Elizbeth's toes barely brushed the floor. The back of her head throbbed from hitting the wall. She gripped Carlton's iron wrist with both hands, trying to pry his fingers apart.

"I... was... saving you," she forced out, the words scraping painfully through her crushed windpipe.

Carlton let out a dark, mocking laugh. His eyes were filled with absolute contempt. He squeezed his fingers tighter.

Elizbeth's face turned from red to a sickly shade of purple. The lack of oxygen forced hot, physiological tears out of the corners of her eyes. They tracked down her cheeks, dropping onto his knuckles.

Suddenly, Carlton froze. His jaw went slack, and he blinked in confusion.

The agonizing, brain-splitting pain that had been torturing him for months-the pain that usually took hours of heavy sedation to even dull-was completely gone. His head felt incredibly clear.

Shock flashed across his face. His grip on her throat involuntarily loosened.

Elizbeth seized the moment. She ripped his fingers away from her neck and slid down the wall, collapsing onto the floor.

She clutched her throat, coughing violently. She sucked in huge, greedy gulps of air, her chest heaving.

Carlton stood over her, his expression a chaotic mix of suspicion and disbelief. "Explain," he commanded coldly.

Elizbeth swallowed hard, soothing her raw throat. She tilted her head up and met his gaze without flinching.

"Let me take your pulse," she demanded.

Carlton's brow furrowed. His entire body rejected the idea of this mystical nonsense. He didn't move an inch.

But the unprecedented clarity in his head made him hesitate. Slowly, his face hardening into a scowl, he extended his thick wrist toward her.

Elizbeth pushed herself up onto her knees. She reached out and pressed her three middle fingers against his strong, steady pulse point.

She closed her eyes, tuning out the room. She focused entirely on the rhythm of his blood.

Within seconds, her eyebrows pulled together in a tight frown. His pulse was chaotic, violent, and highly aggressive.

This wasn't a natural neurological disease. It felt like a severe rejection response caused by a foreign, synthetic substance.

Elizbeth opened her eyes and pulled her hand back. Her expression was grave.

"Your pulse isn't from an illness," she said, her voice steady and laced with absolute clinical certainty. "It's the chaotic signature of a complex synthetic biotoxin attacking your nervous system. Standard medicine can't even detect it, let alone treat it."

The moment the word "biotoxin" left her mouth, the tiny flicker of confusion in Carlton's eyes twisted into immediate, dark suspicion.

He felt like an absolute idiot for letting a gold-digging woman trick him for even a second. A hot wave of fury washed over him.

Carlton snatched his wrist back. A cruel, mocking smirk twisted his lips. He was convinced she was just a con artist playing for time.

He pointed a rigid finger at the open door. "Get out!" he roared, his voice shaking the walls. "Don't ever bring your pathetic parlor tricks near me again!"

Elizbeth stood up, taking a step toward him. "Carlton, you have to listen to me, the acupuncture principle-"

Carlton grabbed the heavy crystal ashtray off the side table and hurled it at the doorframe next to her head.

The crystal shattered into a hundred pieces. A sharp shard of glass flew back and sliced across Elizbeth's cheek.

A thin line of bright red blood welled up on her pale skin.

Elizbeth stared at him, the sheer violence of his rejection stabbing her in the chest. The light in her eyes dimmed.

She didn't say another word. She crouched down, her hands trembling slightly as she picked up her scattered silver needles from the carpet. She slid them back into the leather roll.

She stood up, gave him one last, hollow look, and walked out of the hostile room.

Carlton watched her thin back disappear down the dark hallway. He slammed his fist into the wall, a sudden, inexplicable irritation clawing at his chest.

Elizbeth stood in front of the small mirror in the guest bathroom. She carefully pressed a small, flesh-colored band-aid over the cut on her cheek.

She took a deep breath, smoothing down the skirt of her modest beige dress. She opened the door and walked down the stairs to the first-floor dining room.

The long oak dining table was already full. Elizbeth immediately noticed two figures who had absolutely no right to be there. Her uncle, Dwight Spencer, and her cousin, Elroy, had arrived uninvited at the crack of dawn, using the excuse of 'checking on the new bride' to force their way into the Wilkinson estate and rub shoulders with wealth.

As Elizbeth approached her seat, Dwight took a slow sip of his coffee, offering her nothing but a cold, dismissive glare that reminded her of his threats to sell her grandfather's clinic. Elroy rolled his eyes dramatically. He picked up his silver fork and tapped it aggressively against his porcelain plate, the sharp clink cutting through the silence.

Elroy tilted his chin up, looking Elizbeth up and down. "Did you buy that dress at a thrift store?" he sneered loudly. "It reeks of cheap fabric. You're making the whole room smell poor, cousin."

A few of the maids standing near the wall exchanged secret smirks.

Elizbeth froze behind her chair. Her face burned. She gripped the back of the wooden chair, unsure if she should sit down or run back upstairs.

Sitting across from them, Carlton's ambitious younger brother, Jamel Wilkinson, smiled smoothly. "Now, Elroy, be kind," Jamel said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy as he observed the Spencer family drama with amusement. "Not everyone grew up with our resources. We must be patient with her... background."

Jacob, sitting at the head of the table, slammed his coffee cup down. His face darkened, ready to erupt.

Before he could speak, the heavy double doors of the dining room swung open.

Carlton strode in. He wore a perfectly tailored navy suit, his presence instantly sucking the air out of the room.

The chatter died immediately. Everyone at the table instinctively sat up straighter.

Carlton walked straight to Elizbeth. He grabbed the back of her chair and pulled it out for her, his movements sharp and commanding.

He slowly turned his head and locked his cold, dead eyes onto Elroy. The oppressive weight of his stare made the younger man shrink back in his seat.

"The mistress of the Wilkinson family," Carlton said, his voice a low, icy blade, "does not need to be evaluated by an outsider."

Elroy's face drained of all color. He snapped his mouth shut and stared down at his lap, terrified.

Dwight's face turned a mottled red, but under the crushing weight of Carlton's presence, he didn't dare say a word.

Elizbeth turned her head, staring at Carlton in shock. A sudden, unexpected warmth bloomed in the center of her chest.

Carlton didn't even look at her. He sat down in his chair and snapped his linen napkin open, acting as if destroying Elroy was just a casual reflex.

Jacob tapped his silver cane against the floor, drawing everyone's attention.

"Let us be clear," Jacob announced, his voice echoing in the large room. "Elizbeth is Carlton's legal and only wife. She carries the Wilkinson name."

Dwight forced a tight, plastic smile onto his face. He raised his glass of orange juice. "Welcome to the family, dear."

Jamel's eyes darkened for a fraction of a second before he masked it with a polite smile, raising his coffee cup to Elizbeth.

Breakfast began. The clinking of silver knives and forks against china was the only sound in the tense room.

Elizbeth stared down at the fried egg on her plate. Her stomach churned violently. She couldn't eat a single bite.

Suddenly, Carlton reached across the table. He grabbed a glass of warm milk and slid it firmly until it bumped against Elizbeth's plate.

His movements were stiff, and he kept his eyes glued to his own food, but the silent command to drink it was undeniable.

Elizbeth blinked in surprise. She looked at his sharp jawline. "Thank you," she whispered.

Carlton didn't reply. He picked up his black coffee and took a sip, his brow furrowing slightly.

Across the table, Elroy watched the exchange. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his fork, looking like he wanted to stab it through his plate.

When breakfast ended, Jacob wiped his mouth with his napkin. He looked at Elizbeth.

"Elizbeth," Jacob said, standing up. "Come with me to the living room."

Elizbeth followed Jacob out of the dining room and into the sprawling, sunlit living room. She heard the clicking of heels behind her and realized Jamel and Dwight had shamelessly followed them.

Jacob walked over to the large stone fireplace. He punched a code into the hidden wall safe and pulled out an antique, carved rosewood box.

He opened the lid. Resting on black velvet was a flawless, vibrant green emerald bracelet. It was a priceless Wilkinson family heirloom.

Jacob reached out and took Elizbeth's hand. In front of everyone, he slid the heavy, ice-cold emerald over her wrist.

The cold stone sent a shock up Elizbeth's arm. She panicked, trying to pull her hand back. "Grandfather, I can't-"

Jacob shot her a stern look that immediately silenced her.

Standing a few feet away, Jamel stared at the bracelet. Pure, unadulterated jealousy burned in his eyes, making his face look ugly and twisted.

Jamel quickly plastered on a fake, concerned smile and stepped forward.

"Jacob, since we are handling family heirlooms," Jamel said smoothly, his eyes fixed on the safe, "perhaps I should take custody of the vintage gold pocket watch. Given Carlton's... declining health, it's really too much of a burden for him to manage such an important symbol of the trust."

Jacob's bushy eyebrows slammed together. His face flushed with anger at his younger grandson's blatant power grab. He slammed his cane hard against the hardwood floor. The loud crack echoed like a gunshot. "Absolutely not," Jacob barked, his voice filled with unquestionable authority. "That watch belongs to the family heir. Your concerns are entirely baseless, Jamel. Do not ever bring this up again."

Before Jamel could argue, Carlton walked through the living room archway.

He had clearly heard the entire conversation. The temperature in the room plummeted.

Carlton marched directly up to Jamel. He stopped inches from his face, using his massive height to tower over his brother.

"Are you suggesting that I'm about to die?" Carlton asked, his voice a lethal whisper. "Are you just waiting for me to drop so you can officially take my place?"

Jamel gasped. He stumbled backward, his heel catching on the edge of the rug. He nearly fell over.

"N-no, Carlton, of course not," he stammered, a bead of cold sweat rolling down his temple.

Dwight immediately stepped beside Jamel, eager to align himself with the brother who might soon take over. He offered Carlton a calm, placating smile.

"Carlton, please. Jamel is just worried about your well-being. There is no ulterior motive," Dwight lied smoothly.

Carlton let out a harsh scoff. His eyes cut through Jamel and Dwight like a serrated knife. He didn't believe a single word. The air in the living room felt like a stretched rubber band, ready to snap. He looked at his grandfather, disgusted that these vultures were allowed to circle so openly in his own home. His jaw clenched so hard Elizbeth thought his teeth might shatter.

He turned his head and glared at Elizbeth. His eyes dropped to the emerald bracelet shining on her wrist, lingering there for a second with intense hatred.

Without saying a single word, Carlton spun on his heel and stormed out of the living room.

The front door of the estate slammed shut with enough force to rattle the windows.

Elizbeth grabbed her wrist, her fingers wrapping tightly around the cold emerald. Her palms were sweating. She was standing right in the middle of a vicious war for power.

Jamel shot Elizbeth a smug, victorious look before turning and walking away with Dwight.

The living room was empty except for Elizbeth and Jacob.

Jacob let out a long, exhausted sigh. He looked older than he had ten minutes ago. He waved his hand at Elizbeth.

"Come with me to my private study upstairs," he said quietly.