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."

The assistant, Evan Cole, led a group of people inside in orderly succession, each carrying gifts of staggering value.

A rare pink Padparadscha sapphire necklace.

An antique master painting.

Even the deed to a private island.

The room exploded.

"These… these are from Master Wren?"

"I heard that at the auction, he placed an open-ended bid for Miss Vera. Now he’s personally sending gifts? Looks like Miss Vera is about to rise for real."

Whispers rippled through the crowd. More than a few people cast furtive glances at Rhea, their eyes filled with pity. She was clearly more beautiful, and her lineage was unquestionable. Yet now, everyone believed she had already lost.

Rhea set her glass down and turned toward the terrace.

The night breeze was cool. She had just taken a breath when Vera’s voice sounded behind her.

"Why are you out here all alone, Rhea?"

With no guests or father around, Vera finally dropped the act.

"Did you know?" she said sweetly, venom laced beneath every word. "Dad told me. You’re marrying that man in a coma."

She smiled, soft and cruel. "How pathetic. Back then, your mother couldn’t compete with mine. Now, neither can you."

Rhea spun around. "Say that again."

"I said…" Vera stepped closer, red lips forming poisonous words, "your mother deserved to die in childbirth. She—"

Smack.

A sharp slap rang out.

Rhea was not the one who struck. Vera had slapped herself.

The next second, tears poured out on cue. She staggered back several steps, collapsing perfectly into Wyatt’s arms as he rushed over.

"It’s not Rhea’s fault," Vera sobbed, clutching her cheek. "I made her angry…"

Moments later, Victor and the guests arrived as well. Accusatory looks shot toward Rhea like arrows.

"Rhea!" Victor barked. "Have you no sense of decency?"

The whispers from the guests cut even deeper.

"How vicious. Today is Miss Vera’s birthday, too…"

"No wonder. Her mother died early. She was raised without a mother. That’s why her heart is so cold."

Rhea looked at the carefully staged farce and suddenly laughed. She strode forward and, in full view of everyone, slapped Vera hard across the face.

Then she smashed her champagne glass to the ground. Shards reflected countless stunned faces.

"Look closely," she said coldly. "This is what it looks like when I actually hit someone."

As she turned to leave, she caught sight of Wyatt’s arm wrapped around Vera’s shoulders, his gaze colder than ice.

Rhea had barely reached the corner of the garden path when her wrist was seized violently. The force was so crushing that she felt as if her bones might shatter.

"Miss Vaughn." His voice was low, fury pressed tight beneath it.

"What?" She lifted her eyes in mockery. "I slapped her once. Are you going to return the favor with 99 slaps?"

Wyatt’s eyes narrowed.

What did she mean by that? Could it be that she knew about last time?

Impossible. He had been careful.

"Miss Vaughn," he loosened his grip slightly, his brows drawn tight, "you already have everything. Why do you still need to bully her?"

"I have everything?" Rhea laughed hoarsely, the sound tearing like a sob. "What do I have?

"The moment she arrived, she angered my mother into premature labor. One body, two lives destroyed. She moved in and took my room, my toys, my allowance, my father. Even my place to study abroad. Everything I had."

It was the first time Wyatt had ever heard her say so much.

Under the moonlight, Rhea's eyes that were usually sharp with mockery brimmed with tears, stubbornly refusing to fall.

"I heard," Wyatt said coldly, "that Vera is the one who had it worse."

Rhea flung his hand away and turned to leave. "Believe whatever you want."

Just before getting into the car, Wyatt spoke again. "Miss Vaughn, I would like to take a few days off."

"Do as you like." She shut the door without looking back.

After the black sedan drove a short distance, Rhea suddenly spoke to Thomas Reed, the driver, "Turn around."

They returned to the vicinity of the Vaughn estate. Sure enough, she saw Wyatt get into a Rolls-Royce. She instructed Thomas to follow at a distance.

The car finally stopped outside an upscale tattoo studio.

Through the glass window, she watched Wyatt unbutton his shirt, revealing his solid, sculpted chest.

The tattoo artist asked him something.

Wyatt pointed to his heart and said two words. From the shape of his lips, it was unmistakable.

"Vera."