The corridor outside was silent. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to keep warm.

Only after a long while did I realize I was unable to stand. The cold had stiffened my legs completely, and my fingers no longer obeyed me.

I counted to one hundred, then back again. On the third round, I noticed a sound outside. The sharp click of high heels echoed along the corridor. They stopped just outside, near the power room. Then came a soft click, like a switch being flipped.

"Who's out there?" I shouted with everything I had left. "Let me out. Please."

There was no answer. The heels clicked again, fading gradually until the corridor fell silent once more.

And suddenly, I remembered that sound.

Benedetta loved wearing heels. Whenever she stood in front of me to provoke me, the sharp click of her heels rang like applause for her cruelty.

I lay back on the floor and started to laugh. I laughed until tears streamed down my face, freezing into ice against my skin.

There was no signal in the cold vault. My phone was useless.

I reached for my neck. The diamond necklace Carlo had given me for my birthday was still there. Then I touched my fingers. The engagement ring was still there. It was the Vesta family's heirloom sapphire, which he had slipped onto my finger himself three months ago.

"You will be the lady of the Vesta family," he had said inside the chapel.

Sunlight filtered through the stained glass, casting colorful patterns across his face. "I swear I will protect you with my life."

His vow still echoed in my ears, yet he was gone.

A strange, false warmth spread through my body. Hallucinations began to take shape.

"Margherita," Carlo said, smiling at me in the illusion.

"Carlo," I murmured. "I'm so cold."

He only smiled and said nothing.

The only real sound was the roar of the cooling system.

With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and tried to send Carlo a message. Even if it never went through, there were so many things I needed to say.

Our chat window still showed the messages I had sent him hours earlier.

"Carlo, the cooling system started running again, and the temperature keeps dropping. Can you let me out? I was wrong. No matter what you believe I did, I accept it. My fingers are numb. The temperature has to be below zero.

"Carlo, where are you? Please save me. I think I might die here, but I love you. I will always love you."

My consciousness began to fade. The screen blurred before my eyes, and I could only struggle to type one last message.

"Carlo, I know this isn't your fault. I don't blame you. I really don't. I'm just so cold."

After typing the final word, I closed my eyes and let the darkness take everything.

In the instant before death, I heard the high heels return.

The clicking ceased at the door, then a woman's whisper came through. Her voice was light, but unmistakably clear.

"Goodbye, Margherita."

It was Benedetta. It was really her.

I wanted to respond, to scream, to curse her, but my body was already dead. No sound came out.

Only my consciousness remained, drifting in the frozen air as it watched the curled body in the corner.

The skin of my corpse was darkened purple, with a thin layer of frost covering my lashes, and my hand curled tightly as though clutching something valuable.

I knew what was in that hand. It no longer mattered.

Outside the iron door, the sound of high heels faded away once more.

At 25, I died there.

When I came back to consciousness, I found myself floating above the room. My body was still curled up in the corner of the cold storage, and a thin layer of frost was covering my skin.

I couldn't bear to look, so I turned and passed through the heavy iron doors, heading for Vesta Manor. The ballroom was alive with a party to celebrate Benedetta's recovery.

Under the crystal chandelier, Carlo wore a black velvet suit, holding a glass of whiskey. Benedetta sat beside him in an armchair, with a cashmere blanket draped over her legs. She still looked pale, but her makeup was flawless.

"The doctors said that if we'd been five minutes later, she wouldn't have made it," Matteo Conti, Benedetta's Papa and the Vesta family's Consigliere, said, raising his glass. "Carlo's quick reaction saved her."

The guests echoed the toast, raising their glasses in unison.

"Where's Margherita?" one elder asked. "She should be here."

Carlo's face grew colder. "She's reflecting."

"She's still in the cold vault? Carlo, she's been there all night. That's enough. Remember—Margherita is the Rossi family's daughter."

"I said she's reflecting," Carlo cut him off. His voice carried a warning that silenced the room for a moment.

Whispers quickly filled the air.

"I heard Ms. Rossi is jealous of the relationship between Ms. Conti and Mr. Vesta…"

"An arranged marriage is no match for a love that started in childhood…"

"Mr. Vesta's furious this time. Who knows how long he'll keep her confined…"

Benedetta gently tugged on Carlo's sleeve. "Let her out, Carlo. I know she didn't mean it. Look, I'm fine."

Carlo's gaze softened as he looked down at her.

"You're always too kind, but the family has rules," he said, patting the back of her hand gently.

I drifted closer, wanting to slap Benedetta across the face. My hand passed straight through her. She noticed nothing and simply smiled at Carlo, as if nothing had happened.

As I looked on, a sudden pain shot through my chest. That warmth had once belonged solely to me.

Just then, the butler approached and asked, "Mr. Vesta, the guard at the cold storage asked if Ms. Rossi should be given some food and water. It's been a long time."

Carlo glanced at the clock and hesitated. I noticed his fingers tapping on the table—a habit he had whenever he was deep in thought.

I silently wished he hadn't forgotten me.

"It's been a while. Very well, bring it to her," he said.

Benedetta suddenly coughed, clutching her chest. Her face went ghostly pale, and her breath came in short, shallow gasps.

"Benedetta?"

Carlo immediately steadied her.

"I'm fine," she murmured weakly. "It's just a sudden shortness of breath, probably aftereffects from the drowning."

Carlo held her firmly and told the butler, "Call the doctor."

"And Ms. Rossi…"

"We'll talk about that later," Carlo said, carrying Benedetta toward the exit. "First, she needs a doctor."

The butler wanted to say something, but in the end, he gave in. "Yes, Mr. Vesta."

As they left the room, I caught Benedetta's voice faintly behind them. "Carlo, I'm so sorry. I got sick again at a time like this. Don't worry about me. Let's get Margherita out—"

"Don't mention her," Carlo snapped. "She must be punished."

A fleeting smirk crossed Benedetta's face before she feigned concern. "I just fear she might hate me."

"She wouldn't dare," Carlo said.

I was already dead. Even if I hated her, what could it change?

Even if I were still alive, there was nothing I could have done to her with him protecting her.

At that point, I no longer felt anxious.

It didn't matter whether Carlo ever realized I was gone.

But when he discovered the truth, I wondered how he would react. I was looking forward to it.

In the two days of Benedetta's sick act, Carlo had completely forgotten about me.

It wasn't until the dock project I was in charge of hit a snag that he finally lost his patience. "Go to the cold vault and bring Margherita here now!" he barked at his bodyguards.

Benedetta suddenly rushed forward and grabbed his arm. "Don't go."

Carlo frowned. "What?"

"I…" she said, looking down. "I went there this morning. I wanted to let her out and talk to her, but she hit me."

When she looked up, there was a faint red streak on her left cheek.

Carlo's eyes darkened instantly. "She hit you?"

"She said everything was my fault, that I was faking and trying to steal you…"

Benedetta's eyes glistened with tears. "Then she slapped me. Carlo, I was so scared."

Carlo turned to his bodyguard and firmly said, "Forget it. Keep her there until she realizes exactly what she did wrong."

The bodyguard hesitated. "But the dock project—"

"I'll take care of it personally."

Carlo slipped on his coat and walked out. "Margherita Rossi remains confined. No one is to see her."

Benedetta stayed behind as he disappeared through the doorway. She lifted a hand to touch the red mark on her cheek and smiled.

Her smile sent a shiver through me, as much as a ghost could shiver.

The following night, my Papa, Enrico Rossi, called.

"Carlo Vesta! Where is my daughter? She hasn't contacted me in two days!"

"Mr. Rossi, Margherita is—"

"Don't tell me she's busy. She would never disappear like this. Even when she works late, she always sends a message," Papa said sharply. "Did you lock her up? I know about Benedetta's incident. Remember this—if Margherita is harmed in any way, our partnership ends on the spot. The Rossi family will sever all port access and shipping routes at once."

After a moment of silence, Carlo said calmly, "Margherita made a mistake. She is being disciplined. This is an internal matter of the Vesta family.

"Internal matter? She's my daughter!" Papa snapped. "If I don't see her by tomorrow morning, you'd better be ready for the termination notice."

With that, Papa hung up. Carlo held the receiver long after the line went dead.

Just then, there was a knock at the study door. The representative from the dock project had arrived in person.

"Mr. Vesta, I'm sorry for coming straight to you," the representative said politely, though firmly. "We must work with Ms. Rossi. The person you appointed has no knowledge of the project."

Carlo frowned. "When did I assign someone else?"

The representative replied, "It's a woman named Benedetta Conti. She claimed you sent her to manage the project."

Carlo closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, a storm raged within his gaze. "Bring Margherita here now," he ordered his bodyguards.

"Yes, Mr. Vesta," the bodyguard said before leaving.

Carlo turned to the representative. "Please wait. Margherita will arrive shortly."

The representative nodded and sat on the sofa.

I floated behind the bodyguard as he left the main house, through the rain-soaked garden, and arrived at the cold storage. He took out the keys and unlocked the heavy iron door.

The door swung open, and the chill rushed out, carrying the familiar scent of rust and fish.

The bodyguard entered, shining his flashlight around. In the corner, my body still lay curled up, as if asleep."

"Ms. Rossi," he whispered.

There was no response.

He stepped closer and bent down. "Ms. Rossi, Mr. Vesta is calling you."

Of course, my dead body couldn't answer him.

The guard froze for a moment, then dared to touch my shoulder. It was stiff and ice-cold.

He yanked his hand back, and the flashlight swung erratically.

He stumbled backward and bolted to the door, shouting into his radio. "Mr. Vesta! Ms. Rossi isn't answering! She… She looks dead!"