For eight years, I stayed by John Harlem's side, even without a title.

I was there when he recovered and rose from his wheelchair, and I was there when he clawed his way out of depression.

I thought that one day, if I endured long enough, he would see my sincerity and affection for him. And we might end up together.

But when his first love returned to the country, all my hopes turned into delusions.

He told me to put away feelings I should never have had and remain by his side as nothing more than his "sister".

For her, he deceived me, humiliated me, and pushed me away.

What he never knew was that in helping him heal, I had absorbed far too much of his darkness. The very day he stopped taking his medication, I was diagnosed with severe depression.

In order to save myself, I chose to let him go… and married his uncle instead.

But at my wedding, he set aside his pride and dignity, dropped to his knees before everyone, and begged me for nothing more than a single glance.

"Uncle Matt, yes, I will marry you."

I lay on the hospital bed, phone pressed to my ear, my other hand limp at my side as my vacant eyes lingered on the bloodstained bandages around my wrist.

How many times had I tried to end my life? I could no longer remember. All I knew was that whenever the waves of despair came crashing down, I felt no desire to keep on living.

On the other end of the line, Matt Harlem corrected me, "Audrey, I am John's uncle, not yours. You should call me 'Matt.' Or, 'honey'."

At the sound of John Harlem's name, something inside me snapped like a rubber band, a sudden ache I was powerless to defend against.

John was the guy I had loved for years.

From the moment I could remember, we had always been together. Back then, I was still the cherished heiress of the Gray family, and he was the boy next door. We spent every day in each other's company, like childhood sweethearts without a care in the world.

Even later, when the true heiress Samantha Gray returned and I was cast out, John didn't abandon me. He took me in, sheltered me, and from then on, he became the most important person in my life.

But now, I had chosen to let him go.

Obediently, I whispered, "Matt."

Only then did Matt let out a satisfied laugh. "Good girl. I'll see you in a week."

"Yes," I murmured. "See you then."

The moment the words left my lips, a tall, elegant figure stepped into the room. I saw who it was and instantly hung up the call.

John stood at the door, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that made him look every inch the dignified heir. The man with the proud, straight back bore no trace of the despair and weakness he once carried in his wheelchair.

His eyes narrowed. "Who are you meeting?"

My tone was cold. "An old friend."

His brows drew tighter. He knew my world as well as his own. All these years, I had revolved solely around him. I had no friends—never had.

He was about to press further, but when he saw the indifference in my face, the words shifted.

His voice dropped, sharp as ice. "Tell me, was slitting your wrists fun?"

The coldness dragged me back to last night.

I had told him I wanted to move out of the villa. He refused. Instead, he locked me in the bedroom, demanding I reflect on my so-called mistakes.

But what mistake had I made? All I wanted was to leave him—to wean myself off the feelings I could no longer bear.

The violent surge of emotion triggered my depression, and in that haze, I slit my wrist. At that moment, I truly wanted to die.

But John misunderstood.

He thought I was using my life as a bargaining chip to make him feel guilty. So, although he rushed me to the hospital, he gave the doctor a cruel instruction.

"When you stitch her up, don't use anesthesia. I want her to remember this pain."

He knew I feared pain more than anything. Yet he watched, expressionless, as I was pinned down like cattle for slaughter, screaming under the stab of needle and thread.

The memory stabbed through me now. My body shuddered uncontrollably, and when I looked at him, fear clouded my eyes.

For a split second, surprise flickered across his face. But it was quickly replaced by fury.

His fist crashed onto the bed beside me. The gust of force grazed my ear and left a burning sting.

He ground his teeth. "Still pretending to be pitiful? Let me tell you, because of your little stunt, Samantha nearly broke up with me. She said she couldn't bear the thought of you hurting yourself—that if anything happened to you, she'd feel guilty for the rest of her life.

"She's that kind, that softhearted. And you… how dare you stoop to such vile tactics just to drag me away from her?"

Once, if he had said this, I would have screamed until my voice broke, begging him to see the truth—that Samantha was a hypocrite, a vain and ungrateful woman hiding behind a gentle mask.

But now, I finally understood. John loved her. And because he loved her, he trusted her without question… just as I had once trusted him.

I forced a small smile, obedient as ever. "I was the one who couldn't let go. But don't worry, I've figured it out. I'll apologize to Samantha, and tell her I've given up on you."

I thought those words would delight him. Yet instead, he stared at me as though struck dumb, shock flickering in his eyes.

After a long silence, he finally said with a hint of relief, "It's good you've found your place."

But before the air could settle, a syrupy voice drifted from outside, "Johnny, I'm ready."

At once, his coldness melted into tenderness. He turned, walking toward Samantha with unhurried grace. "Why didn't you wait over there? Does your finger still hurt?"

She leaned into his arms, a small bandage wrapped around her finger.

"It's nothing," she pouted. "Just a tiny cut. You worried too much. The doctor even teased me—said if we'd come any later, the wound would've healed on its own."

"To me, anything that concerns you is never a small matter," John said with solemn care.

Samantha smiled sweetly at his words. Yet when her eyes flicked toward me on the hospital bed, her lips trembled with feigned grievance.

"Maybe I shouldn't have come in. Audrey must be upset to see me again."

John's brows drew tight, and seeing the indifference on my face, he was about to explode.

But I spoke first, my tone gentle.

"Samantha, don't worry. I'm not upset. I didn't cut my wrists to force John's hand. I did it because I'm sick."

At once, John's expression hardened. "What did you just call me?"

After a pause, something seemed to strike him, and his frown deepened with unease. "Sick? What sickness?"

I gave him no answer.

Fortunately, Samantha, fearing he might feel sorry for me, quickly twisted my words. Her eyes reddened as she said plaintively, "Audrey, even if you resent us, you mustn't gamble with your life. Saying such unlucky things too often… they might come true."

Her words painted John's face with fury. His voice dripped with disgust.

"Let them come true! If you're so eager to be sick, then die of it—better than lingering around every day, making others sick just by existing! We're leaving."

With that, he dragged Samantha away.

The final look he cast me, heavy with revulsion, was like a boulder crushing my heart until it bled. The pain flooded my lungs until I couldn't breathe.

I clutched at my chest, forcing myself to endure until the thunderous pounding of my heartbeat finally eased. Only then did I slump back, hollow and defeated.

The next three days, I remained alone in the hospital.

John never came. Not once. Not even a call.

To me, it was almost a relief. All I longed for was to leave as soon as possible, fly to Austrane, and begin a new life.

Three days later, I was discharged.

I went straight back to the villa, planning to pack my things, collect my passport, and prepare for departure.

I hadn't expected John to be hosting Samantha's birthday party that very day.

So when I appeared, every face turned toward me in surprise.

My gaze froze on the towering, ten-layer cake glittering in the center of the living room. I stared blankly until John's voice snapped me back.

I turned my head. He was holding Samantha in his arms at the center of the dance floor, his brows drawn tight in displeasure as he fixed his eyes on me.

"Why are you back today?" he demanded.

Dozens of hostile stares rained down on me like arrows.

Samantha's eyes shimmered with tears, her expression one of fragile grievance. She had reason to look aggrieved—after all, today was her birthday.

Of course, it was also mine.

We had been switched at birth. From the day she returned to the Gray family, she declared this day her "day of calamity." She had never celebrated it.

No doubt John had worked hard to persuade her into this party, to sweeten her bitterness.

But my presence ruined everything.

I muttered an apology and turned to leave.

John's voice cut through the air, sharp with command. "Get upstairs. Don't come down without my permission."

I wanted to walk out altogether, but the memory of his violent outburst the other day made me hesitate. In the end, I obeyed, climbing the stairs in silence.

It didn't matter—just four more days.

But Samantha suddenly spoke up.

"Johnny, don't be so harsh. Let Audrey celebrate with me before she goes upstairs. Don't forget, it's her birthday too."

At her words, John's face darkened, his tone dripping with scorn.

"She? A sinner's daughter? What right does she have to celebrate her birthday?"

The crowd chimed in at once, "John is right! If her mother hadn't swapped her at birth, Samantha wouldn't have suffered all those years. Isn't she embarrassed to celebrate?"

My complexion drained white. My filthy past had been torn open before everyone's eyes, and suddenly, I was dragged back to my tenth birthday —the day I lost everything.

I faced John's loathing gaze and endured the crowd's cruel chorus.

"Sinner's daughter."

"Rotten blood breeds rotten children."

Each word hammered me down until I could barely stand.

I remembered how I used to believe the same.

So when Samantha returned and the Gray family showered me with scorn and beatings, I accepted it all, thinking it was the penance I deserved.

But even then, they still cast me out—on my tenth birthday, no less. They threw me into the pouring rain.

Birthdays had always been nightmares for Samantha. For me, they were no different.

Except—back then, John had been the one to find me in the storm. He carried me home, bought me a cake, and under my trembling gaze, lit the candles and whispered, "You don't owe them anymore. From now on, every birthday, I'll be with you. All right?"

In that moment, his eyes shone so bright, it seemed even the moonlight couldn't compete.

And yet now, he was the one standing before everyone, calling me a sinner's daughter.

My vision blurred with tears. Ashamed, I fled upstairs and slammed the door of my room behind me.

Back in my room, I swallowed a pill to steady the storm in my chest, letting the chaos of my emotions slowly ebb.

Just then, Matt called.

I pressed the answer button, and his voice, warm and gentle, flowed through the line.

"Audrey, did you see the wedding gowns I sent? Which one do you like?"

"I did," I replied obediently. "They're all beautiful. My favorite is the deep-blue one—the one embroidered with moons and stars along the hem. But… isn't dark blue a little unlucky?"

Matt chuckled lightly. "What's this? You're so young, yet already superstitious? As long as you love it, you can wear any color you want. This is our wedding. You're the absolute center of it."

I froze for a moment.

The center…? Could someone like me, branded a sinner, really stand at the center of anything?

To be honest, it had been so long since anyone had spoken to me this kindly.

Ever since I'd "fallen out" with John, all those who once flattered me had turned their blades of malice against me. Their words were knives, stripping away pieces of flesh.

I had believed this world would never again offer me kindness. But at least, there was still someone willing to speak to me like this.

My chest felt lighter. A smile crept into my voice. "Then I'll choose that one. Thank you. I really do love the gown."

At that moment, the door behind me swung open.

I turned my head just as John strode in, urgency in his eyes.

"Wedding gown? What wedding gown?"

I hung up immediately.

I didn't want him to know who I was marrying just yet, though I had no intention of hiding the fact.

Calmly, I said, "It's my gown. I'm getting married."

Shock rippled through his gaze. "Nonsense. How could you possibly be getting married?"

Samantha walked in just then. At my words, she laughed softly.

"Audrey, stop joking. You must mean Diana's gown, right?"

Diana Archer—once the closest friend I had in her circle. She was getting married next month.

But after I "lost favor," she distanced herself, never even inviting me to her engagement banquet.

The tension in John's face vanished at once, replaced by open ridicule.

"I knew it. How could you possibly get married? Without me, no one in this circle would even look at you. Who would you marry?"

His words caught in my throat like shards of glass.

So he knew. He had always known their affection for me was fake. And still, he never once defended me.

Perhaps because, in his eyes, this was exactly what I deserved.

For the first time, John truly disgusted me.

I ignored him and began packing my things.

He frowned. "What are you doing? Planning to run away again? Seems I was too lenient last time, locking you in your room. Clearly, you haven't learned your lesson."

Tightening my grip on the folded clothes, I kept my head down. "It's a change of season. I'm just organizing."

A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face, but pride held his tongue sharp.

"If you weren't always scheming, I wouldn't misunderstand you so easily."

I stayed silent.

He was about to continue when Samantha suddenly clutched her stomach. "Johnny, my stomach hurts…"

At once, he abandoned me and scooped her into his arms, rushing her out.

Watching their retreating backs, I exhaled in relief.

At some point, even sharing the same air as John had become suffocating.

Three days passed in a blur.

Luckily, John seemed busy and never came home.

I took the chance to sort everything—some things I threw away, others I donated.

As for the things he had given me, I packed them into a single box and left it in the most conspicuous place in my room.

That way, after I was gone, the first thing he'd see would be the remnants of our past.

On the final morning, I came downstairs to find John having breakfast with Samantha.

She glanced at me, then turned to him with a bright smile. "Uncle Matt is getting married. Johnny, will you take me to the wedding?"

John's eyes softened at once. "Of course I will. You're my fiancée."

Her cheeks flushed pink as she laughed, then she looked at me. "Audrey, you should come too."

Before I could answer, John cut in coldly, "She can't. What if she causes trouble again? I won't risk that embarrassment."

Samantha sighed as if helpless. "All right…"

I remained expressionless, as though their words had nothing to do with me.

John frowned, displeased. His voice dropped, heavy with command.

"We're flying to Austrane today. The wedding's tomorrow, and we'll spend today preparing the gift. Uncle has always treated you well. I'll choose a gift for him on your behalf. While we're gone, stay put. Don't even think about leaving. Understand?"

I nearly laughed aloud. If I didn't leave, who would wear the bridal gown?

But I had no intention of provoking John now. Better to keep him complacent and avoid extra eyes on me.

So I answered sweetly, "Don't worry. I'll be right here waiting for you."

Samantha's smile faltered. She had been hoping I would "run off" and disgrace myself, so my composure only deepened her resentment.

John, meanwhile, studied me with narrowed eyes. Something about me felt different—obedient to the point of unease.

At length, he decided I had finally learned my place. Satisfied, he said, "Good. I'll bring you something when I'm back."

The tone of benevolence, like tossing scraps to the undeserving, made me nauseous.

Still, I smiled faintly. "One gift will be enough."

I only wanted the one gift that mattered—the gift meant for the bride. Nothing more, nothing less.

He didn't understand. With a derisive snort, he replied, “Of course I was only going to give you one gift. Were you expecting more? Don’t be greedy.”

…

Not long after, he and Samantha left for the airport.

From the second-floor window, I watched their car disappear into the distance, my gaze cold, my heart steady.

For the first time, I allowed myself to look forward to our reunion in Austrane.