At the peak of his love for Cynthia, Ethan—a staunch materialist—had once climbed a thousand temple steps, praying at each one for her recovery as she lay gravely ill.

Yet at the height of his hatred, for the sake of another woman, he forced her—now terminally ill herself—to bow her head to the floor nine hundred and ninety-nine times in return.

"991… 992… 997… 999!"

After Cynthia’s forehead struck the floor for the final time, Ethan’s bodyguards finally released their grip.

Without their support, she crumpled to the ground like a discarded rag doll, her pathetic posture drawing mocking laughter from the onlookers.

Ethan looked down, his eyes radiating icy contempt.

"Now do you understand what you've done, Cynthia? If I ever find out you’ve tried to poison Mariah again, I’ll make you wish you were dead."

Her face was smeared with blood. She lifted her gaze to him, lips trembling, but no words came out.

Seven years. Not a single day had passed without her longing to see him again. And now, finally reunited, he stood with a fiancée at his side, his heart filled with nothing but hatred for her.

But before all this, they had loved each other passionately for five years.

Back then, Ethan had treated her like fragile porcelain, showering her with all his affection. If she’d asked for the moon and stars, he would have tried to pluck them from the sky.

To outsiders, they were the enviable young couple, the very picture of perfect happiness.

Everything shattered in the upheaval seven years ago. The Ethan family was framed, their empire collapsing overnight. His parents, their honor and legacy destroyed, chose to end their lives together.

Overnight, Ethan was plunged into the mud, crushed under mountains of debt. To repay it, he worked ten jobs at once, squeezing five days into one, treating night as day.

And at his lowest point, when he needed companionship the most, Cynthia vanished, leaving behind only a divorce agreement.

Ethan exhausted every means to find her, even groveling on his knees, begging her to come back and see him just once. But she never appeared.

Everyone cursed her as ungrateful, a heartless woman. No one knew that at the time, she was lying in a hospital bed, not a single patch of skin left unmarred.

She hadn’t dared tell him. The night he collapsed from overwork, as she rushed him to the hospital, they’d been in a car accident. To save him, her internal organs were shattered. Without immediate treatment, she would die—but the medical costs were astronomical.

She didn’t want to burden him. He was already carrying so much.

She never imagined she’d survive this long. And she certainly never imagined that after clawing his way back to the top, Ethan would find her, force her to stay by his side, and make her watch as he doted on another woman.

She knew. This was his revenge.

An hour ago, Mariah had eaten the breakfast Cynthia prepared and started vomiting violently, insisting she’d been poisoned.

Ethan flew into a rage, forcing Cynthia to prostrate herself nine hundred and ninety-nine times before Mariah. Even when her forehead split open and bled, he didn’t let her stop.

Agony lanced through Cynthia. She met Ethan’s gaze, enunciating each word clearly.

"I told you. I did not poison Mariah."

Ethan’s face darkened. He flung a medical report into her face, his voice cold as steel.

"The evidence is right in front of you, and you’re still lying. It seems I’ve been too lenient."

"Someone! Lock her up. She is not to take a single step out of her room without my permission, and she is to receive no food."

Before Cynthia could resist, she was grabbed and thrown into a small, dark storage room.

Panic instantly seized her. She pounded on the door, her voice desperate and pleading.

"Ethan, I really didn’t do it! Let me out, please! It’s so dark in here, I’m scared! Please, let me out!"

But Ethan remained unmoved. He turned to leave, only for his foot to accidentally kick something on the floor.

He looked down. It was Cynthia’s phone, fallen from her pocket.

The screen was lit up, displaying a text message from a doctor.

**Doctor:** Ms Cynthia, your full medical report is in.

**Doctor:** The damage to multiple internal organs is severe and irreversible. There are early indications of cancer.

**Doctor:** I'm afraid your time is limited. Please prepare yourself.

Just as Ethan began to decipher the words on the screen, Mariah—beside him—suddenly clutched her stomach and cried out in pain.

“Ethan, my stomach… it’s happening again… it hurts so much…”

His expression shifted instantly. Tossing the phone aside, he moved to her side. “Is the medicine not working? Don’t be scared. I’m taking you to the hospital now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Mariah’s face had gone deathly pale. She didn’t speak—couldn’t, it seemed—and the sight of her terrified him. Without another second’s hesitation, he scooped her into his arms and rushed outside.

He never paused. Not even when Cynthia’s desperate pleas echoed from the locked, pitch-black room behind him.

Damp and thick with the smell of earth, the room teemed with insects. Drawn by the scent of blood from Cynthia’s wound, they swarmed her—crawling, biting, as if eager to drain her dry. The pain wrung continuous sobs from her throat.

“Ethan, there are bugs everywhere! They’re biting me, sucking my blood! Please, let me out! I didn’t drug her, I swear!”

“Ethan, it hurts… it really hurts… Just let me out, please? I won’t cause trouble anymore, I promise…”

For years, Cynthia had tried every treatment to heal her body, but her organs were too damaged to ever fully recover. Medication alone kept her alive.

Every system within her was fragile. A wound that would heal in an hour for anyone else took her five.

Now, the gash on her forehead bled relentlessly, as though determined to empty her completely.

Before long, her consciousness began to blur, and she finally passed out.

When she woke, she was lying in a bright, airy room, her forehead wrapped in thick bandages.

She had just begun to wonder who had released her when the door burst open. Mariah stormed in, eyes blazing.

“Cynthia, what kind of spell have you cast on Ethan? After everything you’ve done to him, why is he still so reluctant to let you die? Why did he have to save you?!”

Cynthia frowned. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

Ethan wanted her dead. What could he possibly be holding onto?

But the next moment, Mariah flung a stack of photos into her face.

The sharp edges sliced a thin line of blood across her cheek, though she barely felt the sting.

Every photo was of her.

Not just the ones Ethan had taken when they were together, but also shots from after her capture—her back as she worked in the kitchen, her profile in the garden, even the way she dozed off. All had been taken in secret.

Cynthia was stunned. She had never imagined Ethan would photograph her like this. Every frame seemed carefully composed, not a single one careless.

But didn’t he hate her more than anyone?

Before she could process it, Mariah grabbed a fistful of her hair and snarled, “Cynthia, do you think seducing Ethan like this will make him change his mind about you?”

“Impossible. I was the one who stood by Ethan at his lowest. He belongs to me alone. I will never let you steal him!”

With that, she dragged Cynthia out of the room and shoved her into a dog cage in the backyard.

Inside waited a ferocious Tibetan Mastiff. The moment it saw Cynthia, it lunged.

Too weak to fight back, she could only endure as the mastiff tore into her, ripping away more than a dozen chunks of flesh. Blood splattered the ground around them.

Just as she thought this was where she would die, Ethan’s furious roar sounded from behind.

“What the hell is going on here?!”

Ethan had just returned home when a scream tore through the backyard—a sound he recognized. The guard dog. A jolt of fear sent him running toward the noise.

What he found was beyond anything he could have imagined.

Mariah was trapped inside the dog’s cage, pinned beneath the massive mastiff, her clothes soaked in blood. And standing beside them, watching with cold detachment, was Cynthia.

"Ethan, save me!" Mariah sobbed, reaching a trembling hand toward him.

He snapped into action, wrenching the cage open and pulling her free. Cradling her against his chest, he tried to steady his voice. "It’s okay. You’re safe now."

Still trembling violently, Mariah turned her tear-filled eyes toward Cynthia. "You’re the one who walked out on Ethan when he had nothing. Isn’t it only natural he hates you now? Why take it out on me? Luring me here… feeding me to that beast…"

Ethan’s rage erupted. He glared at Cynthia, eyes blazing. "A gold-digger like you never deserved anyone’s love. If everyone despises you, you have only yourself to blame. What has Mariah ever done to you? Why do you keep hurting her?"

Cynthia shook her head weakly, gesturing toward the bloody gashes on her own arms and legs. "I didn’t hurt her. She saw you coming and crawled in there herself. *I’m* the one the dog attacked. Look at my wounds if you don’t believe—"

"Enough!" Ethan’s voice cut like a blade. "You think a few fake scratches can fool me? You’d better pray Mariah pulls through, or else—"

He never finished. Mariah went limp in his arms, pale from blood loss. Panic wiped the anger from his face. Scooping her up, he sprinted toward the house without a backward glance.

Cynthia watched him go, the last flicker of despair dying in her eyes.

So this was how he saw her. So vile, so worthless, that he’d rather destroy himself if it meant destroying her too.

A bitter smile touched her lips. Dragging her weakened body inside, she forced herself to clean and dress her wounds despite the agony.

What did it matter if she got an infection? She didn’t have much time left anyway.

Just as she finished, the door crashed open. Ethan stormed in, fury etched into every line of his face.

"Mariah needed over twenty stitches. She passed out three times from the pain—and you know how terrified she is of pain. You did this to her. You will pay."

Before Cynthia could react, he seized her arm and dragged her out to the hospital entrance, forcing her to her knees on the hard pavement.

"Mariah still hasn’t woken up. You will kneel here and pray for her recovery. Pray like you mean it. If she suffers even a little—I’ll send you to keep her company in the afterlife!"

Cynthia opened her mouth to speak, but Ethan was already turning away. She lunged, fingers grasping for the hem of his trousers, but caught only empty air.

Under the blazing sun, guarded by Ethan’s men, Cynthia knelt at the hospital entrance for two days and two nights.

Passersby pointed and whispered, but no one dared to help.

Her pride was ground into the dust beneath her knees.

Yet the humiliation was nothing compared to the searing pain tearing at her insides—so fierce it drew cold sweat onto her skin despite the sweltering heat.

She begged the guards to take a message to Ethan, to ask for mercy, but he was completely consumed with Mariah’s condition. The mere mention of Cynthia’s name would make him snarl, "Get the hell out of my sight!"

On the fourth day, the heat and the pain finally overwhelmed her. Cynthia collapsed, her consciousness fading.

In the blurry darkness, a familiar silhouette approached.