Stefanie's eyes lit up as she pulled her wrist free and leaned forward, showing off the necklace around her neck.

"I found it in your room," she said smugly. "When Kevin heard I liked it, he gave it to me right away."

She tilted her head, her smile was sweet. "Tell me, Miss Robles—does it look good on me?"

Venice froze, her entire body going cold as if she'd fallen into an ice pit.

That necklace... Kevin knew it was hers—one of the few things she cherished most. And yet he'd given it away so casually.

Her face went pale, but she forced herself to stay calm, her fingers moving in deliberate, sharp gestures.

[That's mine. Please give it back.]

[You can have everything else, but not that necklace.]

Stefanie chuckled softly, the corners of her lips curving in mock pity.

"Oh? But Kevin already gave it to me. It's mine now." Her tone turned playful, cruel. "If you want it back... beg me for it."

Their eyes locked for a long second. Then Venice slowly lowered her head.

She took a step back and bowed deeply, her trembling hands spelling out the words.

[Please. I'm begging you. Give it back.]

Stefanie's smile widened. "No. I think I'll keep it. It suits me."

Something inside Venice snapped. She lunged forward, her fingers tightening around Stefanie's throat, desperate to retrieve the necklace.

"What are you doing, Venice?!"

Kevin's voice thundered across the hall as he strode in, instantly pulling Stefanie behind him.

She buried her face against his chest, feigning fear, her voice trembling just enough to sound convincing.

"Kevin... Miss Robles tried to snatch the necklace you gave me... She got so angry... Maybe I should just return it to her..."

Kevin's gaze turned sharp, his tone icy. "It's just a necklace. I gave it to Stefanie—what's the problem? Venice, must you always be this petty?"

Venice stared at him, disbelief flooding her chest.

[Kevin, you know that necklace—my mother's—]

"Enough!" he cut her off impatiently.

"If you want it so badly, name a price. I'll buy it from you."

He tore a check from his book, scribbled a number, and thrust it toward her. "This should be enough to buy an apartment in Los Angeles. With what you earn selling coffee, could you ever afford a necklace like that?"

Each word drove another nail into her heart. Venice took the check, stared at it blankly, and tore it to shreds.

Kevin frowned. "Fine. You refused it yourself. Don't come crying to me later."

Her eyes were red, her body trembling violently.

For a moment, something flickered in his expression—maybe guilt, maybe irritation, but he quickly smothered it.

"Come here," he ordered coldly. "Apologize to Stefanie."

Venice froze. [You want me to apologize to her?]

"I won't say it again. Apologize," Kevin repeated.

[No.] Her hands moved with defiance. [What will you threaten me with this time? My dog? My cat?]

He didn't even glance at her. "Take her outside," he ordered the guards. "Teach her what happens when someone forgets their place."

Two towering bodyguards seized Venice by the arms and dragged her out into the courtyard.

One kicked the back of her legs, forcing her down—straight onto burning coals.

The sound of sizzling flesh filled the air.

She opened her mouth to scream, but a harsh slap struck her face, cutting the sound short.

Her ears rang; the world tilted.

In the haze, she remembered another time.

When someone had caused trouble in her café, Kevin had stood before her protectively. "Venice, don't be afraid. I'll protect you for life. No one will ever hurt you."

Another slap landed.

Then another.

By the time the ninety-ninth blow fell, Venice's consciousness was fading, her skin was scorched, her cheeks swollen beyond recognition.

She no longer felt pain—only an empty, echoing numbness.

From somewhere distant, she heard Kevin's voice. "Stefanie, how do you feel now? Is your anger gone?"

Stefanie let out a delicate laugh, pounding lightly on his chest. "Make it an even hundred."

Seconds later, the final slap landed.

A dark trickle of blood slipped from Venice's lips—and the world went black.

When Venice opened her eyes again, the blinding white hospital lights stabbed at her vision.

The air reeked of disinfectant—cold, sterile, and painfully familiar.

She tried to move her fingers, just slightly, but even that small motion startled the man slumped beside her bed.

Kevin's eyes were bloodshot, his face weary and haggard. It looked as though he hadn't slept all night.

When he saw her awake, a heavy breath of relief escaped his lips. "Venice, you're finally awake."

His tone softened, gentle, coaxing.

"I know you're angry," he murmured, "but no matter what, you shouldn't have laid hands on Stefanie. I need the Cervantes family's support—Stefanie is a important part of that plan."

Then, in a voice that tried to sound tender, he added, "But remember this, Venice. No matter what I do, I only love you. Everything I'm doing is to help you enter the McAuliffe family sooner."

Venice stared up at the white ceiling, silent. The words reached her ears but not her heart.

Just as Kevin was about to say more, his phone rang sharply.

Through the receiver came Stefanie's delicate, tearful voice. "Kevin... I think I'm having an allergic reaction. My skin is all covered in rashes..."

[Go take care of her.] Venice's eyes were hollow as her fingers formed the words.

Kevin hesitated only a second before standing.

"I'll have one of the maids come and look after you," he said softly. "Rest well."

But no one came.

For days, Venice lay alone in the ward, enduring the pain that clawed through her body.

Every night, her knees throbbed and itched with unbearable intensity. And every morning, the nurse would peel open her scabbed wounds to apply new medication without no anesthesia. She fainted more than once from the agony.

Worse than the physical pain were the photos that arrived every single day.

Stefanie's messages came like clockwork—each one more taunting than the last.

Kevin feeding her soup, peeling her apples, pressed her against the hospital bed, kissing her neck.

Venice scrolled through them one by one until her heart stopped hurting entirely.

Then she typed a single message. [You don't need to show me these. Kevin is yours now. Keep him.]

Almost instantly, another message came through.

[Still want the necklace? Come and get it.]

Without wasting another next second, Venice got out of bed. She didn't even bother with her coat and just ran out.

Every step tore at the stitches in her legs, but she didn't care.

She sprinted through the sterile corridors, blood seeping through her bandages, until she reached the top floor's VIP ward.

When she burst through the door, Stefanie was already waiting, lounging gracefully on the sofa.

"Miss Robles," she greeted sweetly. "You made it."

Panting hard, Venice still forced herself to stay composed, signing, [Where is it? Give it back!]

Stefanie dangled the necklace in her palm, the silver charm gleaming faintly under the light.

"Relax. It's safe," she said with a smirk. "But that's no way to ask for a favor, is it?"

Venice's nails dug deep into her palms. Her chest rose and fell as she fought to stay calm.

[What do you want?]

"I'm craving seafood porridge," Stefanie said lazily. "From that shop on Wilshire Blvd."

Venice's lips tightened. After a long pause, she nodded and turned to leave. The porridge shop on Wilshire Blvd had a two-hour line.

Her leg wound hadn't healed, and the gauze soon turned crimson again. But she gritted her teeth and endured it—she had to get her mother's ashes back.

The first time she brought it, Stefanie wrinkled her nose. "Not fresh enough. I want pickled vegetable porridge instead."

The second time she said, "Too salty. I want century egg porridge."

The third time, she smiled slyly. "Oh, I forgot—I'm allergic to century eggs. Bring me noodles."

...

By the tenth trip, Stefanie sighed theatrically. "Actually, let's go back to the seafood porridge."

By then, Venice's legs were soaked with blood. Still, she limped all the way back to the VIP ward, clutching the steaming bowl.

Just as she reached for the doorknob, laughter drifted out from inside.

"Kevin, did you really make this porridge yourself?"

Kevin's deep voice replied, warm and indulgent. "Yes. I cooked it for two hours. My princess, have a taste."

Venice heard the sound of him blowing on the spoon, feeding it to her.

The bowl in her hands slipped and shattered with a sharp clang.

The smell of seafood filled the hall, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

She stumbled back, her knees buckling—and a passing doctor caught her just in time.

One glance at her, and the color drained from his face.

"Young Miss?!" he blurted in shock. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Venice froze when she saw the doctor's face—she recognized him instantly. He was the same physician who used to conduct her father's annual checkups back in London.

She hadn't planned on revealing her identity so soon, and her mind raced for a way to bluff her way through.

Just then, she heard footsteps behind her. Kevin stepped out of the ward, his voice sharp.

"What ‘Young Miss'?"

The doctor was about to answer when Venice quickly stepped forward, blocking him from speaking. She signed rapidly.

[Nothing. The doctor was referring to Miss Cervantes—he's here to check on her.]

Then she turned and gave the doctor a meaningful look.

Though confused, the doctor caught on and nodded, pushing the door open to enter the room.

Venice turned to leave—but before she could take another step, her wrist was seized in a harsh grip.

"Venice!" Kevin's voice was low and furious. "Stefanie is in the hospital because of an allergy, and you still won't stop? You actually followed me here?"

Venice turned back, her expression icy.

He reeked of Stefanie's perfume; she could practically see the woman's shadow clinging to him. Yet he saw none of the blood that had soaked through Venice's clothes—none of the pain from her reopened wounds.

[I didn't follow you.]

[Miss Cervantes asked me to come. But since it's handled, I'll be leaving now.]

She shook his hand off and walked away.

Kevin stood there, watching her limp down the corridor, her steps uneven and weak. Tiny droplets of blood trailed behind her on the white tiles.

He hesitated, and was about to call after her but Stefanie's fragile voice floated from behind.

"Kevin..."

All traces of hesitation vanished from his eyes. He turned and went back into the ward.

...

That night, Venice returned to her own hospital room alone. She called a nurse to redress her wounds.

By midnight, the wounds had become inflamed. Fever swept through her body, burning her skin and clouding her thoughts. However, there was no one by her bedside and she had to get up and pour water herself.

She lay in bed for two days before her body finally recovered a little.

Kevin never came.

On the day of her discharge, Venice had just finished changing when Kevin appeared at her door.

"Come with me," he said in a tone that allowed no refusal.

[Where to?] She signed.

"Stefanie is discharged from the hospital. She's throwing a recovery party. She asked for you."

He looked straight at her, his voice low and firm. "Venice, you won't disappoint me... will you?"

Venice gave a soundless, bitter laugh, then nodded.

Just four more days. She only needed to endure four more days—then everything would be over.

—

The recovery party was held at a villa with a pool, brightly lit from end to end. The champagne tower sparkled under the chandeliers, crystal flutes glinting like stars.

Stefanie stood at the center in a white evening gown, surrounded by a group of admiring friends, her smile radiant.

"Mr. McAuliffe really dotes on you," said a girl in a yellow dress enviously. "He even booked this Magnolia Villa for your celebration! Do you know how rare these are? Two hundred million, limited edition in the entire Los Angeles!"

Another chimed in, "That's nothing! When you had that allergic reaction, didn't he call in every top expert in the city overnight? And when you still weren't better, he even flew in specialists from overseas!"

"Ugh, you're making me jealous!"

Stefanie's lips curved higher. She absently touched the pendant necklace resting against her chest.

Every word around her struck like a hammer against Venice's heart.

Spotting her, Stefanie waved sweetly. "Venice, you're here!"

"My friends were just craving some coffee. Would you mind making a few cups for us?"

Venice's lips parted, ready to refuse—but Stefanie's fingers brushed the pendant again, quietly threatening her.

Venice's hand tightened at her side. Then she nodded silently.