“For god’s sake, Ayla!” Bennett yelled. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble? How could you lay a hand on a child that small?”

“I-I didn’t…” she murmured, her voice trembling, her protest so faint it was barely there.

Hearing the commotion, Vayda came stumbling down the stairs. She practically tripped in her rush to get to the boy, scooping him into her arms the moment she reached him.

“Aston, what happened?” she asked, panic written all over her face. “Let Mommy see.”

The moment she noticed his swollen ankle, her eyes filled with tears and turned to Ayla. Her voice trembled as she muttered, “Ayla… I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken your room. And I never should’ve said Aston only likes me and not you.”

She bent her knees, about to kneel in apology.

But Bennett reached out and stopped her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. What are you apologizing for?”

Ayla slowly turned to him. His expression was unreadable—complex and dark—but all the tenderness he once showed her had long vanished.

Vayda’s tone was firm when she spoke again. “Aston means everything to me. I won’t let anyone hurt him. If you can’t accept us, Ayla, then we’ll just leave.”

The more sincere she sounded, the heavier the guilt weighed on Bennett. His gaze flicked back and forth between the two women until his eyes finally settled on the wound on Ayla’s forehead.

For a brief moment, something close to regret flashed across his face—but it disappeared almost immediately.

“You’re an adult,” he said with a sigh. “Why stoop to a child’s level?”

Ayla stood there, soaked to the bone, her hair matted to her skin, her face pale and cold.

She looked absolutely wrecked.

Still, she lifted her chin stubbornly and met his gaze. “What if I said he fell on his own? Would you believe me?”

Bennett’s brows knitted in displeasure. “Come on, actions have consequences. Take responsibility for what you’ve done.”

Then he turned to his men. “Take her to the basement. Don’t let her out until she realizes her mistake.”

But Ayla didn’t move. She just stared at him and said quietly, “Bennett… that makes ninety-seven times.”

He paused, caught off guard. “Ninety-seven?”

But before she could explain, Aston burst into tears.

Bennett didn’t spare her another glance. With a simple wave of his hand, he signaled his men to drag her away.

She wanted to ask him why—why he always chose someone else over her, why it was always her who had to endure.

But in the end, she said nothing. She was too afraid. Not of him but of the dark.

And Bennett knew that.

He knew about how the orphanage traumatized her, how the staff used to punish her by locking her in tiny cupboards, how the darkness had left her terrified ever since.

He knew it all.

Back then, he had pulled her into his arms, gently whispering promises.

“Nothing like that would ever happen again. As long as you’re with me, you’ll never be in the dark. I will always be your light.”

She scoffed inwardly. ‘Joke’s on me, those promises are nothing but words now.’

She knew—there was no going back anymore.

In the days that followed, Bennett never once came to see her in the basement.

Whether it was on Vayda’s orders or not, even the maids and the security stopped treating her like a human being. They cut her meals down from three a day to barely a sip of water.

Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, as if filled with lead. Every blink dragged like slow motion, and with each passing hour, the world seemed to grow dimmer.

In those hours, there was only one hope—the Raffertys. She wanted to call Callan and ask for some updates, but the basement had no signal. Her phone had long since died and shut off.

Eventually, her body couldn’t take it anymore—and she passed out.

When she came to, the sharp scent of disinfectant filled her nose. Her vision blurred as she stared blankly at the ceiling.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed hers where there was no IV.

“Oh, thank God,” Bennett murmured, pulling her hand to his cheek. “Love, you’re awake. You’re finally awake!”

His voice trembled with relief, as if he’d been holding it in for days.

From the moment she collapsed, he had been so scared he might lose her, he stayed at her side, not leaving even once. Not even to sleep.

Seeing her expression so calm and distant, he hesitated as if he knew what she was thinking.

“I.. I know everything now,” he said gently. “Everything Vayda did.”

Ayla turned her face slightly toward him. A faint, sarcastic smile tugged at her lips. “So what do you plan to do about it? Mistakes come with punishment, right?”

“Vayda only did it for Aston,” he answered, his tone light. “I already spoke to her. She promised it won’t happen again.”

Ayla let out a dry, hollow laugh, but there was no amusement in it. “So I ended up in the hospital… all because of her good intentions?”

Bennett faltered for a moment.

“I know you’ve been wronged,” he said soothingly. “But… you still owe her an apology. If not for her, Aston wouldn’t be such a well-behaved child.”

Those words hit her like ice water to the face.

She began to tremble in rage, barely managing to keep her voice from breaking. “So you’re saying… after everything she’s done to me, I’m the one who needs to apologize?”

There was a sharp edge in her voice now, laced with disbelief—like she had just heard the most ridiculous thing in the world.

Seeing her whole body shaking, Bennett didn’t dare push further. Instead, he gently pulled her into his arms, trying to calm her.

But to Ayla, the whole thing felt absurd.

That sentence echoed over and over in her mind.

‘I didn’t—I didn’t do anything wrong! So why the hell do I have to apologize?!’

Perhaps worried she might harm herself, Bennett stayed in the hospital, personally taking care of her.

He made her some comforting soup, fed her spoon by spoon, brought her water, stood guard at the bathroom door while she bathed. He insisted on doing everything himself, down to the smallest detail.

Every time a nurse walked by and saw how “devoted” he was, they’d sigh with admiration at how in love they seemed.

If he gave that kind of devotion years ago, Ayla would have blushed and smiled behind her hand. He would’ve teased her for it, and she would’ve quietly enjoyed it.

But now, all she felt was emptiness.

She didn’t want to talk to Bennett anymore, so she picked up her phone instead.

There were dozens of unread messages, over thirty of them from the same unknown number.

[Baby, you’re really going to marry me? You have no idea how you made me so happy!]

[I’ve wired a million to your account. Treat yourself to a spa or something, okay?]

[I haven’t heard from you for days now. Everything alright there, baby?]

[Don’t scare me. I can’t wait seven days. I’m coming to get you myself.]

There was also one from Callan.

[Ma’am, Sir Brynn is losing his mind. He’s already on his way to find you.]

Seeing her glued to her phone, Bennett assumed she was still upset.

He leaned in slightly, trying to coax her. “Still mad?” he asked gently. “Aston’s still young. His father helped me a lot… and he only really trusts Vayda. Can’t you just hold on a little long—”

Before he could finish, his eyes happened to catch a glimpse of her screen.

“Ayla,” he said sharply, “who’s coming to see you?”

Before she could answer, his own phone rang.

One glance at it and he was on his feet, grabbing his coat. “Something urgent came up at the company. I have to go. I’ll come pick you up later,” he said in one breath.

And with that—the only devoted family of the patient rushed out, leaving her alone inside.

Bennett said he’d come pick her up.

But in the end, Ayla completed the discharge procedures by herself.

From sunrise to sunset, she waited at the hospital—until, finally, her phone lit up with a message.

She tapped it open, only to be met with a cold line she should’ve expected.

[Hey. Vayda’s sick. She needs someone to look after her. Come back by yourself.]

‘Right. What’s I even expecting at this point?’ She laughed at herself bitterly. ‘This has to be the 98th time he disappointed me.’

What made her scoff even more was the timing—no cabs were available to book that rainy night. She ended up walking alone through the streets of Lewiston, drenched from head to toe.

As the rain blurred her vision, memories of the Bennett she used to know poured into her head.

‘He used to show up with an umbrella after class on rainy days…’ she recalled. ‘But that version of him… died the day Aston came into the picture.’

By the time she finally reached the villa, the main gate was already locked.

She pulled out her phone and dialed Bennett’s number anyway.

But the voice that answered wasn’t his.

It was Vayda’s—breathy, slow, and unmistakably seductive.

“Baby… mm… slower…”

Where Ayla stood, her heart dropped, her entire body stiff with shock.

She clenched the phone and shouted, “Bitch! What are you two doing?!”

She had already decided to leave him. She had already made that choice.

But hearing their betrayal with her own ears still left a sickening ache in her chest.

Then came the click of the line going dead.

Her fingers went slack. The phone slipped from her grip and hit the concrete. Ayla followed, crumpling onto the wet pavement like her body had simply given up.

Rain continued to pour in sheets, soaking her hair, her clothes, her bones—mourning with her, it seemed.

After a while, she dragged herself upright and stood beneath the villa’s second-story window. Through the faint glow of light behind the glass, she saw them—two figures, entwined in each other’s arms.

She didn’t need to guess who they were.

Moments later, she spotted Bennett—this time standing beside Vayda, gently drying her hair with a blow dryer. His hands moved with a care and tenderness Ayla hadn’t seen in years.

And then, like a wound being reopened, a memory surfaced.

It was a picture of a teenage guy, who used to run at the sound of her voice. He once stood behind her and grinned, declaring, “From now on, I’ll be the one to protect Ayla’s hair.”

That broken promise blurred Ayla’s vision with tears.

But before everything went black, she saw someone sprinting toward her.

“Ayla! You’re back just in time. Vayda isn’t feeling well, and Aston wants milk. Go make it for him,” a voice called out casually, like she was just a maid returning from errands.

She wanted to say no. She almost did.

But then she remembered—last time, all she’d done was refuse to let Vayda sit in the front seat. For that alone, Bennett had tossed Ayla out of the car and made her walk home through the night.

Terrified that another punishment was waiting, she obeyed like a servant. Despite the dark spots dancing in her vision and the nausea rising like bile, she steadied herself, made the milk—and collapsed to the floor the moment she finished.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself lying in bed, burning with fever. Shivers wracked her limbs, her skin hot and clammy.

Suddenly, loud, feral barking outside jolted her fully awake.

She bolted upright, every nerve snapping her fully awake, and rushed down the stairs.

What she saw next made her blood run cold.

The stray dog she and Bennett had once rescued together and raised as family was now tied up at the front gate, twitching violently as Aston whipped it again and again.

Beside him stood Vayda, clapping and cheering like the cruelty entertained her.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Ayla yelled, shoving the boy aside and scooping the wounded dog into her arms.

Suddenly, Aston’s face twisted in fury. He raised the whip higher, his small hands shaking with rage.

“Move! You made me milk from that thing! I’m gonna kill that monster!”

Panic surged through her. She tried to shield the dog, flailing to protect it. In the chaos, her elbow accidentally struck Vayda, who stumbled back with a gasp.

That one motion was enough to flip a switch in Aston.

His face contorted, his eyes wild. Without hesitation, he raised the whip again—this time aiming it at Ayla.

She tried to dodge, but the blow landed anyway, slashing across her arm. The fiery sting tore through her fevered body.

Behind her, the dog howled. Its eyes flashed with something feral and protective. Then, with a violent jolt, it broke free from its restraints and lunged straight at Aston.

“No—!” Ayla cried out, trying to stop it. But it was too late.

With a sickening crunch, the dog sank its teeth into Aston’s hand. The boy let out a shrill, agonized scream as blood gushed down his arm.

Just then, the front door slammed open.

Bennett stormed in, his eyes blazing at the sight of the dog clamped onto Aston’s hand, his ears hearing the boy wailing.

Bennett quickly kicked the dog away, sending it sprawling.

“Aston!” Vayda shrieked, rushing over. While inspecting his wound, she whirled around and pointed at Ayla.

“Ayla! If you hate me, take it out on me! Even if Aston isn’t your biological child, you can’t do this to him! First, you gave him dog milk—and now, you let that monster attack him!”

Bennett’s expression darkened at what he’d just heard.

“What?! Ayla! You’re risking Aston’s life?!”

Ayla stared at the two of them in a daze. Two words echoed in her head like a curse.

‘Dog milk?’

Before she could say a word, Vayda shoved her to the ground.

“Aston drank the milk you made, and now his tummy hurts! You can’t deny it! You let that dog attack him! We all saw it!”

When she turned to Bennett, Vayda’s voice broke into sobs while tears streamed down her cheeks. “Bennett, please… let us go. I can’t take this anymore! I can’t let Ayla hurt Aston again! Please…”

Bennett helped her up gently and wrapped her in his arms, his anger melting into concern.

“Don’t be scared, Vayda. Aston will be okay. I promise I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Then, turning to Ayla, his voice hardened with accusation. “Ayla. Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”

Ayla stared at him blankly. Her voice came out hoarse, full of disbelief. “You don’t… You don’t believe me?”

Bennett nodded toward a medical report on the table. “The lab reports have confirmed it. Who do you think you’re fooling?”

“You really think I did that?” she asked, crawling forward and trying to clutch at his pant leg—but he stepped back, letting her fall.

“That’s enough, Ayla!” he snapped, raising his hand to signal his men. “I never thought you’d stoop this low. I can’t believe you really did such a dangerous thing just to get my attention!”

‘Dangerous?’

Something inside her broke at the realization that she could explain herself over and over, but he would never believe her.

“If you really don’t believe me,” she said, her voice trembling, “then I have nothing more to say.”

Her lips curled into a bitter, exhausted smile. “Why would I hurt that kid on purpose?” she muttered to herself. “What would I even gain from that?”

“Gain?” Bennett scoffed. “With Aston sick, you could get the chance to take Vayda out of the picture. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted, Ayla?”

The words landed like a knife to Ayla’s chest—sharp, brutal, and utterly unforgiving.

She stumbled back a step, staring at the man she had loved for more than ten years, her voice trembling with disbelief.

“Bennett… You actually think of me like that?”

She could no longer take it; tears finally burst from her eyes, spilling freely down her cheeks.

Only then did she realize—in Bennett’s eyes, this was the kind of woman he believed she was.

Behind him, Vayda stood silently, but a faint, almost invisible smile curved her lips.

Then, right on cue, she spoke up, her tone gentle on the surface yet laced with a quiet condescension. “Bennett, don’t be too upset. Maybe Ayla just can’t stand me. Who knows? If I left, maybe Aston wouldn’t have to suffer so much either.”

Bennett’s throat bobbed. For a moment, he seemed to struggle with the weight of his words.

“Ayla,” he finally said, his voice low, “I know you’re still holding a grudge. I’ve been planning a new wedding to make it up to you… But what you did today—you’ve really let me down.”

He paused, his jaw tightening. “This time, I have no choice. You need to learn a lesson.”

He turned coldly to the men standing behind him. “Take her to the sauna. No one opens that door without my permission. And have the dog put down.”

“No!” Ayla dropped to her knees with a thud, her hands clutching his trousers in desperation. “Don’t euthanize him! I’ll do anything, just let him live! Please, Bennett, I’m begging you!”

But he looked down at her with indifference, his lips pressed into a thin line. When he spoke again, his voice was devoid of emotion.

“He’s just a dog. If I say kill him, he’ll have to die.”

She stared up at his face blankly. As she turned to the poor dog and felt as though her heart had been torn open and left to bleed.

‘Gizmo… We raised him together before. To me, he’s become family. And Bennett—he cared for him for years too. There’s no way he doesn’t understand how deep that bond ran!’

“Gizmo attacked Aston,” he stressed. “That dog has to face the consequences.”

Bennett met Ayla’s gaze, unwavering. “I know you blame Aston for ruining the wedding, but you can’t take revenge on her like this.”

“Gizmo’s just a dog,” he repeated. “I’d known he would turn out to be this disobedient. I never would’ve brought him home in the first place.”

At that, Ayla felt as though she’d been plunged into ice water.

For a split second, she couldn’t even tell—was he still talking about the dog, or was he talking about her?

He didn’t remember how it had been that dog barking in the night that alerted them when he had a fever and collapsed.

Nor did he remember how, when an enemy showed up at their door, it was Gizmo that threw himself in front of her and saved her life.

Now, all of that meant nothing. In Bennett’s eyes, the dog had become nothing more than danger and nuisance.

Perhaps it was something in her eyes—a grief too raw to hide—that gave him pause. For a fleeting moment, a complicated emotion flickered through his expression.

But it was gone in an instant.

With a simple wave of his hand, two burly men stepped forward. One took Ayla’s left arm, the other her right, each gripping her tightly.

“No! Please! Don’t do this! Let go of me! Bennett!” she cried out, struggling against them.

But her protests fell on deaf ears. They dragged her down the hallway as she thrashed and kicked, her voice growing fainter with each step.

Just before she vanished from sight, she caught one last glimpse of Vayda.

She stood still, her lips curled into a small, satisfied smile, and her eyes sparkled with quiet triumph.

Following Bennett’s order, the two men threw Ayla into the sauna and slammed the door shut behind her. She heard the click of the lock, then silence as they walked away.

The air inside hit her like a wall—the temperature had been turned to its maximum. The heat pressed in from all sides, thick and stifling, choking the air from her lungs.

She pounded on the heavy wooden door with both fists, shouting hoarsely. ‘Help! Somebody help me! Please!”

But the only response she got was brutal silence and the realization that no one cared if she lived or died.

In Bennett’s world, only Vayda and Aston mattered.

The truth had been there all along, plain for anyone to see. But she ignored it—again and again.

Soon, sweat soaked through her clothes. Her legs gave out, and she slid to the floor, her back pressed against the scorching wooden wall. Yet even then, she felt no pain.

The cold inside her heart was far more unbearable than the blistering heat around her… even when the temperature continued to rise.

Each breath became harder than the last. Her vision began to blur, and her thoughts turned foggy.

Suddenly, a stabbing pain tore through her lower abdomen.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to call out toward the door once more.

At last, one of the security replied, though reluctantly.

“Ma’am… Sir Bennett took Ma’am Vayda and Sir Aston to the amusement park. Without his orders, we can’t let you out.”

With those words, despair crashed down on Ayla.

Slowly, she closed her eyes.

“Bennett…” she whispered. “That makes ninety-nine. I’ve repaid every bit of love you ever gave me. From now on… we owe each other… nothing.”

Her voice faded to a whisper. Then—nothing at all.

Her mind drifted, and her memories spilled forth like an old film reel playing behind her eyes.

She was ten, the day they first met. He had given her a thousand paper cranes he’d folded for his mother, a silly grin lighting up his childish face.

She was eighteen, walking home alone after a party when she was kidnapped. He’d searched for her through the night, finally holding her in his arms, sobbing as he slid a ring—his family’s symbol—onto her finger.

She was twenty-two when he proposed. After she said yes, he let tears stream down his face. Even now, people still teased him for crying like a baby.

‘But that Bennett I loved… He… He’s gone.’

That was her last thought before her vision dimmed.

But just before everything went black, she saw someone—blurry, indistinct—running toward her.

And then, her head dropped to her side. And then, darkness took her.