I’ve always loved dogs, so when I was a child, Grandfather placed a leash in my hand. He told me the boy technically my uncle, Anthony, would be my pet.

From that day on, I learned to swing the whip. Laughing, I lashed him until he bled, all the while respectfully calling him Uncle.

Later, the dog broke its chains and turned on its master.

In public, I remained the unassailable heiress of the Jessica empire. In private, late at night, he would grip my throat, force me to my knees, and demand to know when I’d give him a child.

I took it all in silence.

Until the day I learned I was pregnant—and overheard him soothing his long-lost first love. “Marry me,” he said. “I’ll deal with Jessica so she won’t be in your way.”

My fingers found the scar on my arm. No heartbreak, just the quiet tally of a countdown.

When the seventh mark appeared, I would be free of him for good.

---

My drifting consciousness snapped back as Anthony’s ragged breathing slowly eased. We clung to each other like any ordinary couple, limbs tangled.

A flicker of warmth stirred in my chest. I opened my mouth to speak, but a sharp ringtone cut me off.

Anthony snatched up his phone. Seeing the caller ID, he pulled out of me at once and answered, his voice softening. “Grace, what’s wrong?”

Grace—Anthony’s long-lost first love, the girl who’d saved his life years ago. The woman he’d spent tens of millions wooing with flowers, yachts, and starlit villas. The one he’d proposed to ten times.

Ice water poured over me, washing away every lingering trace of pleasure.

I stayed silent. I swallowed the words that had almost spilled out in the heat of the moment—

*I’m almost a month along.*

“Anthony,” Grace’s wounded voice came through the speaker, “you went to see Jessica again, didn’t you?”

His body still carried the heat of desire, but his eyes turned cold as they flicked toward me. Gently, he soothed her: “She’s just a bitch. If you don’t like it, I won’t touch her again.”

Whatever Grace said next, Anthony didn’t bother lowering his voice as he headed for the bathroom. “Be good. Just say you’ll marry me, and I’ll deal with Jessica immediately. I won’t let her be an eyesore for you.”

My heart plummeted. Ignoring the ache in my back and legs, I slid out of bed, wiped the sticky wetness from my skin, and curled up on the rug at the foot of the bed. I dragged the blanket over my naked body, trying to steal back a little warmth.

A memory surfaced: eight years ago, after Anthony had tried to run from the Jessica family and been dragged back by Grandfather. Night after night, he’d slept curled on the floor of my room like a dog, utterly still.

Back then, everyone thought my betrayal and torment had broken his spirit for good. No one knew that, under my deliberate cover, Anthony had been quietly trading stocks, investing, building a company—becoming Kingsport’s mysterious rising star.

Years later, when Grandfather suffered a stroke and lay dying, with the Anthony's Group thrown into turmoil, Anthony finally struck. He nearly tore the family empire apart.

In the end, it was me who saved the crumbling dynasty—kneeling on the floor, handing over every share of the Anthony's Group left to me in Grandfather’s will, then crawling into his bed.

That day was my twentieth birthday.

“Go shower. You can sleep in the bed tonight.”

Anthony’s voice pulled me from the edge of sleep. His handsome features still held a trace of the tenderness he’d just shown the woman he loved.

“Grace agreed to marry me. You’ll have to start calling her Mrs Jessica, Jessica.” A faint smile touched his lips—the first lively expression he’d shown me in a long time.

It reminded me of eight years ago, when we’d fled the Jessica house hand in hand, betraying the world for our love. He’d grinned and shouted, “From today on, Jessica belongs to Anthony!”

But now, even in our most intimate moments, he looked at me with nothing but hatred and impatience. That tenderness, that love—none of it was mine anymore.

My throat tightened. I swallowed hard before answering evenly, “Congratulations.”

Dazed, I walked into the bathroom and pulled up Gregory’s number.

**Me:** Begin the plan. Gather the materials for submission.

His reply came instantly.

**Gregory:** Understood, Boss.

I put my phone away and let scalding water pour over my skin. A cold, heavy ache settled in my chest, but beneath it bloomed a fierce, swelling hope.

Six years and eleven months. I was finally close.

This monstrous house, built on sin and cruelty—I would watch it crumble to dust with my own eyes.

My fingers traced the six scars on my right arm, each one raised and distinct. I closed my stinging eyes.

Just one more month. Once the seventh year was complete, once the seventh mark appeared, I could end this. I could leave for good.

In less than a single night, news of Anthony and Grace’s impending engagement swept through the household like wildfire.

As Anthony’s officially recognized fiancée, Grace now commanded everyone’s attention. Even my parents hesitated to take their seats at the table until she had settled into hers.

Despite the lavish spread before her, Grace wore a troubled expression.

“What’s wrong?” Anthony asked at once, his voice soft with concern. “Is the food not to your taste?”

Grace shook her head. Her gaze drifted toward me, seated at the far end of the table. “I’ve always heard,” she said quietly, “that Miss Jessica was raised by old Mr. Anthony himself. She must have impeccable taste. Not like me—coming from a family that lost everything, I really don’t know what I’m doing.” She paused, then added gently, “Could I trouble Miss Jessica to recommend which dishes are the most delicious?”

Anthony and my grandfather, Brandon Anthony, had been mortal enemies. Since Anthony took control of the family and Anthony's Group, no one dared mention Grandfather’s name aloud.

And the fact that I had been raised by Grandfather’s own hand? That was Anthony’s forbidden zone—the very wellspring of his hatred for me.

Sure enough, his expression darkened as he turned his gaze on me.

A frozen silence fell over the room.

My father shot me a glare sharp enough to cut steel. My mother nudged me from behind, urging me to kneel and apologize immediately.

That was how it always went. Anthony’s anger would ease, just a little—and then, heedless of whoever was watching, he would drag me back to his room…

But from now on, I refused to degrade myself like that again.

I clenched my fists, ready to refuse.

Then Grace gently brushed her fingertips against the back of Anthony’s hand. “Anthony…” she whispered. “Big brother? Isn’t that allowed?”

Just that one phrase—*big brother*—and, impossibly, Anthony’s expression softened. “Of course it is,” he replied, his voice tender.

He shot me a cold look. “Jessica,” he ordered, “see to Grace’s plate.”

I froze, staring at him in disbelief.

He was actually letting her use that intimate, forbidden name—*big brother*?!

When we were children, I had trailed after him, foolishly calling him brother again and again.

Each time, he would pretend to be angry, though his eyes smiled as he coaxed, “You should call me Uncle Anthony, all right? Candy is only for girls who call me Uncle Anthony.”

But the next time I called him brother, he still gave me candy.

Later, a paternity test proved he was no son of Grandfather’s.

He told me the title ‘brother’ was a constant reminder of the humiliation and torment he’d endured.

I remember clearly—the last time I slipped and called him brother in bed, his hand closed around my throat, squeezing tighter and tighter until the edges of my vision blurred.

Only then did he release me, his voice like ice. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

After that, I never dared.

But now… now he was letting Grace call him brother.

Seeing I hadn’t moved, Anthony fixed his eyes on me, each word deliberate and sharp. “Grace is going to be your aunt. You will show her the respect she is due.”

Grace shot me a triumphant glance, feigning shyness. “I’m not married to you yet.”

Anthony chuckled, his reply dripping with affection. “In my heart, you’ve long been my wife.”

Amid all that cloying sweetness, every eye in the room turned to me. Their gazes—mocking, scornful, reveling in my misery—cut deep.

From the ruthless heiress of the Anthony empire to Anthony’s despised plaything; to the outside world, I was just his dog. They never hesitated to remind me, claiming I’d hand over the entire Anthony Group just to earn a second glance from him.

For seven years, I had grown numb. And so, obediently, I stood and began plating dishes for Grace.

The entire evening, I stood beside her, attending to her every need until my legs ached and trembled, on the verge of buckling.

Only when she smiled sweetly and said, “I’m full now. Thank you for your trouble, Miss Jessica,” did it finally end.

Anthony looked at her adoringly. “As long as you’re happy. Let me take you for a walk.”

From beginning to end, he never spared me a single glance.

Before leaving the table, my mother shot me a look of pure disgust. “Useless thing. Can’t even keep a man’s attention.”

My father shook his head in clear dissatisfaction before walking away.

Faced with a table of cold leftovers, a wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I retched, my body heaving.

Then my phone screen lit up. A message from Gregory: *Boss, all is proceeding smoothly.*

I exhaled slowly.

The year Grandfather died, I was only twenty—insignificant, voiceless, utterly incapable of shouldering the mantle of Chairman of Anthony's Group.

My first thought had been to go with the flow, to let Anthony run the company into the ground. But the Anthony empire was a behemoth, too large to simply collapse; its roots tangled deep in the family soil, its interests sunk into assets overseas.

To wipe out every last parasite for good, I’ve endured nearly seven years of this, gathering evidence of their financial crimes.

Now, finally, dawn is on the horizon.

I can only hope that when the Anthony empire comes crashing down, Anthony and Grace will still be this sweet.

Grace made herself at home immediately. On the very day she moved in, she insisted I go with her to try on wedding dresses.

To be precise, I did all the trying while she watched from a plush seat, perfectly at ease.

By the thirtieth gown, every muscle ached; my arms hung leaden at my sides. In the mirror, my face was a frightening shade of pale.

When Anthony arrived at the boutique and saw me, his brow furrowed instantly. He opened his mouth to speak.

But Grace stepped forward first, looping her arm through his and swaying it gently with a coquettish pout. "You're late. I've tried on so many, I'm utterly exhausted."

Anthony's gaze slid from me to her. "Work has been hectic. I'll make it up to you tonight," he soothed.

Grace blushed, playfully hitting his chest. "You're terrible."

Their flirting gave me a moment to breathe. I lowered my eyes and waited.

Grace changed into the same dress I was wearing. Holding the hem, she did a light spin. "Who wears it better," she asked coyly, "me or Jessica?"

Anthony glanced at her, his praise generous. "You look perfect in it."

Then his dark gaze swept over my waist and abdomen, lingering. "Jessica's waist is a bit thick."

My hand moved instinctively to my stomach. He didn't know. A little life, sharing our blood, was growing there.

"What a terrible thing to say! Only Jessica is patient enough not to mind," Grace giggled, whispering in his ear.

Anthony gave no answer. Instead, his gaze—black and unreadable—held mine for a beat too long.

Squirming under that naked stare, I spoke up. "I'm tired. I'd like to go home."

How could Grace let such a perfect opportunity to flaunt their love slip by? "It's your fault," she chided him. "Now Jessica is upset."

Anthony, who always put her first, turned a cold tone on me. "Grace's health is delicate; she can't overexert herself. You go try on a few more."

It was a warning. A reminder of my debt.

Years ago, a paternity test had humiliated Grandfather. In his fury, he'd imprisoned Anthony—that "bastard"—subjecting him to relentless abuse. By the time Anthony was barely an adult, there was hardly an inch of unmarked skin on his body.

Later, he escaped that hellhole. Adrift and alone, it was Grace who took him in, who gave him shelter.

And I betrayed him. I told Grandfather his hiding place, condemning him back to hell and causing the tragic death of Grace's father.

To care for her ailing mother, Grace had to drop out of school, work herself ragged, ruin her health. He felt both guilt and love for her, moved by her kindness and resilience, so he indulged her every whim.

What he didn't know was that the tragedy of Grace's family had nothing to do with me. In fact, his escape had only been possible because of my secret help.

I knew he wouldn't believe a word I said. So, dragging my heavy body, I headed for the dressing room.

While struggling with the zipper, the door opened. Anthony stepped in, his gaze predatory as it locked onto me. "Jessica," he warned, "behave. Don't think about playing any tricks to upset Grace."

Weariness washed over me. "You're overthinking. I won't interfere."

Anthony narrowed his eyes, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Won't you? Then who was it, in bed, calling herself my dog?"

I'd had enough of our mutual degradation. Anger flared; I shoved him. "Get out!"

He caught my wrist easily, yanking me forward. Without a word, he bent his head and captured my lips.

I twisted my face away. "Not here. I don't want to."

He acted as if he hadn't heard, his mouth moving to my ear with possessive force.

Desperate, I whispered, "Grace is right outside. She can't find out."

He stopped. Desire still churned in his eyes, but he took a step back, his voice hoarse. "I'll let you off this time."

A chill settled deep in my heart.

For six years, I'd endured his humiliation, a small voice inside insisting he just didn't know the truth—that even his cruelty was tangled with love and hate.

Only today did I realize: this was the difference between a distraction and the real thing.

But if he didn't love me... why, night after night, had he been so desperate to get me pregnant?