I raised my hand to block her, and the back of my hand grazed her wrist.

"Ah!"

Audrey cried out as the glass shattered across the floor.

She clutched her wrist, eyes glistening, and looked at Anthony. "Anthony, I just wanted to say hello to Layla. She still blames me for taking you away."

The room went silent.

Anthony strode over, checked Audrey's wrist, then turned to me. "Layla, are you looking to die?"

The injustice—the bone-deep cold—made my whole body shake. "I didn't push her. She spilled it on herself."

"Why would Audrey spill red wine on herself?" He sneered. "Apologize to her."

No trust in his eyes. Only disgust.

Audrey tugged his sleeve, her voice soft. "Anthony, forget it. Layla didn't mean to. So many people are watching…"

His gaze on me turned colder. "Don't make me say it twice."

Whatever backbone I once had—whatever self-respect—had long since crumbled to dust in front of this man.

I bent toward Audrey. "I'm sorry, Ms. Swanson. I wasn't careful."

Anthony wasn't satisfied that I gave in so quickly.

He pointed at the row of liquor on the table. "Since it was 'not careful,' drink these to make up for it. Finish them, and we'll let this go."

Five or six bottles of hard liquor.

I looked up at him. "Mr. Vance, I have a serious stomach condition. If I drink that, I'll have internal bleeding."

"That's your problem."

He wrapped his arm around Audrey and walked away without looking back.

Everyone watched.

With trembling hands, I picked up the first glass.

The liquid slid down my throat, and burning pain flared through my stomach.

One glass. Two. Three…

By the fifth, my stomach spasmed.

I covered my mouth and rushed to the restroom.

I threw up until the world spun. By the end, it was nothing but bright red blood.

I wiped the blood from my mouth and stared at the ghost in the mirror.

Outside, men's laughter drifted in. "Seeing her so pathetic, begging like that—damn, that felt good."

I stayed in the stall for a long time, until my phone buzzed nonstop.

The hospital.

"Miss Sullivan, your brother developed sudden complications and needs emergency surgery. Please pay $50,000 immediately, or the procedure can't proceed."

Fifty thousand.

To the old me, that was just the price of a handbag.

To the current me, it was a life.

I rushed out. Anthony was at the jewelry counter, helping Audrey pick out a diamond ring.

I ran over and grabbed his sleeve. "Mr. Vance, please—give me $50,000. Right now. My brother is being resuscitated!"

Anthony frowned and shook off my hand. "What are you doing, making a scene in a place like this?"

Audrey covered her mouth and laughed. "Layla, even if you're begging for money, pick the right moment. Anthony's choosing my engagement ring."

"Anthony, that's a human life! That's William! He used to call you brother!"

Anthony's hand paused.

Then his eyes turned even darker. "He's a Sullivan. What does that have to do with me? It'd be better if everyone in that family died off."

He turned back to the rings. "The contract says payment per session. You made me very unhappy tonight. This one—no money."

"What do I have to do? I'll do anything."

Anthony turned, his gaze dropping to my knees. "I want you to kneel down and tie my shoelaces."

His leather shoes were spotless. The laces, perfectly tied.

He was humiliating me.

But William was still on the operating table.

I didn't hesitate. I dropped to my knees with a dull thud. The marble sent pain shooting through my legs. Around me, sharp inhales and muffled snickers filled the air.

With trembling hands, I untied his laces and retied them into a neat bow.

"It's done, Mr. Vance."

I looked up.

Anthony stared down at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Then he kicked my hand away.

"What a pity. I'm in an even worse mood now."

He wrapped an arm around Audrey and strode off without a backward glance.

Leaving me there on the floor.

I burst out of the banquet hall like a madwoman, sprinting through the downpour toward the hospital.

Before I even reached the entrance, I slammed into a solid chest at the corner.

"Careful."

Strong hands steadied me.

I looked up. A composed face behind gold-rimmed glasses—refined, almost scholarly. But I didn't have time to study him. I shoved against his grip.

"Move! I need to save someone!"

He didn't let go. Instead, he handed me a payment slip.

"I already covered William Sullivan's surgery fee. You can pay it back slowly."

I froze. My mind went blank.

"Who are you?"

"Scott Delgado. The lawyer who handled the Sullivan Group bankruptcy. Currently representing your creditors."

He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the rain from my face.

"Miss Sullivan, even as a debtor, there's no need to degrade yourself for trash like him."

I kept vigil at the hospital all night. By morning, William was out of danger.

When I returned to the villa the next day, it was already noon. I was still wearing the suit jacket Scott had lent me, carrying the faint scent of mint and tobacco.

The moment I pushed open the door, the atmosphere hit me like a wall.

Anthony sat on the sofa. Cigarette butts littered the floor around his feet.

When he saw the men's jacket on my shoulders, he exploded.

He charged over, ripped the jacket off me, and hurled it to the ground, tearing at the fabric.

"Layla Sullivan, you're really something! You roll out of my bed and find yourself a new sugar daddy just like that?"

His eyes were bloodshot, his voice unhinged.

"Who is he? That Scott Delgado? When did you two start?"

He grabbed the scissors from the table and slashed the expensive jacket to shreds.

"I didn't! He saved William!"

I lunged forward, trying to salvage it—it wasn't even mine to ruin.

Anthony slammed me down onto the coffee table—right onto the shards from the glass he'd smashed yesterday.

Glass bit into my back. I gasped at the searing pain.

"Saved William?" He laughed, cold and cruel. "I think you're just addicted to selling yourself. For that half-dead bastard, you'd spread your legs for any man, wouldn't you?"

Smack!

I slapped him with everything I had.

Anthony's head snapped to the side. A bright red handprint bloomed across his cheek.

Slowly, he turned back. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his gaze lethal.

"Layla Sullivan. You dare hit me?"

I was panting, tears burning in my eyes.

"You can insult me all you want, Anthony. But don't you dare insult William. And don't you dare insult someone who actually helped me."

This was the first time I'd fought back since we reunited.

That slap shattered the last pretense of civility between us.

He laughed suddenly—a sound that sent ice down my spine.

"Fine. Very fine. Since you've got so much backbone, let's see just how hard those bones really are."

Anthony's revenge came fast.

That night, he took me to a private gathering.

Unlike the formal business banquets, this crowd ran wilder. The games were dirtier.

A grand piano dominated the center of the hall, and beside it sat a violin that probably cost more than most people's cars.

Audrey perched at the piano bench, all doe eyes and dimples.

"Layla, I heard you used to be concertmaster. Since everyone's here tonight—why don't we play a duet?"

Anthony lounged in the seat of honor, swirling his wine, his gaze lazy and mocking.

"Play. If you're any good, I'll let last night's slap slide."

Not a request. An order.

I stared at that instrument, and my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

These hands had hauled bricks, scrubbed dishes, weathered chilblains until the skin cracked. My joints were stiff now. I couldn't coax out that weeping, aching melody anymore.

But I had no choice.

I lifted the violin and tucked it under my chin.

The moment bow met string, a raw, grating screech tore through the room.

Snickers rippled through the crowd.

Audrey's piano kicked in right after—but she sabotaged the tempo on purpose, rushing then dragging, rushing then dragging.

My sound collapsed into chaos.

Before the piece ended, Audrey froze mid-phrase, her hand flying to her throat.

"My necklace! That was the engagement necklace Anthony gave me—it's worth thirty million!"

The room exploded.

"It was just there!"

"How does something like that just vanish?"

Audrey's gaze slid to my open violin case.

"Layla, could it be…"

She didn't have to finish. Two bodyguards were already on me, ripping the case from my hands, shaking it out.

A diamond necklace tumbled from the hidden lining.

Caught red-handed.

Every face in the room wore the same look: of course.

"It wasn't me!"

I could've had a hundred mouths and it wouldn't have mattered.

"I never even touched it!"

Anthony rose and walked toward me, slow and deliberate.

He picked up the necklace, studied it, then looked at me.

That look—cold, flat, utterly done.

"Layla, when did you sink this low? If you needed money, you could've asked. Stealing?"

"I didn't!" The scream ripped out of me. "She planted it! The case was sitting there the whole time—I never moved!"

Audrey cowered behind Anthony, tears streaming prettily down her cheeks.

"Layla, if you liked it that much, I would've given it to you. Why steal? If word gets out, Anthony's reputation…"

Anthony's eyes slid shut. Patience gone.

"Sticky fingers. No use keeping you."

He flicked his wrist. Two guards seized my arms, one on each side, and slammed my hands flat against the table.

Anthony grabbed a wine bottle by the neck.

"If these hands can't make music—if all they know how to do is steal—then let's get rid of them."

My eyes went wide, locked on the bottle rising above me.

"Anthony! You can't do this! I was the one who sold my violin to help fund your startup—did you forget?!"

"Shut up!"

His roar shook the room. "Even now you're lying! You were the one who chased money, took it, and ran off with some other man!"

That. That was why he hated me.

That lie from years ago—it had festered in him like poison.

I was out of options.

Explanations were useless. Tears were useless. Whatever we'd once had was the biggest joke of all.

Crack.

The bottle came down.

White-hot pain exploded through my left hand. I heard bone shatter.

I didn't scream. Didn't cry.

When pain hits a certain point, it just… goes numb.

Blood and wine spread across the white tablecloth in a dark, creeping stain.

Anthony stared at that pool of red. His hand trembled. The bottle slipped from his grip and shattered on the floor.

He didn't expect me not to dodge.

I reached into my pocket with my uninjured right hand and pulled out a check.

Scott's advance from this morning. Fifty thousand dollars.

I slammed it onto the table—blood smearing across the paper, my handprint staining the numbers red.

I met Anthony's eyes. Mine were hollow.

"Mr. Vance."

"This hand pays for your necklace."

"This check covers the rest."

I turned and walked out, dragging my ruined hand behind me. Each step left a drop of blood on the floor.

"We're even."