"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."

She quickly changed the subject, her hands trembling as she picked up an apple to peel. The shaking was uncontrollable and her body betrayed her in ways she couldn’t hide.

It was the somatic symptom of depression, an unwelcome flare-up Dorothy hadn’t anticipated. Her fingers worked frantically, but the apple slipped from her grasp, landing with a thud on the floor. A sharp sting spread across her hand as a cut appeared.

"What’s wrong?"

Ivan rushed to grab tissues, trying to tend to the wound, but his gaze fell on the deep scars crisscrossing her wrist.

"What is this? Sis, have you been hurting yourself?"

Dorothy jerked her hand away, her voice trembling. "It’s nothing! I just cut myself by accident."

But the truth was harder to hide. Since the depression had taken hold, her body had become an unwilling accomplice, shaking uncontrollably, making simple tasks like holding a spoon or fork a battle.

There were moments, dark and suffocating when she longed to escape it all. And the scars on her wrist? They were all from times she had sought solace in the sharp bite of a blade, a release after Kyrie’s cruel words and actions.

Ivan froze, his face draining of color. Then, without warning, he broke down, tears streaming down his face. "Sis! I can’t keep doing this! Don’t sacrifice yourself for me, leave Kyrie!"

As Ivan cried, the last trace of color drained from his face, his breaths quick and shallow.

Dorothy froze in horror. "Ivan, no! I’m fine! Don’t move!"

Ivan’s grip tightened around her hand, his voice hoarse with urgency. "Sis, you… leave him!"

The terror in his eyes was unmistakable. Dorothy’s heart skipped a beat as she realized his heart condition had worsened. Panic seized her chest and she screamed, "Nurse!"

The nurse rushed in, her face ashen. "The patient’s condition is critical. We need emergency treatment!"

Before Dorothy could speak, Ivan was immediately wheeled into the emergency room.

She hurried to follow, but at that very moment, her phone rang. It was Kyrie calling.

"Portia wants blueberry muffins from Fort Wayne. Go get them."

Dorothy gripped the phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her voice cracked with desperation. "My brother’s heart just flared up. I can’t leave right now. Can you…"

The cold, unfeeling voice on the other end cut her off. "Even if he dies, you must get those blueberry muffins for Portia."

Before Dorothy could respond, the phone went dead, the line gone as though nothing had ever happened.

She cast a lingering glance at the emergency room, then down at her phone, the weight of the choice settling heavily in her chest. After a long breath, she gritted her teeth and resolved to stay at the hospital.

Hours later, Ivan was finally wheeled out of the emergency room. It had been a narrow escape.

The doctor’s voice was somber but hopeful. "He’s stable for now, but his condition remains serious. Please, try to keep the stress to a minimum."

Dorothy nodded quickly. "Thank you, Doctor."

In the quiet of the ward, she sat by Ivan’s side, her eyes tracing every detail of his pale face. The dam she’d been holding back for so long finally broke and silent tears spilled down her cheeks as she whispered, "Ivan, you haven’t given up on me, so I won’t give up on you."

Outside the window, the first snow of the season began to fall, each flake drifting softly to the ground. Dorothy’s gaze followed them and her mind wandered back to a time long ago.

When she was young, her parents’ arguments echoed through their home, growing louder and more frequent. The threat of divorce hung heavy in the air and both of them wanted to take Ivan with them as if he could somehow heal all the broken pieces.

When Dorothy had knelt on the cold floor, feeling like nothing more than a discarded piece of trash, Kyrie had stormed in. He’d grabbed her hand with a grip that almost felt desperate, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip. "If you don’t want her, I do!"

At fourteen, Dorothy and Ivan had been forced to face the world alone after their parents died in a plane crash, their lives forever altered.

Relatives who had once shown kindness turned into ruthless vultures, eager to divide them up as though they were mere objects. Just when it seemed they would be torn apart, Kyrie had stepped in.

Back then, at only sixteen, Kyrie had been young, but his courage had been unmatched. He had stood tall against the world, facing down the elders with a fierce resolve. "Anyone who dares to touch them will have to answer to my family."

For four years, Kyrie had kept them safe, standing by their side through thick and thin.

The three of them had been inseparable, their bond stronger than anything. But now, because of Portia, that bond had shattered beyond repair.

Dorothy couldn’t fathom it; could loving someone really change Kyrie so completely? Could it really turn him into this cold, heartless stranger?