Vivienne closed her eyes, her expression shifting, pain dulling into emptiness, sorrow fading into cold numbness.

They had been entangled the entire night.

Even in the haze of exhaustion, those sickly, sweet murmurs still echoed in her ears.

"Sis, you smell so good."

"Then promise me... in the future, give me all the love that used to belong to Vivienne, okay?”

And then Rafael’s voice, low, indifferent, cutting through her like a blade.

"Vivienne? She's not worthy of my love."

A shiver crawled up her spine.

She yanked the blanket over her head, burying herself beneath the covers. Tears fell, silent and endless, soaking into the sheets.

Over and over, she told herself, "This is the last time, Vivienne. The last time, you'll shed tears for him. The last time you'll let him hurt you."

She didn't sleep. Not even for a second.

Morning came, cold and indifferent.

Her phone rang. A call from her superior. "Vivienne, we’ve reviewed your case. Within this week, you need to cancel your ID and household registration. After that, we’ll assign you a new identity."

"Remember, this must remain confidential. You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Not even your closest ones. Understand?"

Vivienne bit her lip, gripping the phone tighter. "Understood. Don’t worry, sir."

Vivienne hung up, only then realizing the sharp sting on her lip. She had bitten down so hard it was nearly bleeding.

Her phone vibrated again. Several times. A message from Rafael. [Come back. The bedroom is a mess. Clean it up.]

Cold. Commanding. As if she were nothing more than a lowly servant in his house or, worse, a disposable maid.

She refused to show even a flicker of pain. With an empty expression, she returned home, stepping into the wreckage of the night before.

Crumpled sheets. Clothes strewn across the floor. Used condoms littering the carpet.

Rafael smirked, lifting his chin, eyes gleaming with satisfaction at the chaos he had created. His "masterpiece."

"Hurry up."

Disgust coiled in her stomach.

Vivienne met his gaze, her voice as cold as the morning air. "Okay."

Without another word, she lowered her head and bent down to clean.

The moment she moved, Rafael lunged. Like a madman, he seized her wrist and shoved her back with force.

"Are you insane, Vivienne?!" he bellowed.

"Why are you so indifferent?! Why don’t you feel jealous at all?!"

"We were together the whole night! And you don’t care?! Not even a little?!"

"You never loved me. You never loved me at all!"

"You’re just like your despicable mother; you only wanted to take advantage of my family!"

A sudden rush of blood pounded in her head. Her vision blurred with rage.

"Shut up!"

Vivienne’s voice tore through the air, sharp and thunderous, veins bulging at her temples.

Then, just as quickly, she regained her composure.

A slow breath. A calm gaze. The storm in her heart extinguished into nothingness.

"Didn't you already know? I never loved you."

Rafael panted heavily, his chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged motions. His gaze locked onto hers, searching, probing, only to be met with a cold, merciless indifference.

"Listen, Vivienne. Even if you marry me, you will never get a single penny from my family. You can play the role of Mrs. Moretti in public but behind closed doors? You'll bow and scrape like a servant."

“You will serve me and my lover, do you hear me?"

"You carry the blood debt of my family," he continued, his voice sharper than a blade. "And I will make you make amends for it for the rest of your life."

Vivienne only nodded, the corners of her lips curling slightly in something between understanding and exhaustion.

He had repeated these words to her thousands of times.

At first, they had cut deep, grievance, heartbreak, a suffocating ache.

But now?

Now, she felt nothing.

"It doesn’t matter," she said as if discussing something as trivial as the weather.

"Do whatever you want. It's not like I'll lose a single strand of hair or a piece of flesh."

Rafael’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together, his fury simmering just beneath the surface.

His fists clenched so tightly that his arms trembled, veins bulging beneath his skin.

But in the end, the fury that surged through him found a different target. He swung his raised fist and drove it into the wardrobe beside him.

A deafening crack.

The wardrobe door rattled violently, teetering on the brink of collapse.

Rafael snatched his clothes from the sofa and yanked Freya into his arms. She flinched like a startled kitten, her body stiff with fear.

"We’re leaving." His voice was cold, dismissive.

"Don’t let this disgusting woman stain your eyes."

The door slammed shut behind him, sealing the room in suffocating silence.

Vivienne slowly closed her eyes.

She didn’t touch the mess, didn’t bother picking up the remnants of his cruelty. Instead, she walked past the wreckage, her steps eerily calm, and entered the walk-in closet.

With careful hands, she reached for a small book tucked away in the corner. Her household registration book.

She flipped it open, her gaze landing on the first page, staring at the words as if engraving them into her memory.

Soon, this book would be meaningless. Soon, Vivienne Devereux herself would cease to exist.

As she slipped the household registration book into her pocket, ready to leave, Vivienne’s gaze caught on a small box tucked away at the bottom of the cabinet.

She hesitated.

For a moment, she simply stared as if the box itself carried a weight too heavy to bear. Then, almost against her will, she reached out and picked it up.

Inside lay a photograph, a diamond ring, and a delicate diamond pendant.

The photograph was from her graduation, the day Rafael had rushed to her side, insisting on taking a picture together. His smile back then had been carefree, eyes alight with something that almost felt like love.

The diamond ring nestled beside it was also his gift. She could still hear his voice, teasing yet earnest, “Sister, this ring is our token of love. It may be small, but my feelings for you are priceless! When I marry you in the future, you’re not allowed to back out!”

Meanwhile, the pendant, a treasured keepsake, was once gifted by Maximilian Moretti, his father.

“This diamond pendant has been passed down in our family for generations. Now that you and Rafael are so in sync, it’s only a matter of time before you marry. I’m giving it to you, hoping you two will grow old together. Vivienne, don’t think it’s too small.”

She lifted the pendant, letting the dim light catch its translucent surface. A vivid green streak ran through its center, glowing like a vein of life within the stone.

It was beautiful.

She had once loved it.

She had never been eager to wear it, tucking it away in this box alongside other cherished belongings.

Beyond that, the walk-in closet was lined with remnants of Rafael’s past affection, luxurious brand-name handbags, exquisite dresses, and tokens of a love that once existed. But as she stood there now, she realized it had been a long, long time since he had given her anything at all.

Leaving home, Vivienne proceeded with quiet determination, canceling her identification card and household registration.

Rafael had been gone for days, vanishing as if he had been swallowed by the earth.

It wasn’t until the third day, just as she signed the final document severing her legal ties to this life that her phone rang.

A call from his assistant.

“Sister-in-law, come quickly! Something happened to Rafael!”

His words struck like a bolt of lightning.

After storming off in anger, Rafael had disappeared without a trace. Now, after days of silence, he had been found speeding recklessly down the road before a violent crash left him comatose, clinging to life in a hospital bed.

By the time Vivienne arrived, the emergency consultation had already taken place. The moment the doctors saw her, urgency filled their voices.

“He needs an immediate blood transfusion. If he doesn’t get it now, he won’t make it.”

One of the doctors hesitated, a deep frown lining his face.

“But, Director, the blood bank is critically low. We might not have enough…”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Vivienne rolled up her sleeve. “Take mine. My blood type matches his.”

The doctor’s gaze flickered with hesitation. “You…”

“Don’t worry. I can handle it.”

Lying on the hospital bed, she barely flinched as the thick needle pierced her vein. A sharp sting coursed through her arm, but she merely furrowed her brows and turned her head away.

“Rafael, you always believed I owed your family a life. Consider this my repayment.”

“From this moment on, we owe each other nothing.”

The blood transfusion left her drained. Darkness crept over her vision, and before she could fight it, she slipped into unconsciousness.

When she finally came to, she heard that Rafael had regained consciousness.

Ignoring the nurse’s protests, Vivienne forced herself up, stumbling toward Rafael’s hospital room.

The sight before her made her breath hitch.

Freya sat beside him, clutching his hand, her eyes shimmering with tears.

“You’re finally awake, Brother… I was so scared… so scared…”

“Don’t be,” Rafael murmured, his fingers brushing over her hair in a soothing gesture.

“If it weren’t for you donating blood in time, I wouldn’t have woken up so quickly.”

Vivienne’s fingers trembled at his words.

Freya leaned closer, her voice laced with sweetness. “Of course! If I didn’t save you, who else would? Brother, I was terrified.”

She took his hand, pressing it against her chest. “Feel that? My heart is still racing…”

A faint, weak smile curled Rafael’s lips. He said nothing more.

Vivienne stood at the doorway, watching. A cold, piercing chill slithered through her veins.

She lingered for a moment, then let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh.

What was she feeling sentimental about? Vivienne, weren’t you always just an outsider?

Without another glance, she turned and left.

For the next few days, she didn’t step foot in the hospital. She buried herself in finalizing the paperwork, tying up every loose end.

Three days before her departure, Rafael was discharged.

The moment she entered the house, she was greeted by an all-too-familiar scene. Freya was carefully helping Rafael onto the couch; her touch was gentle, and her expression was full of concern.

Rafael’s gaze snapped to Vivienne the second she walked in. His expression darkened.

“I just came back to grab a few things. I won’t be in your way.”

She barely spared him a glance as she turned away. “You two go on.”

“Vivienne!”

Rafael shoved Freya aside and limped toward her, his voice sharp with frustration. “Can’t you even look at me properly?”

“I was in a car accident! I was hospitalized for days; do you even care? If it weren’t for Freya’s timely blood donation, I might have—”

Freya bit her lip and gently rolled up her sleeve, revealing faint bruises beneath the delicate skin.

Rafael let out a cold laugh.

“But you, Vivienne… You didn’t visit me. Not once. You have no heart. You’re completely cold-blooded.”

Vivienne tilted her head, watching the man before she seethed with rage. Amusement flickered in her eyes.

“Don’t you have Freya?”

“You love her, and she loves you. So why does it matter whether I look at you or not? Do you expect such respect from a mere servant?”

Rafael let out a sharp, bitter laugh, his fury barely restrained.

Freya, sensing his temper spiraling, quickly stepped in and helped him upstairs, murmuring soothing words.

Vivienne stood still, her gaze following his retreating figure. Absentmindedly, she touched her arm.

To donate blood for him, she had pushed her frail body to its limits; her limbs had trembled uncontrollably, sweat dampening her skin.

Her entire arm was swollen, but he never noticed.

Forget it—there was no need for him to know.

She was leaving soon anyway. If he wanted to hate her, so be it.

Ever since Freya had donated blood, Rafael’s affection for her had only deepened. The pretense of loving Vivienne had crumbled entirely.

The media feasted on their so-called romance. Everywhere she turned, there were photos, images of Rafael kissing Freya in public, of him holding her close. Their love, displayed for the world to see.

Before, Rafael had cared enough about his reputation to keep such images out of the public eye.

Now, he no longer bothered. In the comments, he openly declared Freya as the love of his life.

Freya, glowing with pride, accompanied him on strolls through the garden, by his side during hospital visits.

Lost in their affection, they embraced and kissed in public without restraint.

For days, the media was flooded with their photos, sparking heated discussions.

Vivienne heard enough whispers to last a lifetime.

“At the very least, she’s still his fiancée. This is just too humiliating.”

“So tragic. For a woman to end up like this....”

“It’s all that scumbag Rafael’s fault!”

But to Vivienne, those comments were fleeting and insignificant, disappearing before they could leave a mark.

The next time she saw Rafael was the day before his birthday.

“You’re coming,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Grandfather has already decided that our wedding date will be announced at the banquet. Don’t even think about running away.”

His expression darkened. “Freya will be there too. Take care of her.”

Before Vivienne could respond, Rafael added coldly, “And when you make the cake, be mindful. Freya doesn’t like sweets. Use strawberries; she’s allergic to mangoes.”

Vivienne nodded, but a sharp pain tore through her chest as if an old wound had been ripped open.

Once, he had known her preferences just as clearly.

And now…

Forget it.

She turned toward the kitchen without another word.

The higher-ups had already informed her she would be leaving in the next couple of days.

Since this would be the last birthday cake she ever made for Rafael, there was no point in lingering on anything else.