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.

The moment Kevin arrived at the villa, his phone wouldn't stop ringing. He had no choice but to lock himself in a room to attend an urgent conference call with his business partners.

The second he was gone, Stefanie and her group of pampered friends became even more brazen.

They found every excuse imaginable to make Venice run errands—mostly to keep brewing coffee for them.

By the third round up and down the villa, the old wound on her leg began to throb again. Still, Venice gritted her teeth and made a fourth pot, carefully adjusting the beans and the water temperature to suit Stefanie's preferences.

But after a single sip, Stefanie's brows furrowed in disdain.

"Venice, this tastes like dishwater. No wonder your café failed—you can't even make a decent cup of coffee!"

Venice turned to leave, expression taut, but the girl in the yellow dress grabbed her arm. Before she could react, Stefanie took the steaming cup and flung its contents straight at her.

Hot coffee splashed across Venice's face and neck, burning her skin. The pain and humiliation ignited something deep inside her.

Venice finally lost control—she lunged forward and yanked the hair of the girl in the yellow dress. In an instant, chaos erupted. Screams, curses, and the sound of chairs scraping filled the air as several people joined the fray.

"Venice!"

Stefanie's sudden shriek cut through the commotion. Everyone froze.

She was standing at the edge of the pool, clutching the pendant necklace in her hand.

"Can we stop now, Venice?" she asked sweetly.

Venice's expression changed instantly.

[Give me that necklace back!]

Stefanie tilted her head, her smile sharp. "You want it? Then come get it."

Venice didn't think twice—she lunged forward, reaching for it.

But just as her fingers brushed the hem of Stefanie's gown, the woman let out a startled gasp. Her heel twisted, and she toppled backward—dragging Venice with her into the pool.

"Ahhh!"

The icy water swallowed them both.

Venice struggled to surface, but Stefanie's foot pressed down on her shoulder, forcing her under.

"Help! Kevin, help me!" Stefanie shrieked, thrashing wildly.

Inside the villa, Kevin had just finished his call when he heard the commotion. He rushed outside, saw the figures flailing in the pool, and without a second's hesitation, tore off his jacket and dove in.

Water filled Venice's nose and mouth, her vision blurring as she broke the surface just long enough to see Kevin lifting Stefanie out of the pool.

He laid her on the ground, shouting her name, pressing on her chest, his face pale with panic. Then, as if driven by instinct, he tilted her chin up—and pressed his lips against hers to breathe for her.

Something inside Venice cracked. Her heart plummeted like a stone sinking to the bottom.

The strength drained from her limbs. She let herself fall, sinking deeper, her body going numb, her mind empty.

Suddenly a faint shimmer gleamed before her eyes. The light came from the necklace in Stefanie's hand.

No. She couldn't die. Not yet.

She still had to reclaim her mother's ashes and marry Adam.

With the last of her strength, Venice clawed her way to the surface, gasping, dragging herself inch by inch toward the edge of the pool where the necklace glimmered faintly.

She was almost there when a shadow loomed above her.

Kevin stood over her, his face cold, his gaze sharp as a blade dipped in poison.

"Venice, when will you ever learn?" he hissed. "I told you to get along with Stefanie. Why do you insist on disappointing me?"

Venice's eyes were red, her fingers trembling as she signed desperately:

[I didn't!]

[I just wanted the necklace back—it holds my mother's—]

"Enough!" he snapped. "Clearly, the last lesson wasn't harsh enough. You still don't know your place."

He turned, snatched the pendant from Stefanie's limp hand, and flung it into the deepest part of the pool.

"You want it so badly? Go fetch it yourself."

Then he picked Stefanie up in his arms and strode away without another glance.

Venice let out a strangled gasp and dove into the water once more.

Her fingers brushed the pendant, finally closing around it—but when she opened it, she froze.

The ashes inside had dissolved, washed away by the chlorine and water.

Venice clutched the empty locket to her chest, tears mixing with the pool water.

At that moment, everything inside her went silent.

She would never forgive Kevin! Never, in this lifetime or the next.

As the last of her strength ebbed away, she stopped fighting. The cold seeped into her bones, pulling her down.

And this time, she didn't resurface.