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.

[Sister, if you think you can just break off the engagement with Paul, you need my permission first.]

[I won't let you get what you want. Paul will hate you for the rest of his life—you'd better be prepared.]

My vision blurred as I read the messages. A chill settled deep in my bones, freezing the blood in my veins.

After Paul took over the company, he became a ghost in our home. On the rare occasions he returned, it was only to spew venom. He called me scheming and sinister, a woman who used dirty tricks to climb the social ladder.

He said looking at me made him sick.

Yet in the bedroom, he was ruthless. Paul never used protection. Whenever he discovered I was pregnant, he dragged me to the clinic to scrape it away.

"Serena Whitmore, didn't you want to be Mrs. Gilbert?" he would say, his voice devoid of warmth. "This is the price."

In three years of marriage, I miscarried four times.

Even when the doctor issued grave warnings about my health, Paul ignored them. A cruel smile played on his lips. "She stole Annie's position. She has to pay."

I cried. I begged for a divorce. But he only swatted my hand away and told me to stop dreaming. He even hunted down the birth control pills I secretly took and flushed them all away.

After the fourth miscarriage, I lay in bed, a hollow shell. That was when Anna sent a photo of her pregnancy test.

[Sister, I'm pregnant! Paul is already picking out names for the baby.]

[It's a pity some people will never see their own children born.]

Something inside me snapped. I dragged my broken body out of bed to confront Anna.

But the moment I got close, before I could even touch her, Anna threw herself to the ground.

Bright red blood pooled beneath her. Paul rushed onto the scene, shoving me aside with enough force to bruise. He scooped her up, his eyes wild with panic as he ran for the hospital.

His parting words were a blade to my heart.

"If anything happens to Annie, I will make you pay with your life!"

The car came to a smooth halt, pulling me back to the present.

"We're here," Paul said.

I opened the door and exited slowly, every movement a labor. My old injuries had left permanent damage; whenever it rained, a dull ache seeped from my bones.

I dug out a handful of loose change and held it out to him.

"Thank you for the ride. This is the fare."

Paul stared at the coins, then at me. His gaze was frosty. "I'm walking you up."

I shook my head. "Really, there's no need."

He didn't argue. Instead, he snatched my bag from my shoulder and marched toward the building entrance.

I sighed. Let him do what he wants.

Does he want to see how pathetic my life is now? Let him look. I don't care anymore.

We climbed eight flights of stairs. By the time I opened the door, my lungs were burning.

Inside, under the warm glow of a yellow bulb, a small figure hurled herself at me.

"Mommy!"

I smiled, the pain fading as I pinched her soft cheek. "Good girl."

Seeing the tall stranger behind me, my daughter shrank back, hiding her face in my coat.

"It's okay," I soothed her. "It's raining hard outside. This uncle brought Mommy home."

She nodded, her large eyes wide. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a handful of candies, and offered them to Paul.

"Thank you, Uncle."

Paul accepted the candy, his expression unreadable. His eyes followed me as I limped to the kitchen to pour water.

"Just now on the stairs," he said abruptly. "Your leg... you have a limp?"

I set the glass of hot water in front of him, ignoring the question. The ache in my leg brought the memories rushing back.

Back then, after Anna's staged fall, she had nearly miscarried.

Paul had knelt outside the hospital room for seven hours, begging Heaven to save Annie and the child. Miraculously, both mother and child were safe.

But after that night, Paul's hatred for me deepened. His eyes held a new layer of vigilance, as if I were a monster waiting to strike.

Shortly after, a servant "found" a USB drive in my jewelry box.

It contained the Gilbert Corporation's core business secrets.

Fueled by rage, Paul didn't wait for an explanation. He struck me across the face, the force of the slap sending me crashing to the floor.

"You hurt Anna, and that wasn't enough? Now you want to destroy the Gilbert Group too?" Paul's voice dropped to a growl. "Serena Whitmore, you bitch!"

I clutched my stinging cheek, unable to speak.

It was a clumsy frame-up. A trick a child could see through.

Yet Paul chose to be blind.

I had no access to the company archives—no passwords, no clearance. How could I have stolen confidential files? But logic didn't matter to him.

He couldn't stand my presence any longer. He filed for divorce immediately, demanding I leave with nothing but the clothes on my back.

On the day I was thrown out, Anna didn't just watch me go. She had her men drag me to a fifth-floor rooftop.

She smiled as they tied me up.

She was the one who drugged me years ago to force the marriage. She framed me for her "miscarriage." She planted that USB drive in my jewelry box.

Every tragedy in my life bore her fingerprints.

"I'll remember you forever, Big Sister," she'd whispered, voice dripping with venom. "Remember how you called me the daughter of a homewrecker? Look at you now. A pitiful worm. I've played you until you have nothing left."

She leaned close, eyes dancing. "In this lifetime, you will always be the loser."

Then she pushed.

The fall didn't kill me, but it shattered me. Multiple fractures. Months of agonizing recovery. Permanent damage.

Strangers rescued me—kind souls who helped me survive when I'd lost the will to live. I fled to this small city to hide, to heal, to raise my adopted daughter.

Even now, I couldn't walk fast without limping. My hands still trembled in cold weather.

But that was the past. No point reopening old wounds.

I sat down, pulling my daughter onto my lap, and waited for Paul to leave.

He didn't move. He scanned our shabby home, his brow furrowing.

"Come back with me," he said.

He looked at the peeling paint, the worn furniture, grinding his teeth. "I dreamed of your mother recently. She blamed me for... bullying you."

He stepped closer, guilt shifting to arrogance. "Even though you've done terrible things, we grew up together. For that history, I'll take care of you. Give you a place to live."

His eyes narrowed. "But don't fantasize about threatening Anna's position. You are the past."

I smiled wearily and shook my head.

"No need. I'm satisfied with my life now. We're poor, but at least I don't have to scheme against anyone or be hated by you."

Paul stiffened. "Are you blaming me?"

I let out a bitter laugh. "How could I? It's all over, Paul. It's late. You should go."

My refusal snapped something in him. He lunged, fingers digging into my arm, dragging me toward the door.

"You're coming back with me!"

"No!" I grabbed the doorframe, knuckles white.

My daughter screamed. "Let go of Mommy!"

She ran over, tiny fists pounding his leg, but he didn't flinch. He hauled me like a madman.

Tears blurred my vision. "Paul, let me go! Stop destroying my life!"

My grip slipped. My strength was failing.

Just as he yanked me across the threshold—

Powerful hands seized Paul's collar and ripped him away.

Thud.

He hit the concrete hard.

A familiar voice roared with fury: "You beast! Get your hands off her!"