Six years after my divorce, I ran into Paul Gilbert on a rainy street corner.

The contrast was brutal. He stepped out of a luxury sedan, shielded by an umbrella, draped in a bespoke overcoat. I stood in the downpour in a grease-stained apron, clutching soggy flyers for a dumpling shop.

His gaze swept over me—cold, mocking.

"This is what you've been reduced to since leaving me?"

I forced a professional smile. "We have fresh dumplings and noodles. Would you like to order?"

He scoffed. "This is your retribution, Serena. After everything you did, do you finally regret it?"

My knuckles whitened around my apron.

Regret? Of course. But not for the reasons he believed.

My only regret was my youth—pestering our families until they agreed to our engagement. That was the mistake that ruined everything.

——

Inside the cramped shop, Paul ordered dumplings. His dark eyes tracked my every move.

I ignored him. Wiped tables. Swept floors. Hauled trash.

Six years had transformed me. No longer the pampered Whitmore heiress. No longer the lofty Mrs. Gilbert. Survival had taught me humility.

"How much does she earn here?" Paul asked the owner.

The man paused, glancing between Paul's designer suit and my worn clothes.

"Two thousand five hundred a month," I answered. "Includes meals."

I checked the clock and untied my apron. "Boss, my shift's over."

He handed me a bag of vegetables. "Make something nice for your daughter."

Clatter.

Paul's chopsticks hit the floor. "You remarried? You have a child?"

"She's adopted," the owner said proudly. "Serena has a heart of gold."

I offered no explanation and headed for the door.

During our marriage, the stress had destroyed my health. Doctors said I'd likely never conceive. When I found my daughter, I took her in. Two broken souls who became family.

Outside, the rain had turned vicious. The last bus was gone.

I calculated: subway didn't reach my district, taxi would cost a fortune. Walking meant saving money for my daughter's treats.

I opened my umbrella and stepped into the storm.

A hand clamped around my wrist.

"I'll drive you."

Paul's grip was iron. His expression—disgust mixed with something I couldn't name.

I stepped back. "No need. Thank you, Mr. Gilbert."

He didn't ask again. He dragged me to the Rolls-Royce, shoved me into the back seat, and tossed his umbrella at my feet.

The car pulled into traffic.

I gave the driver my address and turned to the window.

The interior reeked of roses and musk—Anna Fox's signature perfume. My half-sister. The current Mrs. Gilbert.

The passenger seat was decorated with cute cushions. A custom sign on the dashboard read: Reserved for Annie.

I watched the city lights blur into neon streaks.

"Serena Whitmore." Paul's voice dripped venom. "Seeing you live like this brings me immense joy."

I met his reflection in the rearview mirror. Six years, and his hatred hadn't dimmed.

I looked down at my hands—rough, red, swollen from detergent and cold water.

Paul wasn't finished.

"You used dirty tricks to force that marriage. You nearly killed Annie's child and tried to destroy my company." Paul's voice was devoid of warmth, sharp as a blade. "You schemed so hard, and look at you now. You deserve this."

Pain flared in my wrist and the old fracture in my leg—ghost aches from a lifetime ago. A dry, hollow laugh escaped my lips.

I had loved Paul Gilbert for over twenty years. And this was his final verdict: I deserved it.

He fell silent, eyes fixed on the road. I closed mine, letting the darkness pull me back to a time before the nightmare began.

The Whitmores and Gilberts were bound by history and business. Paul and I were inevitable—childhood sweethearts. He was the stoic anchor to my spirited, pampered storm. Opposites, yet we fit perfectly.

When we were young, our confessions were shy and tentative. But after college entrance exams, I waged a campaign against our elders, begging for an engagement.

Mom hesitated. She feared a business alliance might crush me. But I held her hand, grinning like a fool.

"Mom, we love each other. Paul will cherish me forever."

I wore them down. Got my ring. Thought I had the world.

Two months later, that world shattered. Mom died in a car crash.

Two weeks after the funeral, Dad brought a girl home. Anna Fox—only two weeks younger than me. From the moment she crossed our threshold, my life disintegrated.

Anna took my bedroom. Seduced my dog with treats until he ignored me. Even wore the jewelry Mom had left for me.

I fought back, screaming at the injustice. But Dad didn't defend me. He scolded me. The doting father who'd treated me like a princess vanished, replaced by a cold stranger.

Then I saw the paternity test.

Anna crushed Mom's memorial tablet under her heel, sneering. "Surprised? Did you really think Dad loved your mother? He only stayed for the Whitmore fortune. The one he loves is my mother. And the daughter he loves is me. I'm taking everything, Serena."

I snapped. Screamed, calling her illegitimate scum, and lunged. My hand connected with her face in a vicious slap.

Before I could strike again, a heavy boot kicked me aside. Dad.

Bodyguards swarmed me, dragging me to the courtyard and forcing me to kneel in the torrential rain. The physical pain was nothing compared to the ice spreading through my chest.

The fever took me quickly. My last memory before darkness claimed me was Paul's face, twisted in panic, rushing toward me through the rain.

When I woke, I was staring at a strange ceiling. Tears leaked from my eyes.

Paul was there. He fed me water and pulled me into his arms, eyes red-rimmed. His voice was a steady promise against my ear.

"Rena, don't be afraid. You still have me. I will always be on your side."

I moved into the Gilbert estate. Paul became my universe. He did everything to make me smile—impossible-to-get concert tickets, a garden full of my favorite roses, meals cooked with his own hands.

The quiet boy had grown into a man. My rock. Throughout university, he flaunted our relationship, wrapping me in a cocoon of security.

Then Anna Fox set her sights on him.

At first, just love letters. Paul tossed them without a second glance. But Anna was relentless—leveraging connections, manufacturing "chance" encounters, confessing her love at every turn.

Chipping away at our armor.

Friends used to tease me about being hopelessly lovesick. Back then, Paul would stroke my hair with lazy affection.

"In this lifetime, I belong only to Rena," he'd say. "Besides, Anna steals your things. How could I ever like a thief?"

Blinded by love, I missed the warning signs. I didn't notice how his gaze softened whenever he mentioned Anna, how his voice lost its edge.

On his birthday, I baked him a cake myself. Anna showed up at the Gilbert estate clutching a gift, standing in the pouring rain all afternoon just to catch a glimpse of him.

At first, Paul impatiently ordered the butler to send her away. But he couldn't sit still. He kept glancing at the storm outside, his leg bouncing.

The butler reported that Anna had collapsed. Paul bolted from his chair, rushed into the downpour, and scooped her into his arms.

I watched, frozen. The cake slipped from my hands and shattered on the floor.

That was when I understood: his heart had already strayed. That was the beginning of our end.

In the car, Paul loosened his tie with an irritated jerk and switched on the stereo. Soft music filled the silence, doing nothing to ease the tension.

I stared at my reflection in the window. Anna's taunt echoed in my mind: "Everything you have, I want to take it all away!"

A bitter smile touched my lips. She'd succeeded.

From that rainy day onward, the rift between us only widened. Arguments replaced whispers of love. At first, Paul still tried to reason with me.

"She's your sister, Serena."

"I'm only kind to her because I care about you."

But when I snapped and smashed a gift he'd given me, his face darkened. The excuses stopped. Accusations took their place.

"Serena Whitmore, how can you be so vile?"

"Annie is frail—why can't you just yield to her?"

"You're so selfish. No wonder even your father hates you."

His words were poisoned needles, burying themselves in my heart. I didn't cry. I just stared at him, numb. The man who'd sworn to protect me was now using my deepest wounds to tear me apart.

Paul frowned at my silence, turned on his heel, and left.

After that, he began appearing publicly with Anna. When asked about their relationship, she'd smile shyly while Paul answered openly.

"I like her."

"We're together."

I withered, watching her dismantle my world piece by piece. She flooded my phone with photos of their dates, flaunting the gifts he'd chosen for her.

Serena Whitmore, you really are trash.

No matter what you want, I won't let you have it.

I read those messages over and over. Self-inflicted torture.

After graduation, Paul formally proposed dissolving our engagement.

"I was too young back then," he said coldly. "I've realized the one I love is Annie."

I didn't fight him. I numbly agreed. There's no point keeping a man whose heart belongs to someone else.

But fate—or a cruel scheme—intervened.

That very night, we were both drugged and locked in a hotel room. We woke up naked, disoriented, blinded by flashlights and camera flashes.

The scandal enraged the Gilbert patriarch. He demanded Paul take responsibility and marry me. Paul knelt in the ancestral hall for three days and endured dozens of lashes, but the old man wouldn't budge.

We were to be married.

From that day on, Paul's eyes held nothing but pure hatred for me.

On our wedding night, he didn't make love to me. He punished me. He tormented my body until dawn, venting his rage.

Just before darkness claimed me, my phone lit up with a message from Anna.