"Everyone saw what happened. You were the one who snatched Trinity's locket," my father said sternly, tossing the gold locket at Ava's feet.

Ava cried out, crumpling to the floor. "No! No, I didn't! I swear, I was just scared."

She looked up with wide, innocent eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I was scared Trinity hadn't changed, scared I would be bullied again. I just wanted to test her."

Her hands trembling, she stripped off her jewelry, throwing it on the floor. "I've always thought of you as my own father, but I know I can never be your real daughter."

"Now that Trinity's back, you don't need a substitute anymore. I hope you'll take care of yourself. I'm leaving."

Quincy immediately blocked her path and met my father’s gaze. "Father, you know how much Ava has suffered, how hard her life has been."

As he spoke, his gaze shot toward me, filled with a disgust so palpable it was almost a physical force.

"Trinity always used her status as your daughter to bully Ava. I threw her into the Under-District to teach her what a hard life looks like, to make her appreciate what she had. Besides, I sent two guards to protect her. She should have been fine."

"I never thought she'd get even worse! Now, not only has she not repented, but she's using self-harm to drive Ava away! What sane person carries that many painkillers? And the timing was too perfect, with you walking in just as she swallowed them."

"She planned it all! She’s just trying to make you feel guilty and force Ava out."

"Are you listening to yourself?!" my father roared, slamming a fist on the table in fury. But a seed of doubt had been planted in his mind.

Sensing their resolve falter, Ava grew bolder.

Once, she commented that my hair was messy and offered to style it. As I sat obediently, she brought out a preheated curling iron and, with a feigned slip, pressed the scorching-hot metal against my arm.

The pain was excruciating, but I didn't dare make a sound. I felt my skin sizzle, smelled burning flesh, yet I didn't let out a single whimper. I knew any reaction would only bring Quincy's wrath down on me.

So, I bit my lip until it bled, stifling any sound.

My lack of reaction only infuriated Ava further. During one meal, she mixed shards from a shattered glass into my risotto.

Then, she shoved my face toward the bowl.

"Such a great actress, aren't you? Let's see how long this lasts! Eat it, if you have the guts!"

An older maid couldn't bear it and tried to intervene. However, my father stopped her, pushing her back down with a meaningful look. She could only watch me with horrified eyes.

Quincy said nothing, just stared at me coldly, as if waiting for me to throw a tantrum like I used to, to smash the plate and cause a scene.

Everyone was waiting.

With deadened eyes, I picked up my fork, scooped up the risotto glittering with glass shards, and swallowed it whole.

Ava, not expecting this, began to panic.

I felt the glass scrape my throat. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, choking me.

The maid turned deathly pale. She screamed for a doctor, holding me and wailing, "Miss Trinity, what's wrong with you?"

But I couldn't hear her. I just numbly continued shoving the glass-laced food into my mouth, not stopping even as it cut the inside of my mouth.

My father erupted, flipping the table. He grabbed a wine bottle and hurled it at Quincy, roaring, "This is on you! If she dies, you all die with her!"

I couldn't speak, my mouth and nose flooding with blood. Sometime between my father's furious roars and the doctor's horrified screams, I lost consciousness.

In a daze, I fell into a dream of the past.

Back then, I was still the apple of my father's eye, a talented painter. As Don Griffin's daughter, the Principessa, I lived a charmed and carefree life.

Everything changed after my father brought Ava home.

Ava was the daughter of my father's former right-hand man. More specifically, he was the Capo responsible for protecting my father. He died in a firefight, leaving his daughter an orphan. My father took pity on her and brought her into our home.

I felt sorry for her, sharing everything I had—my art supplies, my dresses. I hoped we could be sisters.

The next day, she was found in the estate’s swimming pool. They saved her in time, but from that day on, my father began to look at me with new suspicion.

Soon after, an important family deal fell through.

When my father investigated, Ava played the innocent. She would whisper through her tears, "I don't know what happened. I just remember Trinity showing me the painting she made for the deal. Then something went wrong with the painting… and everything fell apart."

The moment my father heard her testimony, his face darkened, and nothing I said could change his mind.

When the rest of the family learned of this, they cursed me for being vicious, for betraying them. Ava's father had died for the family, yet I was abusing his daughter and damaging our interests.

No one believed me. Everywhere I went, I was met with contempt. Eventually, the family elders proposed my exile.

My father's hands were tied, and his profound disappointment in me didn't help. He cast me out, throwing me into the chaos of the Under-District.

"It seems I spoiled you into a vicious woman. You deserve to see what life is like without the family's protection."

My exile lasted five years.

I woke from the nightmare to the cold, sterile reality of medical equipment.

My head throbbed as memories of the Under-District flooded back. Those sickening faces, their lecherous eyes…

I clutched my head, muttering, "I'm sorry. I'll be good. I swear I'll be good. You can do whatever you want to me. Just please… please, I want to live."

Just then, a nurse came to change my dressings. Seeing my distress, she approached with pity in her eyes and gently took me in her arms. "You've suffered so much. Please, don't hurt yourself anymore."

Her words were a drop of sunlight, the kindest I had heard in five years. The sudden, complex emotion, layered over the pain, overwhelmed me. "But if I'm not good, I'll be punished. It hurts. Why does it always hurt so much? I don't want to die. I really don't want to die!"

The arm around me tightened. She murmured into my hair, "Don't worry. No one can hurt you. You're the Don's daughter. The Don loves you very much."

I no longer knew what love was.

"My father threw me into the Under-District because he loves me. Ava burned me with a curling iron and forced me to eat glass because she loves me. Quincy hurls insults and hits me because he loves me, too."

But their love hurt too much. I couldn't take it anymore.

To my horror, the nurse started to cry. I was terrified of seeing others cry, especially because of me.

I thought I had said something wrong and quickly tried to fix it. "It's okay. I'm used to the pain. Even if they want to kill me, I know what to do. I just have to stab myself a few times, and they'll get scared and stop. It's fine. I can't feel the pain anymore."

That only made her cry harder.

She later reported our conversation to my father, strongly recommending a psychiatric evaluation and warning that I had severe post-traumatic stress disorder.

My mother was long gone, and my father, consumed by the cold affairs of the family, just frowned, completely at a loss.

Quincy remained unconvinced. "She's faking it to get your attention. Father, you can't be fooled by her!"