In the sixth year, after the invader took over her body, Dorothy finally regained control.

But she never expected that Kyrie, the man who had once loved her with everything he had, had already moved on.

He had fallen for the invader and in turn, he now harbored a deep, seething hatred for Dorothy, the woman who had taken back her body.

He drowned himself in alcohol, letting the haze of liquor numb his soul.

He found solace in a substitute, yet his torment of Dorothy never ceased.

In the dead of night, he'd grip her throat, his bloodshot eyes seething as he growled, "Give her back to me!"

"If she can’t return, then you should just die!"

"As you wish."

Later, Dorothy left behind a note, diagnosing herself with severe depression. Then, right before Kyrie’s eyes, she leaped into the sea, her body swallowed by the waves.

***

"It’s been so long. Is she going to jump or not?"

"Some people just like to stage suicide attempts for attention these days."

"I bet she doesn't have the guts to jump."

A crowd had gathered below, forming a curious circle as they pointed, whispered and gossiped.

Dorothy sat on the edge, her eyes empty and distant, her ears filled with their sharp remarks.

She hadn’t wanted attention, only to sit quietly, letting the cool breeze wash over her. But somehow, she'd become the center of their idle chatter.

"Miss, your condition is quite severe. I strongly recommend hospitalization."

The doctor's words still lingered in her mind, his voice echoing in her ears like a distant, forgotten sound. Dorothy Howell's fingers curled slightly as her gaze fell, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.

She had no money for treatment.

Nor did she want any.

At that moment, sirens grew louder and the firefighters arrived, rushing toward her with quick, comforting words.

"Miss, nothing in this world can’t be overcome. Why think of taking your life?"

"Exactly! No challenge is too big to face."

As their voices reached her, Dorothy’s eyes began to water, the weight of their words slowly sinking in. Her body stiffened, but finally, she stepped back from the rooftop edge.

"Sorry, I…"

She hadn’t finished when a cold, biting voice sliced through the air.

A tall figure cut through the crowd, moving with urgency.

"Dorothy!"

Her heart lurched as she met his eyes, eyes that held nothing but coldness.

Kyrie Leonard had arrived.

One of the firefighters, eager to settle the situation, spoke up. "Mr. Leonard, you came just in time. Please, talk to your wife."

Kyrie’s gaze fixed on Dorothy, his voice mocking. "A stunt, Dorothy? Really?"

A bitter laugh escaped him, filled with disdain.

Dorothy tried to speak, but before she could find her words, the sharp crack of a slap rang out across the air.

"Who gave you permission to die?"

The force of it made her stumble, her body collapsing to the ground.

For a moment, everything was still. The world had gone silent.

The crowd was stunned, their mouths hanging open as they watched Kyrie provoke her in such a fragile moment.

"You’re wasting public resources. My apologies. I’ll take her now."

Kyrie’s voice was calm, almost polite, as he nodded toward the firefighters before roughly pulling Dorothy to her feet and dragging her away from the onlookers.

For a fleeting moment, the world held its breath, then, like a dam breaking, the air buzzed with whispers.

"If I’m not wrong, isn’t that Dorothy and Kyrie?"

"Wasn’t he known as the perfect, devoted husband? Their wedding was the talk of the town. It’s still being broadcast at Leonard Corporation."

"But if he loved her, why did he hit her?"

***

The whispers felt like daggers, each sinking deeper into Dorothy’s chest, pulling at the numbness she had long since become familiar with.

Kyrie had been the perfect husband, the kind of man everyone envied.

But he had never loved her.

Dorothy allowed herself to be dragged, her body a lifeless marionette in his hands.

Kyrie shoved her into the car, his grip tightening around her throat.

"Dorothy, don’t think for a second. I don’t know exactly what you’re doing!"

"Don’t put on an act to win sympathy and don’t even think about destroying this body. If you die, make sure you die whole because if you don’t, my Portia will never come back!"

"I didn’t..."

Kyrie’s voice came through gritted teeth, each word laced with venom. Dorothy stared into his dark, endless eyes and tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

Once, they had been this close, their breaths mingling, their noses brushing together as they gazed into one another’s souls.

Back then, Kyrie was just eighteen and she was the center of his world.

His love for her had been fierce, unguarded. He had always promised, "Dorothy, we’ll be together forever."

But fate had been cruel.

A car crash had allowed Portia Sandoval to take control of Dorothy’s body.

Kyrie knew instantly. He had cried, screamed and even in his darkest hours, thought of ending it all.

"Give me back my Dorothy!" he had begged, his voice breaking with desperation.

But day after day, under Portia’s influence, Kyrie was drawn to her, his love for Dorothy slowly dying until he married Portia and built a life with her.

Now that Portia had completed her mission and vanished without a trace, Kyrie had lost himself completely.

His new obsession became a chant, an endless cry, "Give me back my Portia!"

Their once unbreakable love had withered and crumbled into nothing over the past six years.

"Speak!"

Kyrie’s cold voice yanked Dorothy from her thoughts. She choked back a sob, her words trembling. "Kyrie, what if I told you I was sick? That I’m going to die?"

Kyrie’s grip tightened. "Then die! Make room for my Portia!"

That single sentence dragged Dorothy into the darkest depths.

A coldness crept through her, numbing her body and leaving her heart empty. Her face drained of color and she couldn’t find the strength to speak, her tears falling freely.

"Dorothy, your tears are disgusting! Don’t think for a second I’ll feel sorry for you!"

His words, sharp as daggers, finally made him release her.

Dorothy collapsed into the seat, her body folding in on itself as she sobbed quietly, the pain too deep to bear.

When they reached home and stepped into the living room, a delicate figure rushed into Kyrie’s arms without hesitation.

A sweet, melodic voice broke the silence. "Kyrie! Where did you go? You promised to stay with me while I slept but vanished!"

Kyrie’s expression softened instantly. He scooped the girl up in his arms. "The floor’s cold. Why aren’t you wearing shoes?"

Though his words carried a scolding tone, his voice was impossibly tender, his gaze filled with nothing but affection.

The girl clung to his neck, pouting with playful mischief. "Because I knew you’d carry me!"

"Troublemaker." Kyrie chuckled, the sound rich and warm. He carried her over to the sofa, tapping her nose with a teasing grin.

The girl’s laughter rang out like chimes in the wind, light and joyful.

Watching them, Dorothy felt a sharp, aching pain slice through her chest, like a blade cutting through the heart of everything she once held dear.

This girl was Kyrie’s stand-in for Portia, a replacement in appearance and spirit. She had the same temperament, even the same name.

Kyrie spent every moment of his day with her as though she were the only thing that mattered.

"Kyrie, my feet are suddenly cold," the girl murmured just as Dorothy was about to leave.

Her lips brushed the hollow of Kyrie’s throat, making his body tense.

His voice dropped, hoarse and strained. "I’ll get you some socks."

"I want her to kneel and put them on for me."

Portia’s eyes lifted, locking with Dorothy’s in a gaze that shimmered with challenge, a spark of unspoken provocation.

Dorothy’s fingers curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms.

From the moment this girl had stepped into their home, her presence had been nothing but a thorn in Dorothy’s side.

Perhaps it was because Dorothy still wore the title of "wife," the title Kyrie refused to release.

"Dorothy, come here. Kneel and put Portia’s socks on," Kyrie’s command rang out, sharp and unyielding. His gaze held no trace of warmth, just the coldness that had settled between them long ago.

Dorothy stood frozen and said, "I won’t!"

"You don’t get to refuse!"

Without warning, Kyrie rose, his hand curling into her hair as he forced her to her knees before Portia.

"Let me go!"

Dorothy fought against his grip, but Kyrie’s words struck her like a blow to the chest, draining all strength from her.

"Dorothy, don’t forget about your brother."

Her body went rigid, collapsing onto the floor like a lifeless doll.

Ivan Howell, her younger brother, lay in a hospital bed, battling both heart disease and leukemia. Each round of chemotherapy came with a bill she couldn’t pay.

She had no choice but to depend on Kyrie.

Kyrie knew Ivan was her only family and he used that fact to twist the knife, keeping her bound in a life of humiliation, forcing her to crawl like a dog.

Portia’s soft laugh filled the room as she casually poked Dorothy’s shoulder with her toe. "The hospital’s asking for more money, isn’t it? Or have you somehow managed to scrape together enough?"

Dorothy clenched her teeth so tightly that her palms bled from the force of her grip.

"I’ll put the socks on for you."

In the end, she chose to give in, lowering her head as she picked up the socks handed to her by a servant, her fingers trembling as she slid them onto Portia’s feet.

"Forget it. I don’t feel like wearing them anymore."

Portia kicked the socks aside carelessly, her gaze shifting to Kyrie with a soft whine. "Kyrie, I’m getting sleepy again. Stay with me. You can’t just leave this time because of some random person, okay?"

Kyrie picked her up effortlessly and kissed her forehead. "Don’t worry. I won’t leave you this time."

Dorothy’s hands tightened on the hem of his pants, her voice barely a whisper. "Kyrie, my brother’s chemotherapy fees…"

Before Kyrie could respond, Portia’s sharp and disapproving voice sliced through the air. "Who allowed you to call him that?"

"Who gave you the right to speak of him that way?"

Kyrie’s face darkened with anger as he kicked Dorothy aside, his voice low and menacing. "Don’t make me remind you again."

Fighting back the tears, Dorothy lowered herself even further, her forehead touching the cold floor. "Mr. Leonard, please…"

Portia giggled, her voice laced with cruel amusement. "How pitiful!"

Kyrie’s gaze turned colder, darker, as he fixed his eyes on Dorothy for what felt like an eternity. Then, with a sharp motion, he pulled out a black and gold card and flung it at her face.

"Take it and get lost!"

With that, he lifted Portia effortlessly and carried her into the bedroom.

The door slammed shut, the sound echoing in Dorothy’s chest like a heart shattering into pieces. The pain was a heavyweight, suffocating her, stealing her breath.

She wiped her tears away numbly, her fingers trembling as she carefully picked up the card and slipped it into her pocket. Without a word, she hailed a cab to the hospital.

Inside the VIP ward, Ivan lay on the hospital bed, his skin so pale he looked like a delicate glass doll, one that could shatter with the slightest touch.

The chemotherapy had taken his hair, leaving him looking even more fragile. Still, it hadn’t taken away the striking beauty in his features. His fragility seemed to add an almost ethereal purity to his appearance.

Dorothy looked at him, her heart aching, her eyes turning red. Her brother was the only one who had never turned away from her in the past six years.

When everyone else accepted Portia, only Ivan stood firm, his voice raw and fury. "You shameless woman! Give my sister back her body! What right do you have to steal her life?!"

"Sis!"

Ivan gasped suddenly, his chest rising and falling in labored breaths. His eyes snapped open and when they found Dorothy beside him, they softened, a quiet relief washing over his face. "Sister, you're here."

Dorothy quickly wiped the corners of her eyes, her voice gentle as she leaned closer. "Are you feeling unwell today, Ivan?"

Ivan’s gaze dropped to her face, his eyes narrowing when he saw the fading red marks on her skin. His voice turned dark with anger.

"Did that bastard Kyrie hurt you again?!"

Dorothy lowered her head, her words soft and dismissive. "No, don't worry about it."

"Do you want some apples? I’ll peel one for you."