“Alora, I’m meeting some friends for coffee tomorrow. Be a doll and whip up some pastries, then drop them off by noon, okay?” Isla Lane—Rafael Holmes’s spoiled younger cousin—had always looked down on Alora Moore, and she didn’t bother hiding it.

Rolling her eyes, Isla added, “Oh, and while you’re at it, I need a fabulous new dress for an event next weekend. Victorian-style. And I want it ready in a week.” Every word dripped with arrogance.

Alora had always felt Isla’s disdain. But because she loved Rafael—and he adored Isla, the daughter of his late, beloved aunt—Alora treated her like family anyway. Still, no amount of Alora’s warmth could melt Isla’s ice.

But now that Alora had decided to move on from Rafael, she was done indulging Isla.

“I’m busy. I’m not doing it,” Alora replied, her tone ice-cold.

“What?!” Isla gasped, blinking like she’d misheard. Alora had always bent over backward to please her. How dare she refuse now?

Fuming, Isla’s voice climbed. “Alora, you act like I’m begging you! There’s a whole line of people who’d kill for the chance to make me pastries and dresses!”

“Then find someone else,” Alora said, not an ounce of interest in her voice. She barely glanced at Isla before turning away.

Isla stood frozen, stunned by the bold rejection. Was Alora really turning her down?

Watching Alora walk away without a backward glance, Isla stamped her foot. “Alora, aren’t you afraid I’ll tell my cousin? He thinks the world of me! He’ll be furious when he hears how you treated me!”

The old Alora might have feared Rafael’s anger, might have worried he’d shut her out. But now? Rafael’s feelings didn’t hold the same weight in her life anymore.

Without a second glance, Alora muttered, “Do whatever you want.”

Isla was beside herself with rage.

Alora’s pastries were legendary. At Isla’s last coffee gathering, everyone had raved about how exquisite they tasted, swearing they were better than anything from the top bakeries.

And her custom dresses? The last one had made Isla the belle of the ball, all thanks to the intricate double-sided embroidery—a masterpiece.

Isla had promised her friends amazing treats for tomorrow’s coffee meetup. Without Alora’s pastries, she’d look foolish in front of her friends.

“You’ll regret this, Alora. You’ll be begging me to ask you for pastries and dresses again!” Isla fumed, stomping off to complain to Rafael.

Rafael had been swamped with work all day, so Isla didn’t get a chance to corner him until late afternoon.

She stormed up to him in a huff, her heels clicking hard against the floor. “Rafael! Alora has crossed the line! How hard is it to whip up some pastries and sew a dress? I asked her nicely, and she flat-out refused—then insulted me!”

“You need to stand up for me and put her in her place! Make her do it!”

Rafael paused, surprised. He knew how well Alora treated Isla. Despite Isla’s spoiled nature, Alora had always treated her like a little sister, indulging her every whim. For Alora to refuse now was… unexpected.

Clearly, Alora was still upset—maybe hoping he’d show some understanding. Rafael didn’t like drama, but he remembered how devastated she’d been after losing the Deep Sea Siren role. The memory of her red-rimmed eyes tugged at his heartstrings, making him want to extend an olive branch.

That day, her forehead had still been swollen and bruised, clearly hurting her.

“Call Alora right now and give her a piece of your mind,” Isla insisted.

“Go home,” Rafael said sharply, cutting her off. “Alora isn’t your maid, and she doesn’t owe you pastries or dresses. She’s my girlfriend. You need to respect her—or I’ll cut your allowance.”

The threat stunned Isla into silence.

Her cousin funded her lifestyle with a hefty monthly allowance! Terrified of losing it, she bit her tongue—though her anger toward Alora simmered.

Ignoring her, Rafael contacted his assistant and asked him to bring a balm for Alora’s injuries to the office. He intended to visit her soon.

Isla, always looking for an angle, remembered that Tessa Guzman had been sending her expensive jewelry, hoping to win her over as part of Rafael’s family. Sensing a chance to cause trouble, Isla texted Tessa to warn her that Rafael was planning to see Alora.

---

Alora had just enjoyed a delicious meal at a chic bistro before heading back to her hotel. When she stepped out of the elevator, she spotted Tessa Guzman at her door, clutching the wedding dress Alora had painstakingly made.

As Alora approached, Tessa chirped cheerfully, “Alora, thanks for lending me this dress. Rafael was enchanted. He said I was the vision of the perfect bride. Our wedding was flawless because of it. I’m returning it to you, as promised.”

Alora’s gaze dropped to the dress she’d sewn with love, imagining Rafael pledging forever to her in that very gown. But because Tessa had wanted to wear it, Rafael had handed it over without Alora’s say-so.

Alora didn’t touch the dress. “I never agreed to lend it to you,” she said simply. “And now? I don’t want it. A wedding dress worn by someone else, a man who’s been used—they’re both tainted to me.”

Tessa’s expression soured at Alora’s words.

Without sparing her another glance, Alora turned, unlocked her door, and stepped inside.

“Alora!” Tessa called, barging in after her uninvited.

“Get out!” Alora snapped, finding Tessa’s intrusion both rude and intolerable.

Despite all her claims of class and nobility, Tessa didn’t budge. She held her head high and sneered at Alora.

“Alora, I’ve never liked you. While I was abroad, you latched onto Rafael—so shameless. But what’s taken by force never lasts. It always returns to its rightful owner.”

Alora was repulsed by Tessa’s hypocrisy. She’d overheard Tessa tell her mother she couldn’t stand a man with flaws—that’s why she’d gone abroad in the first place. Now, hearing her preach about morals was absurd.

Before Alora could respond, Tessa pulled a pair of scissors from beneath the dress.

With swift, vicious cuts, she shredded the gown. Then she turned the blade on her own hand, carving deep slashes that stained the white fabric a gruesome red.

“Alora…”

Rafael stepped in right at that moment, medicine for Alora in hand.

His eyes widened as he took in the scene: scissors lying on the ruined dress, Tessa’s hand bleeding, Alora watching with cold indifference.

“What happened, Tessa?” Rafael Holmes’s expression shifted the instant he saw Tessa Guzman’s injured hand.

He forgot all about the soothing cream meant for Alora Moore and rushed to Tessa’s side, cradling her hand as he checked the wound.

“Rafael, don’t blame Alora,” Tessa said, lifting her chin stubbornly. Her luminous face was etched with wounded pride. “It’s my fault. All my fault… Just like Alora said, I’m a dying girl—filthy and unwanted. I shouldn’t have borrowed her Victorian-style dress. She had every right to think I’d bring it bad luck.”

“Please, don’t blame her… It’s all my fault for being this way. For deserving this…”

On the surface, her words took the blame. But every syllable cast a darker shadow over Alora—painting her as the cruel one who’d hurt a dying girl and crushed her noble spirit.

Rafael’s expression darkened as he listened. His handsome face—usually like a sculptor’s masterpiece—turned glacial, as if a winter storm had descended behind his eyes.

“Alora, I lent Tessa that dress. She’s gravely ill, and you insulted her? Then you had the nerve to hurt her hand? Apologize to Tessa. Now.”

“I didn’t hurt Tessa. She’s lying,” Alora said, her voice steady. She’d secretly recorded a video right before her phone battery died. Now she just needed to prove it. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for a way to recharge her phone so she could confront Tessa.

“Alora, what happened to you?” Rafael’s voice was cold enough to chill the air. He snatched her phone and smashed it to the ground. “You keep hurting Tessa and refusing to admit it. That vile, unapologetic attitude of yours is infuriating!”

The words pierced Alora’s heart like a thousand arrows. She stood there, stunned, barely registering the shattered phone at her feet. She’d realized Rafael’s heart had drifted away. But after four years together—through every high and low—she never imagined he’d one day call her vile.

“I have evidence—Tessa is framing me,” Alora declared, holding back tears. “Rafael, you call me vile, but aren’t you just as bad?”

“No matter what Tessa says, you believe her. Even without evidence, you stand by her. If she told you the sky was green, would you agree?”

“Alora!” Rafael’s temper flared, his eyes stormy with anger. Her defiance and stubbornness unsettled him.

“Rafael, it hurts…” Tessa staggered weakly. A thin chain slipped from her neckline, revealing a gold-threaded pendant.

Alora’s stomach dropped. That pendant was her parents’ keepsake. There was no way Tessa would give it back now. So Alora would take it by force. She moved swiftly toward Tessa to snatch it back.

“What are you trying to do to Tessa now?” Rafael misread her intent and shielded Tessa behind him. Then, on instinct, he shoved Alora. She hit the floor hard.

Her injured forehead caught the corner of a nearby shelf. The wound split open, and blood streamed down her face.

“Alora…” The sight of her blood sent a sharp agony through him, like needles driving into his heart.

“Rafael, don’t worry about me. I’m filthy, and I deserve this pain. Even if it kills me… I deserve it…”

Tessa managed to say before spitting up a mouthful of blood.

“Tessa!”

With fresh blood trickling from Tessa’s lips, Rafael could no longer focus on Alora’s injury. He didn’t like seeing her hurt, but Alora wouldn’t die, nor would she leave him. Tessa, on the other hand, was near the end—every moment possibly her last.

She was his first love, the moonlight of his youth. Despite past disappointments, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, especially so young.

Without looking back, Rafael picked Tessa up and rushed her out of the suite, her blood leaving a trail behind.

Alora’s forehead throbbed painfully. Blood stained her long, dark lashes, blurring her vision, yet clarity surged through her mind. Rafael had chosen to protect Tessa over her—even when she had evidence proving her innocence.

Her mother once told her that loving someone brought sweetness and joy, offering the soul a refuge—much like her parents had found in each other. Meeting her father gave her mother a family, transforming lonely souls into fulfilled partners.

Alora had believed love was sweet. Yet loving Rafael was unbearably painful. The pain felt contagious, spreading from her forehead to her chest, as if a knife cruelly dug into her heart, making existence unbearable.

Gasping like a fish out of water, Alora spent nearly ten minutes on the floor before she managed to stand.

She realized now that love was sweet only because her mother had loved the right person. Her own suffering came from loving the wrong one.

No matter how difficult it was, she was determined to escape this misery.

Isla Lane, Rafael’s cousin, had been following the pair from a distance, believing Alora cruelly hurt Tessa. She encountered Patrick Dunn outside the hotel, immediately informing him and urging him to confront Alora.

Alora barely found time to recharge her phone before Patrick stormed into her suite with a menacing presence.

Shredded pieces of the Victorian-style dress, stained with blood, lay scattered across the floor.

At the sight of his precious Tessa’s blood, Patrick was ready to tear Alora apart.

“How dare you hurt Tessa again! How dare you!” Patrick seized Alora’s wrist with a brutal grip.

“Time and again, you hurt Tessa… Alora, you deserve to suffer! You’re coming to the hospital to apologize to Tessa now. If she doesn’t forgive you… you won’t need those filthy hands anymore!”

Patrick had tormented Alora more times than she could count since Tessa came back. She didn’t bother arguing. She just unlocked her phone to show him the video of Tessa hurting herself.

Thinking she meant to call for help, Patrick knocked the phone from her hand and grabbed her other wrist. His charming, unruly face twisted with disgust and contempt—his devotion to Tessa eclipsing everything else.

“If you hurt Tessa, you’ll answer for it!”

As he started dragging her out, Alora lunged up and headbutted him, desperate to break free.

Patrick staggered, stunned. He couldn’t believe she’d dared to hit him.

He was about to teach her a lesson she’d never forget—until her lips accidentally brushed his. He froze.

It was his first kiss.

Seizing his moment of shock, Alora broke free and quickly opened the video she’d recorded.