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?

Late that night, the woman’s passionate cries pierced the silence—sharp and unmistakable, even through the wall. Just on the other side, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

Even though I had long since given up on Anthony, the sound grated on my nerves. My head throbbed as if it were splitting open; my stomach churned with acid. In the end, I had no choice but to ask the housekeeper to call the family doctor.

“What are you making a fuss about now?” Anthony kicked the door open with a heavy thud, dismissed the doctor, and strode inside.

I was so dizzy the ceiling seemed to spin. Opening my eyes only made me nauseous, so I kept them shut and said nothing.

Fresh from the shower, he carried the familiar scent of his body wash as he climbed onto my bed uninvited, seeking the curve of my neck to kiss.

I pushed him away with all my strength. “Don’t touch me.”

He dismissed it as a tantrum. Gripping my chin forcefully, his voice turned cool and detached. “Weren’t you the one trying to get my attention just now?”

My voice was weak but insistent. “Anthony, I’m not making a scene. I really don’t care about you and Grace. But I will never be the other woman.”

His dark gaze swept over me, laced with sarcasm. “Jessica, spare me the false nobility. Being the mistress—isn’t that in your blood?”

Every drop of blood in my body seemed to freeze. Trembling uncontrollably, I felt a fury so deep it stole my breath.

I had never imagined he would say such a thing to me.

Then again, he was right. I was, after all, the child of a mistress.

When I was four, my birth mother passed away, and I was brought back to the Jessica family.

As an illegitimate daughter, I spent my first years there in fear. Whenever “Mother” saw me, she would curse and rush over to hit me—sometimes pinching, sometimes slapping, occasionally using a stick. Before I turned eight, my skin was marked with blue and purple bruises every single day.

Survival taught me cunning. Knowing she hated the dog in the yard, I hid in the doghouse all day, treating the big black dog inside as my mother, eating and sleeping with it.

Perhaps I began to smell too much of the doghouse and dirt. “Mother” grew disgusted and gradually stopped coming to beat me.

Later, Grandfather brought Anthony and his mother back from abroad.

The first time I saw Anthony, he was the golden, precious young master of the Jessica family—the genius new son Grandfather praised to everyone.

I stared at him dumbly, even forgetting to fight Midnight for food. Young as I was, I already understood what it meant to feel inferior. So, thinking myself clever, I dropped to the ground and snarled like a dog, trying to scare him away.

Anthony, who had just turned ten, wasn’t frightened. He simply tilted his head, putting on a grown-up air, and asked curiously, “So you’re my little niece?”

For me, he became the first real light.

He said he was my little uncle and that he would take care of me forever.

From then on, I moved into a pink, luxurious princess room and wore all sorts of beautiful dresses. Anything I wanted, without my having to say a word, he would present to me with both hands.

He was my protector. Under his shelter, I finally lived like a princess.

Tears slid into the corners of my lips, bitterness spreading in my mouth. I bit down hard. “It’s been almost seven years, Anthony. I’ve paid my debt.”

Even if I had once been forced to whip him, to humiliate him like a dog, he had repaid me a hundredfold over these years.

Anthony paused, his grip on my chin still domineering. “You’re dreaming, Jessica. When this ends is for me to decide.”

He wiped my tears away and sighed softly. “Just be good. I’ll consider treating you better.”

I closed my eyes in despair.

I knew the truth. If I had revealed how I had betrayed him back then—and the evidence to prove it—I wouldn’t have had to endure this torment for so many years.

But I still carried six lives on my conscience. The reason I lived was to atone.