Blood—thick and black—surged up her throat and spilled from her lips.

She should have stayed on the mountain, training for a few more years before descending. But three years ago, Ian Delgado had taken her hand the very first time they met, his eyes brimming with sincerity as he poured out his heart to her.

She'd been a girl tasting love for the first time. Every word he said, she believed.

Back then, she'd read his pulse and seen the frailty eating away at his body. The worry consumed her. She knelt before Mentor Alaric for seven days and seven nights, begging for permission to leave the mountain.

It wasn't until she was at Ian's side that she truly understood how vicious the curse was. Her cultivation was still shallow. The only way she could sustain his health was to drain her own life essence—her vital blood. Every night, the agony tore through her organs, and she endured it until dawn.

She had told herself it was worth it. Every last drop, for the man she would spend her life with.

She never imagined that the love on his lips had been nothing more than a cheap trick to satisfy his curiosity and claim her body.

Clara wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth. She swallowed the dense, suffocating ache in her chest and left the hotel.

She thought it was finally over.

But the moment she stepped into her building, the sight stopped her cold. Red paint slashed across the hallway walls. FRAUD. CHARLATAN. WHORE.

And the small apartment she had so carefully arranged—the one filled with years of sacred texts and talismans painstakingly inscribed with her own blood—was engulfed in flames.

She ran toward the fire like a woman possessed, heedless of everything.

One step forward, and the flames lunged. They caught her without mercy.

The skin on half her body blistered and split, peeling back to expose raw, bleeding flesh beneath. Tears fell onto the exposed tissue, and the salt ignited a pain so sharp it nearly blinded her.

Ian appeared behind her at some point, his arm draped around Nadia's waist.

His gaze drifted to Clara's mangled arm. His eyes creased with a mocking smile.

"Well, well. I thought you were all-powerful. Turns out you feel pain like the rest of us."

"Ian Delgado, what gave you the right to burn my things?!" Her voice cracked. "These past three years—without those texts, you'd be dead!"

"Enough!"

He closed the distance in a single stride and locked his hand around her throat.

"Stop waving your filthy little trinkets around. They make me sick." His grip tightened. "I'm not just burning them. I'm going to make sure the entire world sees you for the fraud you are."

Before she could gather herself, dozens—no, hundreds—of reporters flooded the narrow hallway. Camera lenses and microphones thrust into her face.

"Miss Pruitt, you've swindled the Delgado family out of a fortune over the past three years. Do you feel any remorse at all?"

"You realize this constitutes criminal fraud, don't you?"

"She actually tried to trick Mr. Delgado into marrying her. Disgusting! Why are we even interviewing her? Hit her!"

A woman in the crowd seized Clara's ruined arm.

White-hot agony ripped through her entire body. Her back hit the wall, and her legs gave out. She crumpled to the floor.

Fists and feet rained down on her from every direction.

Through the chaos, she saw Ian tighten his arm around Nadia's slender waist, laughing as they walked away.

By that evening, Clara was trending nationwide.

[BREAKING: Delgado family's former fiancée exposed as con artist! Used superstitious rituals to defraud the Delgados of nearly a million dollars over three years! Shameful! Despicable!]

[Delgado family deceived for nearly a century — saved at last by Miss Henson, who debunked the so-called "curse" with real science! A reminder to trust evidence, not folklore!]

Clara stumbled away in the charred remains of her wedding dress. She wanted to buy something to change into—anything—but her bank accounts had been frozen.

The voice on the other end of the line was flat and mechanical.

"Ms. Pruitt, your accounts have been flagged for suspected fraud. We have no choice but to freeze them. We appreciate your understanding..."

I fished out the last crumpled bills from my pocket, hoping to find somewhere to sleep for the night.

But the moment I stepped toward a small motel, the woman behind the counter spat in my face.

"You're that little con artist from the news, aren't you? Get out!"

I hadn't eaten all day.

The wounds on my body had already begun to fester, oozing with infection. I pressed my palm to my forehead. It was burning. My legs refused to carry me another step, and I crumpled beside a dumpster in a narrow alley.

People passed by. The ones who recognized me hurled rotten eggs and slop water, aiming straight for my open wounds without a shred of hesitation.

I missed the quiet of the mountain. I missed my mentor.

But I knew I couldn't leave.

Tomorrow was Ian Delgado's birthday.

When he'd had his hand around my throat earlier, I'd already felt it — his pulse, erratic and fractured beyond repair.

I needed to see that moment.

The thought dragged me to my feet. I braced one hand against the wall, clenched my teeth, and staggered forward.

I made it one step before the world went black.

I woke to the familiar scent of medicinal herbs.

Fighting through the soreness that wracked every inch of my body, I gritted my teeth and sat up. Alaric Abbott was beside me, carefully applying a poultice to my wounds.

"Mentor Alaric, I can't go back yet..."

His eyes were full of ache as he tended to the festering, inflamed gashes across my skin.

"I know. You want to wait until his birthday..."

He never finished the sentence.

A commotion erupted outside. The door exploded inward, kicked clean off its hinges, and over a dozen men stormed into the room.

They pinned me down. The one in front drew a knife from inside his jacket and drove it straight into Alaric's heart.

I screamed, a raw, animal sound, and lunged toward him.

But the moment I got to my feet, Ian walked through the doorway and backhanded me to the floor.

He stared down at me with pure revulsion.

"So that's why you've been hanging around. The little fraud has a hideout."

He planted his foot on Alaric's wound, the one still weeping blood, and ground down.

"Talk. He's the one who put you up to all of this, isn't he?"

"Get off him!"

I crawled to Ian's feet, grabbed his ankle with trembling hands, and forced the words out.

"If it weren't for him, you'd already be dead! Let him go!"

Ian looked down at me, shaking and broken at his feet.

A twisted smile curled the corner of his mouth.

"Sure."

He pulled out his phone and tossed it at my knees.

"Record a video admitting you're a fraud. Then I'll let the old man go."

"Clara, don't — don't record it..."

Alaric's eyes were bloodshot, fixed on me, his head shaking over and over.

But before he could finish, Ian ripped the knife from Alaric's chest and plunged it down again, this time near the artery in his neck.

Blood erupted in a geyser, painting the air red.

I threw myself toward Alaric, every limb shaking, but Ian caught me and held me back.

"So that's a no, Clara? Then I guess the old man bleeds out today."

"I'll do it. I'll record it."

Ian watched the video and smiled, satisfied. He finally agreed to send Alaric to the hospital.

The ambulance had barely pulled up to the emergency entrance when a young nurse rushed over and shoved a thick stack of forms into my arms.

"Miss, the patient is critical. You need to go pay right now!"

My mind went to my frozen bank accounts, and my body locked in place.

"Hurry! If you don't pay now, he's going to bleed to death!"

The nurse kept pressing. I forced my stiff legs to move and slowly turned to face Ian, who stood behind me.

"Ian. All my accounts are frozen. Could you..."

Ian had his arm draped around Nadia's slender waist, laughing with unbridled arrogance.

"Sure, I'll help. But if you're going to beg, you'd better beg properly."

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Your people have been conning the Delgado family for nearly a century. You think one little video settles that? Get on your knees. Apologize to me and to every Delgado ancestor."

I looked at Alaric, his robes already soaked through with blood.

I couldn't afford to waste another second.

I dropped to my knees at Ian's feet, my voice shaking.

"I'm sorry. I deceived you—"

Nadia cut me off, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.

"Just 'sorry'? That's hardly enough. You need to kowtow."

"What are you looking at me for? Nadia told you to kowtow. Are you deaf? A hundred times!"

Under Ian's mocking gaze, I slammed my forehead against the ground.

"One... two..."

My skin split open. Blood ran down my forehead, streaking across my face, pooling on the floor beneath me. I lost all feeling long before I finished.

Finally, I reached a hundred.

I staggered to my feet and threw myself in front of Alaric, screaming at Ian through a raw throat.

"That's enough! Go pay the bill!"

"Sure thing. Let me just run home and grab the money..."

Ian let out a soft laugh and turned to leave.

I lunged forward and seized his ankle, locking my eyes on his, teeth clenched so hard they ached.

"You're doing this on purpose. Ian, you—"

"Oh, oh, oh. That's not how you beg, is it? Do you want the money or not?"

The strength drained from my fingers around his ankle.

"Yes. I want it. Please, just hurry..."

Ian came back an hour later. He tossed the payment receipt into my lap.

I scrambled to my feet and shoved it into the young nurse's hands.

All I got in return was her quiet, helpless sigh.

"It's too late. He's already gone."

My whole body trembled. I threw myself at Ian and swung my fist straight into his face.

"You animal! You did this on purpose! You killed my mentor! I'll kill you—"

Ian caught my wrist in a vise grip.

His eyes were nothing but cold malice.

"Kill me? Clara, how about you pay back what you owe the Delgado family before you start making threats."

He threw a stack of bills at my feet.

"My family supported your people for nearly a century. Since you've already admitted you're a fraud, I think it's time we settled the accounts."

"And if you refuse to pay..."

He held up his phone, the video I'd recorded hours ago playing on the screen.

"Everyone's going to see this."

"Not just you. Your dead mentor, too. And all those fellow disciples of yours."

I stood there shaking, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ground together.

"I'll pay. After your birthday. I'll pay every cent."

"After my birthday?"

Ian scoffed.

"Who's going to wait that long? You have the debt and you won't pay? You think you can stall me?"

"Ian, I don't have the money. My bank accounts have been frozen—"

"Fine. Since you won't own up to it, don't blame me for what comes next."

His men rushed forward, bound my hands, and shoved me into a car.

At first, I didn't understand where they were taking me.

But when the car turned onto that narrow, winding mountain road, the blood drained from my face.

It was the road to my mother's grave.

Whenever someone in our family was buried, a piece of uncut jade of immeasurable value was placed in the coffin alongside them.

I had told Ian this secret the day we set our wedding date.

Ian dragged me to the foot of my mother's grave.

He waved a hand at the bodyguards behind him.

"Dig it up."