Hiding the bloodstains on her palm behind her back, Brittany lifted her gaze to Weston. Her eyes were hollow, stripped of warmth, yet her lips curved into a mechanical smile, lifeless, like a doll going through the motions.

"Sorry, sister-in-law. I only wanted a glass of water. I didn’t realize you were behind me." She tilted her head slightly, voice light, almost indifferent. "It’s a habit I picked up in the psychiatric hospital. I get a little nervous when someone touches me out of nowhere."

Theresa stiffened, her expression flickering.

Brittany reached for the ointment and bandages beside her, then stepped forward.

"I’ll help you apply the medicine. Will you forgive me, sister-in-law?"

The room fell silent.

Her surrender was too smooth, too easy, wrecking whatever performance Theresa had planned.

Even Weston sensed something was off. His grip closed around Brittany’s wrist.

"What exactly are you trying to do?"

Trying to do?

Was she the one behaving strangely?

Hadn’t they told her that as long as she was obedient, they wouldn’t send her back?

She had played by their rules, careful not to step out of line, yet Weston still looked at her with discontent.

As if no matter what she did, it would never be enough.

Brittany lowered her gaze, ignoring him entirely. Without hesitation, she yanked her wrist free and, with unsettling ease, took Theresa’s injured palm in her grasp. Her fingers moved with practiced precision, securing the bandage as though she had done it a thousand times before.

Weston only noticed the blood on her hand after she had finished.

His expression flickered, brief, almost imperceptible, but she caught it. A muscle in his jaw tightened.

Yet all he did was ask, as if out of obligation.

"What happened to your hand?"

For a fleeting moment, he almost sounded like the brother she once knew.

"Did you hurt yourself just now, too?"

Theresa’s fingers curled against her palm, her sharp gaze a silent warning.

But Brittany didn’t need the reminder. She already knew.

The truth was pointless.

Everything had been too precise, too well-timed as if orchestrated from the start. Weston had already chosen his side, and she refused to humiliate herself further.

"It has nothing to do with you, brother." Her voice was calm, detached. She gathered the leftover ointment and bandages, turning toward the attic. "I was just careless."

Weston wanted to say more, but he stopped the moment he stepped forward.

Brittany didn’t need to look back. She already knew.

Theresa must have stopped him.

That woman loathed her, saw her as a threat, framed her time and time again, and stole everything she once had.

Brittany despised her.

Yet, she had to admit. She was right.

She and Weston were destined to drift further and further apart.

That night, Brittany dreamed.

She was back in the psychiatric hospital, sitting alone in a stark, empty room, pretending she belonged there.

The doctor, once kind, had stepped out to take a call. But when he returned, his face had changed, and his voice was clipped and impersonal.

"Miss, we’ve assessed your condition. Cases like yours are quite common."

His words rang hollow, yet the judgment behind them was suffocating.

"A life of indulgence makes people like you forget propriety… and shame."

Brittany wanted to refute him, to claw her way out of the nightmare. But in the dream, she was paralyzed, unable to move, unable to speak.

"Propriety and shame… How could you fall in love with your brother?" His tone was laced with scorn. "A young lady should have self-respect. Some dignity. Do you understand?"

The ridicule coiled around her like a noose.

There was no physical pain, yet each accusation tore at her, stripping away the last remnants of her dignity, piece by piece.

Brittany’s eyes fluttered open.

She had spent the entire night awake, lying in the suffocating silence, waiting for morning to come.

Before the sky brightened, she pulled on a coat and stepped out of the villa, the crisp air swallowing her whole. Her path was set by the Civil Affairs Bureau.

The first step to severing the past was to cast off the name that tethered her to it.

Weston had made it clear, she was nothing to him now. Not a sister. Not anything at all.

But the years she spent in his family’s home had been real. His parents had loved her and cared for her. That much, at least, had been true.

For a decade, she had carried the name Beverleigh It had sunk into her skin and stitched itself into her identity.

And in those cold, sleepless nights at the psychiatric hospital, she had asked herself, was she truly ready to let it go?

Now, she had her answer.

"Household registration transfer and lastname change, correct?"

"Yes."

"What name would you like to change to?"

"Lennox… Brittany Lennox."

From this moment on, she severed every last tie to Weston.

Even if she vanished without a word, he had no right to ask why.

Five days stretched on like an eternity, each second heavier, more suffocating than the past eighteen years combined.

Theresa made no effort to hide her malice, her every move laced with smug cruelty. Yet no matter what Brittany said, Weston only ever saw one truth: she was the troublemaker.

Then, on the fourth morning, Theresa suddenly beamed with delight, bringing "good news."

"Weston, I told my adoptive parents about our wedding. They want to return to the country to see us."

"Really?"

Weston’s response was gentle, indulgent. He smiled and reached out, wiping a trace of oil from the corner of Theresa’s lips.

"I won’t let them down."

Theresa had powerful, influential adoptive parents. Brittany had known all along that Weston valued that power more than anything.

And she… she had nothing.

Lowering her gaze, Brittany faded into the background, playing the part of air.

Over the past few days, the villa had been flooded with wedding deliveries, delicate boxes of wedding confections, fresh bouquets filling the air with their fragrance, and even invitations personally penned by Weston.

Joy filled every corner of the house. Yet none of it belonged to Brittany.

"Brittany? Brittany, are you even listening?"

"Huh?"

Snapped from her thoughts, Brittany turned, meeting Theresa’s amused gaze and Weston’s displeased frown.

"Theresa called you so many times. Didn’t you hear her?" Weston’s voice was cold. "I thought sending you to St. Darius Psychiatric Hospital would at least teach you some basic manners."

Brittany’s fingers curled slightly, but before she could answer, Theresa had already slid her arm through Weston’s, her voice dripping with laughter.

"Why so impatient? Brittany’s probably not used to seeing you so affectionate with someone else. She’s just a little jealous, aren’t you, Brittany?"

Brittany silently picked up a napkin, dabbing at the corner of her mouth. When she lifted her gaze again, her expression was flawless.

"I was just lost in thought. What is it, sister-in-law?"

Theresa let out a soft, delighted laugh, covering her lips as if suppressing a secret.

"Brittany has grown up. Your brother and I were thinking of taking you to tomorrow’s charity auction. I once showed your picture to the young master of Blackwood International, and he’s been dying to meet you."

A crisp "clack" echoed through the room.

Brittany’s spoon and fork had slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp finality.

Russell Quinn.

Blackwood International’s young master is a name synonymous with scandal. A man known for indulgence, with a reputation that reeked of excess and recklessness.

Brittany froze, searching Weston’s eyes, hoping, praying, to find even a hint of amusement, a sign that this was some cruel joke.

But he had already looked away. Indifferent. Detached.

"Brother… do you want me to marry for an alliance?"

Of course, he did.

Her feelings disgusted him, a thorn lodged in his throat. He wanted her gone, far away, out of sight, out of mind. Even if it meant throwing her into the arms of a man she had never met.

After all, the family had raised her. It was only right for her to repay them.

Weston’s expression remained unreadable, but for a fleeting moment, his gaze softened.

"Your brother is settling down. You should have a home of your own, too. Besides, this is just an introduction. If you don’t like him, we can take our time choosing."

Brittany understood.

This wasn’t about her happiness. He just wanted her gone.

"Alright," she said, voice light, indifferent. "Since my brother chose him, there’s no harm in meeting him."

Setting down her utensils, she rose from the table. "I’m full. You two enjoy your meal."

And just like that, she left the dining room.

Obedient. Sensible. Without protest.

Gone was the temper, the resistance. Even when reprimanded, she had no complaints.

She had finally learned her place.

For ten years, she had been his most cherished treasure. No matter how indifferent he seemed, the ache buried in his heart ran deeper than he’d ever admit.

When Weston caught the redness in Brittany’s eyes, frustration surged through him.

He wanted to reach out, to say something, anything. Still, before he could move, Theresa clutched his sleeve, shaking her head in silent warning.

But the hurt in Brittany’s expression was like a dagger twisting in his chest. This time, Weston didn’t let Theresa stop him.

He followed Brittany upstairs, only to be met with a locked attic door.

Just as he raised his hand to knock, he froze.

Her voice carried through the wooden barrier, soft, trembling, raw.

She had loved him in secret for years. The only person she had ever given her heart to.

Yet, time and time again, he had been the one to hurt her the most.

Lying on her bed, curled up in quiet anguish, she flipped through her diary, pages filled with memories of him. Of them. Every fleeting moment, every small kindness, every stolen glance.

A love was unspoken. A wound never healed.

And now, all he could do was stand on the other side of the door.

Tear stains, unnoticed and forgotten, bled into the ink, smudging the words she once held so dearly.

She was hurt. And then, she laughed.

A quiet, breathless sound, as if the weight of it all had finally crushed her.

“Don’t worry, brother. I won’t cling to you anymore. I won’t like you anymore.”

Her whispered vow slipped past the door, landing straight in Weston’s ears like a dagger.

He should have felt relieved.

This was what he had wanted, to make her let go.

For as long as he could remember, she had been the most precious thing in his life. His little sister. His responsibility. But the moment she confessed she loved him, something inside him recoiled.

It was wrong. Impossible. Unthinkable.

She was eight years younger than him. How could he ever see her that way?

He refused to lead her down a path she could never take. And more than anything—he simply didn’t love her like that.

But now, standing outside her door, listening to the raw, broken pieces of her heart spill into the silence, he felt no relief at all.

It would pass.

She would grow up.

One day, she would understand that everything he had done was for her own good.

So why did it feel like he had just lost something he could never get back?

The charity gala was a spectacle of wealth and prestige, shimmering under the glow of crystal chandeliers. For Brittany, it was her first time stepping into a world so grand, where every smile hid a secret, and every handshake sealed a deal.

Weston’s company had only recently secured its place among the elite. A few years ago, they wouldn’t have even made the guest list. Now, he was an honored figure among them.

The red carpet gleamed beneath the dazzling lights. Weston stood tall in a tailored black suit, his presence commanding, his sharp features unreadable. Beside him, Theresa, draped in a striking red gown, looked every bit the perfect match.

Like a bride beside her groom.

Brittany trailed behind them, her gaze fixed on Weston’s back, committing it to memory, one of the last chances she’d have to do so.

A reporter’s voice cut through the hum of conversation. “Mr. Beverleigh, we’ve heard wonderful news about you and Miss Walker. When’s the wedding?”

Weston’s reply was steady. “We’re already making preparations.”

Theresa smiled, lifting her hand to display the diamond ring on her finger. The crowd erupted in cheers, cameras flashing like a sky full of stars.

“Miss Walker, you left a high-paying career as a psychologist to pursue songwriting, and your music has touched so many. Everyone’s curious: what’s the story behind your romance?”

For the first time that evening, Weston’s movements faltered.

Almost instinctively, his gaze swept through the sea of elegantly dressed guests, searching for Brittany.

But she was gone.

"Mr. Beverleigh? Mr. Beverleigh?"

The reporter’s repeated calls snapped him back to the present.

He exhaled lightly, forcing a small smile. "It's nothing special. For Theresa and me, it was love at first sight."

For the first time in a long while, the man known for his cold indifference softened. A rare warmth flickered in his gaze as he looked at Theresa, his expression almost tender.

"That song belongs to the past now. Because I love her, I would never let her endure a one-sided love alone. From now on, I’ll be the one taking the lead. I will make sure Theresa becomes the happiest woman in the world."