At a friend's gathering, someone asked Philip when he planned to marry me.

Philip took a calm drag from his cigarette, his eyes unreadable.

“Elizabeth is a good girl,” he said, “but she’s… tainted now. So my wife could never be her.” He paused, then added softly, “If only she were untouched, like Lauren.”

The video cut out. A text flashed on the screen.

【It’s me he loves. Don’t you get it yet?】

I stared at the taunting message but didn’t reply. Instead, I called out to the System.

“System, I choose to give up the mission. Yes—even if the price is death.”

That night, Philip came to find me, reeking of alcohol.

As soon as he saw me, he pulled me into a tight embrace. “Elizabeth, I missed you so much.”

He rested his head against my neck, no different from the Philip I knew. He kissed my cheek, then my lips, then my neck.

But as he moved lower, he hesitated—remembering something—and held himself back. Even now, with alcohol fueling a desire stronger than usual, he didn’t take the next step.

I used to think he was being considerate, unwilling to go too far before marriage. Now I understood. He just thought I was dirty.

Pushing down the grief, I shoved him away. My voice turned to ice.

“Philip, we’re breaking up.”

His eyes sharpened, suddenly sober. “Elizabeth, what are you saying?”

Seeing his nervous expression—if I hadn’t seen that video—how could I have believed that Philip, who always seemed to care for me, would say such things? I always thought he would be the one to protect me. I never imagined he’d be the one to hurt me the deepest.

“I said, we’re over.”

He reached out and pulled me tightly against him again, his voice a low murmur. “No, we’re not.”

I hated him like this. Clearly having no future in mind with me, yet still refusing to let go.

“Then have me now. Marry me.”

He froze, caught off guard, then chuckled softly. “Don’t be silly.”

But my eyes welled up. “Admit it, Philip! You just think I’m dirty!”

The thought I’d suppressed for so long finally burst out. After I said it, Philip stood rooted to the spot, staring at me intently.

My words had struck true. A flicker of disgust crossed his face.

“Fine. Yes, I think you’re dirty. Why did that bastard choose you and not someone else? Why did you have to let him—”

His gaze cut like a blade, plunging deep into my heart.

Hearing that, the tears I’d held back for so long finally fell.

That day was my eighteenth birthday. I’d dressed up carefully, hoping to surprise Philip.

Passing through an alley, a pair of foul, sticky hands clamped over my mouth. “All dressed up like that… you were looking for trouble, weren’t you?”

I struggled desperately, but the man behind me only grew more excited.

Philip was the first to find me. Trembling, he held me, swearing through gritted teeth that he’d find the man and make him pay.

But now? He knew I was the victim, yet he called me dirty.

I was the one who truly wished it had never happened. Maybe I should have understood the System’s mocking tone from the start.

I screamed at him, my voice raw. “Get out!”

His patience had long vanished. Seeing my state, he threw down one last line. “Elizabeth, you’d better not regret this. Once you leave me, no one will ever look after you again.”

After he left, I could no longer hold myself up. I crumpled to the floor.

It felt like something was being ripped from inside me—a pain that made me tremble. I had lost the bet with the System. Completely.

Then, a sharp, twisting pain shot through my abdomen. I coughed lightly and looked down at my open hand. A vivid number **15** appeared on my palm, then slowly faded away.

My phone rang, and I answered with one hand pressed to my stomach.

“Elizabeth, the hospital just called.” My mother’s voice was sharp, breathless. “Nicholas’s medical funding was cut. Did you offend Philip? Go apologize to him—now!”

“Do you still think you’re some pampered princess?” she pressed, louder, fiercer. “If anything happens to your brother, I’ll never forgive you!”

I lowered my gaze. So this was what Philip meant: I’d better not regret it.

Two years ago, the family business went bankrupt. Shortly after, my father and brother were on their way to a creditors’ meeting when their car was hit head-on. Dad died instantly. My brother was left with a faint pulse, lingering in a vegetative state.

Mom fell apart, her hands clawing at me.

“Where were you?” she screamed. “Your father was supposed to take you with him that day! Do you have any idea?!”

It was Philip who shielded me. He stepped in and offered to cover my brother’s medical expenses.

From that moment on, I knew I owed him even more.

So all these years, I’ve gone along with his wishes. Partly for my brother, partly for the mission—to go back, to rewrite everything.

The scandal back then was huge. Even Philip, who defended me, got dragged into it. He kept reassuring me that it would all pass, but I couldn’t bring myself to imagine any kind of future.

Just as I was about to end it all, a voice echoed in my mind.

It claimed to be a System, drifting through the world. It said if I could complete one task, it would send me back to the day of my debutante ball—to change my fate.

The task? To make Philip truly fall in love with me.

I agreed in under two seconds. Philip and I grew up together. After the scandal, he stayed by my side, caring for me more attentively than ever, even more protective than before. Winning his love seemed effortless.

I refused to believe he didn’t love me.

Now, all of that feels like a slap in the face to the confident girl I once was.

Time is the ultimate proof. Five years have passed, and Philip does not love me.

“Mom, don’t worry,” I said, my voice muffled. “I’ll find the money.”

Pushing my emotions down, I promised again and again that I’d get the funds for my brother’s treatment. Only then did she finally hang up, reluctantly reassured.

My savings were thin. Every month, after covering basic expenses, I still had to pay off the debts my father left behind.

Looking back now, the only good thing all these years was that I never gave up my career for Philip.

Now, painting isn’t just my means of making a living. It’s the only way I have left to remember my father.

In my dream, I was back in that summer.

Philip pulled me from the drowning pool, his lips finding mine in a searing kiss.

“Don’t be scared, Liz,” he whispered. “I’ll protect you from now on.”

And he did. He kept his promise. He protected me. He cherished me.

So when did he change?

I couldn’t figure it out. And I was just so tired.

Sorrow would have to wait. The very next day, I returned to the studio to put the final touches on my work.

If I could just submit this painting—half a month’s labor—to the competition, the substantial prize would cover Nicholas’s medical bills.

After all, a painter’s work is only truly valued once they’re gone.

“This is yours?” A snort of derision came from beside me. “Hard to believe this studio tolerates such standards.”

Lauren looked my painting up and down, her expression dripping with contempt.

Beside her, the studio owner could only nod and bow, not daring to offer a word in my defense.

“Miss Lauren, as a returnee art connoisseur, your judgment is, of course, impeccable. Elizabeth, your services are no longer required.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I heard you studied piano, Miss Lauren. How can you dismiss my work with just a glance?”

My grip tightened on the brush. The moment I saw her, I recognized her—the one who’d sent those texts. She was also the pure, flawless treasure Philip spoke of.

One of us was the new favorite; the other, the cast-off. The owner mopped his temple and turned to plead with me.

“Miss Elizabeth, have some mercy. A humble place like ours simply can’t accommodate someone of your... stature.”

So Philip was behind this. He’d invested here, too. He always did this—cutting off every escape, forcing me to crawl back and apologize.

But not this time.

“Sir, I only need a place to paint today. I’ll leave as soon as I’m finished.”

My defiance seemed to catch Lauren off guard. Then, perhaps recalling how often Philip had glanced at his phone last night, her eyes flushed with anger. She snatched up a container of paint and hurled it at my canvas.

“How dare you enter something this filthy into a competition!”

Her shrill voice pierced the air. I threw myself forward, shielding the easel.

Thick, sticky liquid drenched me instantly. The acrid smell invaded my nostrils, choking me into a fit of harsh coughs.

“Perfect. Let me wash you clean. Art isn’t for someone like you to defile.”

Bucket after bucket of paint rained down. Jeers and laughter swelled around me, threatening to pull me under. The studio, once my sanctuary, had become my courtroom.

Only when every drop of paint was gone did I get a moment to gasp for air. Pigments blurred my vision. Through the white haze, I saw Lauren lift my painting with a smile.

“No… please… I’ll leave—”

She tore the canvas, sending fragments fluttering through the air like snow.

My last shred of hope lay in ruins. I stared at the confetti on the floor, my heart turning to ash.

“Do you really think Philip loves you?”

The smile froze on Lauren’s face.

“I was by his side for twenty-three years, and he cast me aside. What makes you think your fate will be any better?”

My words must have stung. A second later, a slap cracked across my face.

“You think you and I are the same? Someone who got dirty the moment she turned eighteen? I’d be sickened to have you as my pet.”

The force sent me sprawling. My right cheek swelled instantly, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth.

“What have you done to yourself?”

A familiar voice. I looked up instinctively. Philip stood there, his brow furrowed with reproach. He walked over and gently took Lauren’s hand.

With practiced ease, he drew a custom silk handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped the paint from her fingers.

Before I could speak, Lauren melted against him, her voice trembling. “Philip, I only wanted to advise Elizabeth on her painting… Then she just… went mad, throwing paint everywhere. I was so frightened, I accidentally struck her…”

Philip’s arm slipped around her waist. His gaze flickered to the vivid handprint on my cheek, something unreadable passing through his eyes. But his words plunged me into an icy abyss.

“So she was struck. She started it.”

I hadn’t expected Lauren to twist the story—but I truly hadn’t expected Philip to believe her.

“She destroyed my painting first! Philip, you have to believe—”

He took a step back, as if I were something repulsive. “It’s just a painting. So it’s ruined. What’s the big deal?”

I stood frozen, unable to breathe.

So this is what it means when love dies. Even the most basic fairness evaporates.

The old Philip would beg to be my model, insisting every one of my paintings had to carry his shadow.

But now…

Was it all for Lauren?

I should have realized. Without Philip’s permission, how could she have done this?

The boy who once saved me was long gone.

Struggling to my feet, I refused to look at either of them.

Behind me, Lauren’s sugary voice cooed, “Philip, you’re so good to me…”

He gave an absent-minded hum, but the arm around her waist dropped to his side.

Hearing it, two clear trails traced through the paint on my cheeks.

“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice flat. “Apologize to Lauren.”