.

I spiraled into severe self-harm back then.

Kurt took blades from my hands over and over, showing me his own scars.

“Look, it hurts. Don’t do it again.”

Afraid of hurting him, I forced myself to stop.

Later, when he reached his third year of high school, our father refused to pay his tuition. So I worked part-time jobs to support the two of us.

But on Kurt's birthday that year, he got into a fight with our father over money and accidentally pushed him down the stairs.

I froze in terror.

All I could think was my brother was about to take the college entrance exam. He couldn't go to prison. His life couldn't be ruined.

While I was secretly paying someone to remove the building's newly installed surveillance cameras, his deskmate—Olivia—ran to the police to confess.

"It was me. I pushed him. He... he tried to touch me, and I panicked."

The reason didn't matter. Her parents couldn't accept that their daughter had been assaulted, so they pressured the police directly.

With no footage, no witnesses, and records of my father's drunken behavior, the case was ruled an accident. But from that day on, Olivia forced herself into the space between me and Kurt.

They became inseparable, like a couple.

I even thought... they would end up together.

But on the night exam scores came out, Kurt suddenly hugged me and confessed.

His voice was so soft, "Daniella... let's spend our whole lives together, okay? You're my family. You're the one I want to protect... more than anyone."

I agreed. Because in my entire life, I could never accept another man except him.

From then on, I never saw Olivia again.

We built years of memories, of warmth and survival. We leaned on each other through the darkest days.

So now, standing in the snow, I wanted desperately to believe I misunderstood him.

Maybe he was forced?

Maybe he was just playing along with his friends?

But the moment I remembered Olivia, ice began forming in my veins.

I remembered what his friends said in that private room.

"Who told she bullied Olivia until she got depression..."

So in their story, Olivia failed her exam because I bullied her?

And Kurt... believed that?

The man I loved for more than ten years—the man who once protected me—had thrown my trust and devotion away because of someone else’s lies.

He was even planning for my downfall.

I couldn't understand.

It felt like someone had punched a hole through my skull; pain poured out endlessly.

Tears kept falling no matter how hard I tried to stop them.

Ten years of love—worth less to him than another woman's fabricated kindness.

Am I doomed to be like this forever?

Destined to be “bad,” “dirty,” “inferior” in everyone’s eyes? Unworthy of sincerity?

I worked so hard to survive.

To resist cruelty.

To protect myself.

Where did I go wrong?

Why did people say I inherited my parents' "vicious genes"?

“Why…?” My voice was hoarse, barely audible.

Then, a sharp cramp tore through my lower abdomen.

Terror surged through me. My entire body went cold. "Baby... no... please... don't—don't let anything happen..."

My hands trembled as I curled over, clutching my stomach.

This child... might be the only family I would ever have. The only blood relative who would never betray me.

I fumbled for my phone. My first instinct was still Kurt.

My fingers shook violently as I dialed again and again.

Beep—beep—beep—

No answer.

"Pick up... please... please just pick up..." I sobbed into the screen.

Still, he didn't.

Even as the ambulance rushed toward me,

I was still calling him, again and again.

Years of dependence couldn’t disappear in one night.

But he refused to answer.

At the hospital, the emergency team rushed me in. The nurse asked for my emergency contact.

Hoarsely, I gave her his number. The same number I had called twenty-seven times.

This time, someone picked up.

And the first words I heard were, "She's pregnant? Don't keep the baby. Just get rid of it."

"It can't be mine anyway. She disgusts me."

The call ended instantly without hesitation.

I collapsed... and everything went dark.

When I woke up again, it was early morning.

I was alone.

I forced myself upright, pain radiating from my abdomen, emptiness spreading through my chest like dead soil.

Like self-torture, I opened Instagram and searched Olivia’s name.

The latest posts popped up immediately.

The first photo was Kurt at the airport, waiting for her, smiling gently.

The caption read, [My knight came to pick me up.]

The second photo was Olivia leaning on his shoulder in the car, fingers intertwined, holding flowers.

They looked so sweet, so perfect together—like a match made in heaven.

I stared for a long time. Then a broken laugh escaped me.

When I was discharged, I did two things immediately.

First, I quit all my part-time jobs, withdrew every cent I'd saved over the years, and stored it in a new bank card with a new password.

Second, I submitted an application on the university website: to volunteer as a teacher in Africa.

An hour later, a notification popped up.

A flight to Africa is scheduled for one week from now. Please be prepared.

One week later, Kurt will "reveal the truth" at the proposal, preparing what he calls a "surprise" for me.

Since he's going to give me a surprise, I'll give him one in return...

A surprise he'll nver forget for the rest of his life.

By the time I returned home and pushed open the door, a wave of warmth—tinged with the sharp scent of ginger—washed over me.

Kurt was bent over the table, placing down a steaming bowl of porridge.

And beside him sat Olivia, looking up at him with soft, adoring eyes.

Their shoulders were almost touching. Their conversation was light, intimate—the atmosphere was so tender it formed its own quiet little world.

At that moment, stepping into the apartment felt like intruding into a home that no longer belonged to me.

The door clicked shut behind me.

Both of their smiles froze.

Kurt's body shifted subtly toward Olivia, not me—drawing an invisible line with his stance, shielding her behind him.

His expression stiffened, but he forced a casual tone. "She just came back from abroad. She doesn't have a place to stay yet, so I told her she could stay here for a few days."

He said it with such natural certainty, as if my opinion had never mattered.

In the shadow behind him, Olivia lifted her chin and gave me a delicate, razor-thin smile.

A sharp pain stabbed through my chest, stealing my breath.

I couldn't get a single word out. "...Oh."

I only wanted to go to my room and pack my things.

But I had barely taken a step when Kurt called after me.

"Why are you being so rude now? You can't even greet your old senior?"

Before I could respond, Olivia gently tugged his wrist, her voice fragile and coquettish. "Kurt, forget it... Maybe she's in a bad mood. She doesn't have to greet me."

Then she turned to me with a soft smile.

"Did you eat, Daniella? You must still be weak... after the abortion."

My blood turned ice.

All the pain, the panic before I lost consciousness, the calls he refused to answer—and that sentence on the phone: "I don't want the baby. It's not mine. It's dirty."

All of it crashed back into me like a tidal wave.

Kurt's expression darkened, as if reminded of something filthy he'd rather forget. Still, he forced himself to walk toward me.

He frowned, glanced at Olivia, then lowered his voice, "Daniella, I know this past year has been hard. I saw how Arturo humiliated you. Don't worry—one day, I'll help you get revenge."

He deliberately avoided mentioning the baby. To him, the child was a stain—something too repulsive to acknowledge.

Olivia added gently, "Don't be sad, Daniella. You'll have a baby with someone you truly love someday."

At that, something inside me broke. Tears spilled uncontrollably.

My voice came out hoarse and scraped raw, "That baby wasn't Arturo's. He never touched me. Not once."

Nine months ago, Kurt had closed a million dollar contract and was so ecstatic that he ended up scraping Arturo's luxury car.

I rushed over to help—and caught Arturo's attention. He wanted me as his personal assistant. If I refused, he demanded one million in compensation.

That would wipe out Kurt's first big contract.

Kurt held me in trembling arms and said, "I won't sell you for money."

Yet every night he came home, he complained—about work, about pressure, about Arturo targeting him, about the contract possibly being canceled...

For his future, I gritted my teeth and agreed.

It wasn't the first time.

In high school, I gave up my studies so he could go to university.

Sacrificing for him was already woven into the fabric of my life.

He hugged me, and apologized, "Daniella, when I make money, I'll give you a good life."

I was foolish enough to believe him. I thought, as long as he loved me, everything was worth it.

For nine months, I stayed on guard around Arturo, blocking every advance. Each time he tried something, I ate garlic and gagged right in his face. Eventually, he couldn't even stay hard around me.

Enraged, he resorted to other ways to torment me—but I endured everything. Until I matched him with a socialite he'd been eyeing, and he lost interest, discarding me like trash.

But Kurt never believed nothing happened.

Every time we were intimate, he turned off the lights, refusing to look at the scars on my body.

I thought he was being gentle.

Now I realized, he probably thought those scars came from being with another man.

That they were dirty.

That I was dirty.

Kurt's eyes flickered—he still didn't believe me.

Olivia cut in, trying to take my hand. "It's okay if you don't want to admit it. I trust Kurt. He'll understand you."

I jerked away from her touch. "I said he never touched me!"

But the next second, Kurt shot to his feet, fury exploding across his face. "Daniella, what the hell are you doing? Are you trying to bully Olivia again?!"

I stared at him, stunned. Then I laughed—cold and breathless.

"Me? Bully her? When have I ever bullied Olivia?"

Kurt's voice dropped into a harsh whisper, "You shouldn't act like this. You think I don't know—"

Mid-sentence, he froze, as if realizing the slip of his tongue. Then he quickly changed his tone, lowering his voice again.

"Enough. Just apologize to Olivia. She was only trying to comfort you. You shouldn't treat her like this."

I looked straight at him.

I had never bullied anyone.

Not once.

If he had just told me his accusation, at least I could defend myself.

But he didn't.

He simply believed it. Believed I was cruel. Believed I was the villain.

His face was full of disappointment—and his forced tolerance making it even worse.

Pain squeezed my heart until I could barely breathe.

I exhaled slowly.

Fine. Just seven more days, then I'd be gone. Why waste grief on someone so unworthy?

A flicker of triumph flashed in Olivia's eyes—so fast it vanished instantly.

She lowered her lashes, picked up the shrimp porridge from the table, and walked toward me, voice soft and coaxing, "It's okay, Daniella. No need to apologize."

She held the bowl in front of me carefully, as if afraid I'd be upset.

"This porridge... Kurt and I made it together. We thought you should eat something warm after the abortion. Why don't you try some?"

I was about to refuse—when her hand suddenly trembled. The entire scalding bowl of porridge came crashing down my forearm.

Heat seared straight through my skin, pain exploding up to my scalp.

I nearly cried out.

Meanwhile, only a few tiny drops landed on Olivia.

Yet she suddenly screamed, "Ah!!"

Then she collapsed to the floor, trembling like she'd been terribly wronged.

She put her hands together as if begging for mercy.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It's my fault! Please don't—don't hit me, okay?"

"I was wrong! I was really wrong!"

Olivia was kneeling on the floor, crying, her face full of fear—as if she'd truly suffered some inhuman abuse at my hands.

I froze. Her sudden collapse took me entirely off guard.

My arm was blistering red, bubbles rising beneath the skin, the pain sharp enough to numb my fingertips.

I opened my mouth, just about to say I hadn't even touched her—but the next second, Kurt rushed forward and scooped Olivia into his arms, holding her as if she were something fragile and precious.

His voice was so gentle it was almost trembling, like he was afraid the air itself would scare her.

"It's okay, Olivia... don't be afraid. No one will hurt you. I'm here. I'm here."

"I'll protect you."

The way he held her was exactly the way he used to hold me when I was a child—when my parents beat me, when I cried until hiccups shook my chest, he would pat my back and whisper the very same words.

Only now, the one in his arms wasn't me. It was another woman.

My heart twisted painfully. I swallowed hard, trying not to choke on the ache.

But knowing all too well what it felt like to be wrongly accused, I didn't want things to escalate further.

I forced myself to steady my voice.

"I... didn't spill that porridge. She did it her—"

"Enough." Kurt's cold voice cut me off like a blade.

He lifted his head, looking at me as if I were some troublesome, spoiled child.

"Daniella, you're really getting too unruly. You need to calm down. I've spoiled you far too much."

He suddenly stood and grabbed my wrist hard—hard enough to make me wince.

Fear surged up from somewhere deep in my memory, cold and instinctive.

"Kurt, I really didn't do anything... Why won't you believe me? I didn't hurt her—"

Kurt said nothing. He just dragged me up the stairs.

My blood turned to ice. My mind snapped back to a nightmare I thought I'd buried long ago.

"Let go of me... Kurt, let go... please—" My voice cracked into a sob.

He pushed me into the attic and slammed the door, followed by the click of a lock.

His voice echoed from the other side of the stairs. "Stay inside and reflect on your behavior. When you realize your mistake, I'll let you out."

"Kurt!" I screamed, hoarse. "You know I'm afraid of the dark! You know—"

My voice broke into pieces. But his footsteps faded further and further away.

The attic swallowed me whole.

Nothing but darkness. Thick, suffocating, absolute.

I collapsed to the floor as my breath caught in my throat.

He knew. He knew when I was little, my father locked me inside a sealed suitcase and dragged it around for an entire day and night. He knew I couldn't handle small spaces. He knew darkness made me panic, made my heart spasm, made me claw at my own skin for air.

And he still did it for Olivia.

He didn't even want to hear me explain.

In that suffocating void, I clutched my chest as if my ribs were closing in on me.

If this were any day before today... If Kurt had done this to me then—I would've cried and convinced myself I must've done something wrong. That I'd made my brother angry again.

I would've repeated every word, every gesture, trying to figure out where I'd gone wrong, hoping that if I behaved, if I tried harder, he would smile at me again.

That if I was obedient enough, he would never abandon me.

But now I finally knew what hid behind his years of "guidance," "discipline," and "correction."

And none of it—not a single bit—had ever been my fault.

The night felt endless.

I pounded on the door until my knuckles burned, and screamed until my throat tore.

The darkness seeped into my bones, dragging me back into the old terror, drowning me all over again.

It wasn't until the next morning that the lock finally clicked open.

Light stabbed into my eyes.

I looked up, but I couldn't even raise my arm to shield myself—my burned skin was swollen, blistered, raw and numb from the pain.

Kurt stood there, brows furrowed as if he were looking at a disobedient child who'd caused him trouble.

He stepped forward quickly and lifted me from the floor.

"Why are you sleeping on the ground? Silly girl."

I had no strength left to respond.

Kurt crouched, opened the ointment he brought, and began applying it carefully to my wounds.

"Does it hurt?" His voice was gentle, as if nothing had happened the night before.

"It was my fault yesterday," he murmured with a sigh. "I lost my temper. I just... I'm afraid you'll turn out like our parents—violent."

His tone was helpless, tender. As if he truly worried about me.

But only I knew that "violent" accusation came from rumors he'd never bothered to verify.

His gentleness was just another snare—another method of control.

He applied the ointment with exaggerated care.

But he didn't see the despair in my eyes.

"Don't be angry anymore," he said, rubbing my fingertips like soothing a sulking child. "Take a couple days to rest. I'll take you to Disneyland you've always wanted to go to, okay?"

The closer his gentleness pressed against me, the clearer I saw the truth hiding behind it—a man ready to push me straight into the abyss.

I drew a quiet breath.

"Brother," I whispered.

He paused and looked up. "Mm?"

I stared at him and asked slowly, "Do you... love me?"

Kurt didn't hesitate to answer. "Of course, I love you."

My vision blurred. He didn't remember.

He didn't remember telling me once, "Daniella, I won't say 'I love you' lightly. I want to prove it with my actions, not sweet words. I cherish you. I love you, and I want to protect you."

All of that... meant nothing now.

I no longer knew whether he ever loved me at all. But maybe that answer didn't matter anymore.

Because in six days—I would be gone.