The club lights blurred into a haze as Rhea tipped back her head and downed her third glass of whiskey.

The alcohol scorched her throat, yet it could not extinguish the resentment burning in her chest.

At the center of the dance floor, she moved in slender heels, her red dress flaring with every turn. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Wyatt standing beside a private booth.

He was supposed to be her bodyguard. Instead, he stayed glued to Vera’s side.

She leaned in close, whispering something near his ear. Her lips nearly brushed his earlobe, and Wyatt, who was always ice-cold with Rhea, showed a faint flush at the tips of his ears.

Rhea let out a quiet, mocking laugh. As she turned away, a group of spoiled rich boys closed in around her.

"Care to drink with us, Miss Vaughn?"

"Let’s exchange contacts."

"I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time. Seeing you in person… your face really lives up to the rumors."

They crowded her into a corner until she could not move. Refusing them only drew more men in, until someone’s hand slid boldly onto her waist.

"Wyatt!" She finally snapped.

Only then did Wyatt seem to notice her predicament. Frowning, he strode over and shoved through the crowd. The muscles in his arms stood out beneath his black suit. One sharp look was all it took for the young men to retreat in embarrassment.

"Anyone watching would think you were her bodyguard," Rhea sneered, lifting a hand to wipe the spilled alcohol from her collarbone.

Wyatt lowered his gaze. "Sorry. I didn't notice it."

"Didn't notice it?" She suddenly leaned in, her red lips nearly brushing his jaw. "Or did you simply not want to?"

Her scent closed in on him without warning. His throat bobbed once as he took half a step back. "You've had too much to drink."

"Don't worry. Once I'm married off, you'll be able to protect Vera to your heart’s content—" Her words were swallowed by a sudden scream erupting from the stage.

Staff wheeled out a massive iron cage. Inside, two adult Tibetan mastiffs paced restlessly.

"Tonight’s special event!" the host shouted excitedly. "Black Whirlwind versus Crimson Blaze. Betting is now open!"

Rhea frowned. Nightfall Club often staged bloody fight-betting shows like this, and she had always hated them. She was about to leave when the iron cage let out a strained creak.

The lock loosened.

Everything happened in an instant.

The larger mastiff slammed into the cage door and burst free, lunging straight at the nearest crowd.

Amid the screams, Rhea saw Wyatt spin around without hesitation. Almost instinctively, he rushed to Vera, wrapping her tightly in his arms and shoving her toward the emergency exit.

Rhea stood frozen at the spot closest to the mastiff. She could clearly see the saliva clinging to its exposed fangs.

"Ah—"

The pain came without warning.

When the mastiff’s teeth pierced the muscle of her calf, she vaguely heard the sound of fabric and flesh tearing together. A chunk of meat was ripped away. Blood sprayed as she collapsed to the floor, watching helplessly as the beast lunged at her again.

Bang!

The gunshot rattled her eardrums. The mastiff dropped instantly.

The last thing she saw was Wyatt holding a gun, shielding Vera behind him, and the ceiling spinning as the lights went dark.

The smell of disinfectant assaulted her nostrils.

Rhea regained consciousness through the pain. The first thing she saw was a stark white ceiling. Her calf felt like it had been seared with a branding iron. Every breath tugged at the wound.

She turned her head with effort. What she saw at the hospital room door struck her half-awake mind like another blow.

Vera was buried in Wyatt’s arms, sobbing. "Wyatt, you are Rhea’s bodyguard. Why did you protect me instead? This is all my fault. I should never have come…"

His well-defined hand patted her back gently, his voice impossibly soft. "Miss Vera, you don't need to blame yourself.

"Even if it happened a hundred times over," he paused, brushing the tears from her cheek, "I would still choose to protect you first."

"Why?" Vera looked up at him with tear-filled eyes.

Wyatt met her gaze. Emotion darkened his deep-set features. "Because I—"

Crash!

The sound of a glass shattering on the floor cut off Wyatt before he could finish speaking.

Vera jolted like a startled rabbit, springing out of his arms.

"Rhea, you’re awake!" She rushed to the hospital bed, tears spilling instantly. "How do you feel? Does it still hurt? This is all my fault—"

Rhea tugged her pale lips into a cold smile. "With you being an eyesore here, how could I possibly get better?"

Vera’s tears fell harder. Her shoulders trembled as if she had been grievously wronged. She bit her lip, cast Wyatt one last look, then turned and ran out of the room.

Wyatt instinctively took a step after her, then forced himself to stop. He turned back to Rhea, his voice low. "Miss Vaughn, everything happened so fast that day. I did not have time to react—"

Rhea said nothing. She only turned her head and looked out the window. She did not want to hear it.

For three full days, Wyatt stood guard outside the hospital room like a model bodyguard. She did not say a single word to him. Not until the day she was discharged.

Rhea walked on her still-unhealed leg straight into the study. She pulled open a redwood drawer and took out a black leather whip, glossy and cold.

It was the Vaughns' inherited disciplinary tool. One strike was enough to split skin.

"Go get Wyatt," she told the housekeeper, Dorothy Kline.

When he entered the room, she was slowly wiping down the whip.

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows beneath her lashes.

"Wyatt," she said calmly, lifting her eyes to him. "You are my bodyguard. You failed to protect your principal. I am punishing you. You shall have no objections."

As he stood where he was, his pupils tightened almost imperceptibly. Rhea saw it clearly.

Blackridge’s so-called crown prince had probably never imagined that someone would dare enforce household discipline on him.

After all, he was the Wren family’s only heir. People tripped over themselves to curry favor with him. Who would dare lay a finger on him?

Yet here she was, about to whip him.

Rhea studied his expression and suddenly laughed.

He was hesitating. He could turn around and walk away. He could resign, yet he was hesitating.

For Vera. To stay by her side. To keep getting closer to her.

Her eyes burned, the laughter almost spilling into tears.

Wyatt clenched his jaw. At last, he said quietly, "No objections."

At that moment, Rhea’s heart seized violently. She gripped the whip and raised her arm.

"Don't!"

A slender figure suddenly threw herself forward, blocking him completely.

Vera stood in front of Wyatt, tears filling her eyes, her voice shaking. "Rhea, if you want to hit someone, hit me. This has nothing to do with Wyatt!"

"Move." Rhea’s voice was ice-cold.

"I won't!" Vera shook her head, crying openly. "I'm the one who caused you to get hurt. If there must be punishment, punish me—"

Wyatt reached out, trying to pull her aside. "Vera, this has nothing to do with you."

She refused to move, stubbornly shielding him with her body.

Rhea watched the scene, fury surging up as she lashed out.

Crack!

The whip split the air with a shrill snap.

She had aimed for Wyatt, but Vera lunged forward instead, taking the strike for him.

"Ah—!" Vera cried out. Her slight frame swayed, then collapsed.

Wyatt caught her instantly, lowering his head to check her injuries. When he looked up again, Rhea met eyes colder than ice. There was killing intent in them, as if he might rush forward and snap her neck in the next second.

Her body went rigid, plunging into an icy abyss.

"Get out," she heard herself say, her voice trembling.

Wyatt picked up the unconscious Vera and turned away. The study door slammed behind him with a deafening crash.

Rhea stood there, realizing her hands were shaking so badly she could no longer hold the whip.

Three days later, Rhea went alone to try on wedding dresses.

Night had already fallen when she stepped out of the boutique. Someone suddenly clamped a hand over her mouth and nose from behind.

A sharp, chemical stench flooded her senses. She struggled, then her vision went dark.

When she woke again, everything was black. Her eyes were covered, and her wrists were bound to a chair, leaving her completely unable to move.

Crack.

The first lash sent her arching forward in agony.

The rough rope bit deep into her wrists, and the blindfold thickened the darkness. She bit through her lip to swallow the scream clawing up her throat.

"You offended someone you should not have," the executioner’s voice sounded distant and hollow.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The whip fell like rain. Each strike tore through the air, splitting skin and flesh.

She clenched her teeth, refusing to cry out.

Who? Who would do this to her?

The beating went on for a long time. It only stopped once her consciousness began to blur.

Then came the sound of a phone call being placed.

"Master, I have carried out what you instructed," the man said respectfully.

From the other end of the line came a familiar male voice.

"Mmm. Send her back."

Just that sentence.

Rhea’s blood froze.

It was Wyatt. Wyatt had ordered this.

Because she had accidentally struck Vera once, he had paid her back with 99 lashes.

Pain and cold swept through her. She could not hold on any longer and slipped into complete darkness.

In the hospital, Rhea lay face down on the bed, the wounds on her back burning fiercely.

Outside the door, nurses whispered.

"That man is so handsome. He is so gentle with his girlfriend…"

"Right? Just a small lash mark, and he is worried sick. Look at the patient in room 304. Covered in injuries and not a single visitor."

Rhea ripped out her IV and braced herself against the wall, inching into the corridor.

Sure enough, outside the VIP room, she saw Wyatt.

He was holding a cup of water, carefully feeding Vera. Vera murmured something in a spoiled tone. Wyatt wiped the water from the corner of her mouth with his thumb, his gaze so tender it could melt steel.

Rhea leaned slowly against the wall, her eyes stinging. She did not understand how, after deciding to let go, her heart could still hurt like this. It was like someone carving into her flesh with a dull blade.

'Don't cry, Rhea,' she told herself, because no one would feel sorry for her.

On the day of her discharge, familiar footsteps sounded behind her the moment she arrived.

Wyatt was back.

They faced each other, each seeing something different reflected in the other’s eyes. They stood in silence until her phone suddenly vibrated.

Victor’s name flashed on the screen.

"Tomorrow is Vera’s birthday celebration." Victor's voice brooked no refusal. "She's been crying in front of me lately, saying she wants to mend things with you. Come and attend."

Rhea sneered. "I'm not going."

"What are you sulking about?" Victor’s tone sharpened. "This may be the last time. The Ashfords have already set the date. After you get married—"

She hung up. Then she looked up at Wyatt, who stood in the shadows. "Do you think I should go?"

The hard lines of his profile looked especially cold under the wall light.

After a few seconds of silence, his voice came low. "You should."

"Fine." She tugged at her lips. "Then I will do as you wish."

The birthday party was held in the glass conservatory of the Vaughn family’s old estate.

When Rhea arrived in a mossy green velvet gown, most of the guests were already there.

Beneath the crystal chandeliers, Vera wore a pink tulle dress, surrounded like a true princess.

"Rhea!" Vera greeted her with delight, moving to link arms.

Rhea sidestepped, her gaze sweeping across the room full of gifts Victor had prepared. Limited-edition Hermes. Tiffany blue boxes. Even the keys to a Porsche.

"Vera has always been sensible. I dote on her the most." Victor stood beside her with a face full of affection, just like years ago.

Back then, he had stood beside Rhea and her mother the same way. She had worn a white dress. Her father had lifted her high into the air while her mother had smiled gently beside them.

Now, everything had changed.

After the cake was cut, guests gradually drifted off in small groups.

One of Vera’s friends, Lydia Prescott, leaned in to gossip. "Vera, so many heirs from prominent families came tonight. Is Mr. Vaughn planning to set you up? I heard you are already engaged to the Ashfords."

Vera smiled faintly and glanced meaningfully toward Rhea in the distance. "That was called off long ago."

"That is good, very good. I heard that the man ended up in a coma. Marrying him would mean being stuck in a marriage with a man who might as well be dead." Lydia wiggled her brows. "There are so many men here tonight. Come on, what is your type?"

Amid the teasing, Vera blushed and began counting on her fingers.

"First, he has to love me deeply. Deep enough to tattoo my name over his heart.

"Second, he has to be brave. I heard that on Moonwatch Cliff, there is a briar rose bush. He must pick a stalk for me.

"Third—"

Before she could finish, the doors of the hall were suddenly pushed open.

"Mr. Wren sends his regards and presents these gifts in honor of Miss Vera’s birthday. May she be well and happy."