In Kingsport, Savannah and Zachary were the envy of everyone—the picture-perfect couple. He was a ruthless business prodigy; she, a brilliant news anchor. They had been together since their school days, all the way to the altar. Zachary cherished her completely, holding her in the palm of his hand, placing her at the very center of his heart.

Then that beautiful life came to a sudden, screeching halt with the arrival of the spiritual advisor, Angela.

Angela claimed she and Zachary were bound by a predestined love from a past life. She also declared that Savannah’s fate was fundamentally at odds with the fortunes of Zachary’s family. “If you wish for peace and prosperity,” she warned, “Zachary must sever all ties with her. He must never see her again.”

“Superstitious nonsense!” Zachary scoffed. Had Savannah not stopped him, he would have thrown the woman out on the spot.

But no one could have predicted what happened next. Two days later, Jonathan—Zachary’s grandfather, the family patriarch in robust health—was suddenly struck by a severe, mysterious illness. The family scrambled for doctors and remedies, yet his condition only worsened. To make matters worse, their corporation was hit by a massive crisis, its stock price plummeting wildly.

With all other options exhausted, a desperate Zachary went to seek Angela’s so-called “solution to reverse their fortune.”

“You wish to challenge fate itself, Zachary?” Angela’s fingers flew through a series of calculations before she let out a soft, ominous sigh. “Even for me, there are no guarantees. But for you… I’m willing to try.”

No one could have imagined the “solution” she proposed. She demanded that Savannah kneel in the freezing autumn downpour, facing southwest, and bow deeply eighty-one times, her forehead touching the wet pavement.

“Savannah, please… just get through this for me, for Grandpa,” Zachary pleaded, holding her close.

Unable to refuse him, she went out alone into the torrential rain. She prostrated herself eighty-one times until her forehead was split and bloody. The next day, she collapsed with a raging fever. Miraculously, Jonathan’s condition improved, and the corporate crisis was resolved.

From that day on, Zachary and his entire family began treating Angela like an honored guest, hanging on her every word. Meanwhile, Savannah lay alone in a hospital bed, feverish and aching in every muscle. Her “compensation” was a limited-edition handbag.

She was sick for a full week. Zachary didn’t visit her once—all because Angela had advised against it. “Angela says we just need to hold out for forty-nine days,” he told her.

But Savannah’s suffering would extend far beyond those forty-nine days. She had barely been home from the hospital for two days when Jonathan’s health took another sharp turn for the worse.

“Miss Savannah’s fate is simply too strong, too harsh,” Angela lamented, her tone dripping with false pity. Yet every task she set for Savannah was more cruel than the last.

She made Savannah hold a heavy candelabra day and night, praying and repenting for Jonathan’s sake.

The constantly dripping wax burned Savannah’s hands, covering them in blisters—a searing, heart-stopping pain. Zachary’s compensation this time? A priceless antique jade necklace worth millions.

Next, Angela ordered Savannah to crawl on her knees up a punishing 1,999 stone steps to a mountain chapel to pray for a protective blessing.

Savannah fell repeatedly, leaving her battered and bruised. She spent a full month in a wheelchair. Zachary’s reparation? A diamond tiara valued at over a hundred million.

Then, Angela demanded Savannah write daily prayers in her own blood. One day, two days… ten, twenty… Under the guise of challenging fate to rewrite destiny, Angela’s torment grew more intense and relentless.

Savannah was in utter agony, but Zachary’s only response was to tell her to “bear with it a little longer.” Even when she finally contacted an internationally renowned specialist for rare diseases and begged Zachary to take Jonathan for an examination, he flatly refused.

“Angela says Grandpa cannot be moved right now. We’ll discuss check-ups later.”

His words sent a chill straight through Savannah’s heart. This wasn’t the Zachary she knew. He had always been on her side.

Before their marriage, his mother, Jessica, had disliked Savannah for being orphaned and coming from a family whose fortunes had faded. She’d hired a so-called “master” who claimed Savannah’s fate was too harsh—that she had “cursed” her own parents to death, and that anyone close to her would suffer. Jessica tried to force Zachary into a marriage alliance with a wealthy heiress of her choosing. Back then, Zachary had responded by taking a hammer and, right in front of his mother, shattering the master’s ten fingers.

“Since you’re so skilled at divination,” Zachary had sneered, tossing the bloodied hammer aside, “did you foresee this particular calamity befalling you today?”

But now, Angela came first in everything. Throughout Savannah’s torment, Zachary was single-mindedly focused on studying spiritual guidance with her, attending social events by her side. They ate together, went everywhere together, practically attached at the hip.

Naturally, Savannah grew resentful. Zachary dismissed it as irrational jealousy. “The only one I love is you,” he insisted. “I’m only grateful to Angela. She’s using years of her own spiritual cultivation to help us.”

As a news anchor, Savannah’s work pressure was already immense. Coupled with the daily torture, she finally reached her breaking point.

One day, right after finishing her broadcast, Savannah collapsed. Waking in the hospital, she was surprised to find Zachary—whom she hadn’t seen in nearly a month—waiting by her bedside.

“Savannah… you’re pregnant. Sixteen weeks along. Didn’t you notice?”

Zachary was overjoyed, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’m going to be a father!”

Savannah was swept up in his happiness, immersed in the joy of expecting a new life. She failed to notice the feigned pity on Angela’s face, or the sheer dread on the faces of Zachary’s parents.

After being discharged, Savannah ignored Zachary’s protests and returned to work as usual. “I know my own body. Don’t worry,” she assured him.

But just two days later, crippling abdominal cramps gripped her. A torrent of blood gushed from between her legs, unstoppable. Zachary rushed her to the hospital, but it was too late. They couldn’t save the baby.

“The stress from your work led to poor embryonic development… It’s alright. You’re both young. Focus on recuperating. There will be other chances,” the doctor said gently.

The words shattered Savannah. She was convinced the baby’s death was entirely her fault—an immense, crushing guilt overwhelmed her.

She spent sleepless nights weeping, wandering through the house like a ghost. One day, passing by the study, she overheard a conversation between Zachary and his friend.

“…What? You secretly put abortion pills in Savannah’s soup? Zachary, have you lost your mind? Someone as proud as Savannah… if she ever finds out the truth, she’ll divorce you for sure!”

“Zachary had no choice. Mistress Angela said the child was a curse. If it was born, it would bring calamity upon our family… Just think—Savannah got pregnant right around the time the old master fell ill!”

“Savannah must never know. I know I wronged her and the child, but I don’t regret it.”

Zachary’s voice was low and hoarse, yet unnervingly firm. “I never cared about having children. All I want is to—”

“But *I* cared!” Savannah’s voice cut him off as she pushed the study door open.

She stood in the doorway, face streaked with tears, eyes swollen and raw. A violent tremor seized her, her whole body shaking with rage, shock, and betrayal.

“Because of something that woman said, you… you killed our child behind my back? Zachary, how could you be so cruel? So blind!”

“It’s not cruelty or blindness! I just want us to be okay—to be together, always!”

Zachary stepped forward urgently, reaching for her hand, but Savannah jerked away.

She shook her head hard, her mind reeling, thoughts colliding in panic.

She didn’t understand. How could he trust a woman he’d known for barely two months—a woman with her fabricated tales of fate and fortune—over the one he’d loved for years?

Angela chose that moment to glide into view, seemingly oblivious to the suffocating tension. Her gaze settled on Zachary, soft and gentle.

“Zachary, it’s time. We should leave… Savannah should come too. After all, everything we’ve done is, ultimately, for her sake.”

Savannah never imagined their destination would be her old family home.

In the clearing before the front gate, an altar stood ready, laden with offerings and ritual tools.

A cold gust of wind carried the acrid, overwhelming smell of gasoline. Savannah’s eyes widened in horror. The old house, inside and out, was drenched in it. The courtyard lay piled high with kindling and flammable junk.

“The dead have poisoned this ground with their lingering resentment. Purification by fire is the only way.”

Angela had changed into ceremonial robes. With a dramatic sweep of her sleeve, she turned a cool, detached gaze on Savannah. “That is to say, I will burn it. Perhaps this can finally break the curse you were born under.”

“This is *my home*! You have no right to burn it! This is a crime!”

Savannah fumbled for her phone, intent on calling the police. A bodyguard lunged forward, snatched it from her grasp, and hurled it into the heart of the old house.

Savannah stared at Zachary—the one who’d given the order—disbelief choking her. “This is where I grew up. It holds every memory I have of my parents. You killed my child, and now you want to burn the last connection I have to them? Burn my home?”

“Savannah, baby, your home is with me, isn’t it?”

Zachary’s voice was gentle, weaving the most vicious words. “In the end, it’s just an old, empty house. Let it burn. I’ve already bought you a villa worth over a hundred million. Prime location, top-tier finishes.”

He produced the title to the villa, bearing only Savannah’s name, and held it out to her.

Tears streamed down Savannah’s face, spattering the crimson cover of the document. Her hands shook as she grabbed fistfuls of Zachary’s shirt, her voice breaking into a desperate plea.

“No! I don’t want the villa! I just want this house! Zachary, I’m begging you… I’ve never begged you for anything, this is the first time! Please, just let the house stand. Leave it be, and I’ll do anything. *Anything*.”

She looked so fragile, as if made of glass that might crack at any moment. The cold resolve in Zachary’s eyes softened for a moment.

He started to lift a hand to wipe her tears, but Angela’s voice, cool and impatient, cut through from behind him. She held a ceremonial dagger.

“Zachary. We’ll miss our window.”

“…Then begin.” Zachary’s hand fell. He gritted his teeth and gave the order.

The words were barely out of his mouth before Angela eagerly raised the dagger, skewered a bundle of paper talismans scrawled with incantations, lit them on a red candle, and flung them toward the old house.

The burning papers instantly ignited the pile of kindling at the doorstep.

In the blink of an eye, flames erupted and raced across the structure, hungrily devouring the old home, fueled by the wind.

“NO!” Savannah’s scream tore from her throat, raw and ragged. She lunged forward, throwing herself toward the blazing inferno.

The flames were about to lick Savannah’s fingertips when Zachary ordered the bodyguards to pull her back.

“Let me go, Zachary… let me go! I hate you—don’t make me hate you!”

She thrashed and kicked, sobbing in agony, but the bodyguards’ grip never loosened.

In the end, she collapsed, utterly spent, onto the ground. Helpless, she watched as every memory, every cherished remnant of her past, slowly burned to ash.

“Ms. Savannah, why get so worked up over mere possessions? Look at you now—your aura and fortune are in even greater disarray. I fear this will only invite greater calamity!”

Arms crossed, Angela shook her head and sighed at the spectacle of Savannah’s breakdown.

“Calamity? *You* are the calamity!” Savannah struggled to her feet, lunged forward, and slapped Angela hard across the face.

“Ah!” Caught off guard, Angela stumbled backward and landed in a heap.

Zachary rushed over without hesitation. As he moved to steady her, his elbow slammed hard into Savannah’s already weakened frame. She fell gracelessly to her knees, her right knee crashing onto a sharp stone. Skin tore instantly; blood welled up and quickly soaked the black fabric of her dress.

“Savannah, have you lost your mind? How dare you lay a hand on Angela! Apologize to her—beg for her forgiveness!” Zachary’s voice was icy, his eyes fixed tenderly on Angela’s rapidly reddening cheek.

“I will *never* apologize to her. It’s *she*—the arsonist, the fraud—who should be apologizing to *me*!” Savannah forced herself upright, her gaze locked on Zachary, each word deliberate and sharp.

“Ah, Ms. Savannah’s obsession has festered into true darkness in her heart… Forget it. She is a pitiful soul. I won’t hold it against her.”

Angela’s voice dripped with false compassion. Extricating herself from Zachary’s arms, she ordered a bodyguard to fetch a bowl of clean water. Taking a dagger, she pricked her fingertip and, with a dramatic flourish, wrote a complex charm on a blank sheet of yellow talisman paper. She burned the paper to ashes and dropped them into the water.

Savannah noticed it—the subtle movement as Angela brushed her right index finger against her silver ring. A fine white powder, almost invisible, fell into the bowl along with the ashes and dissolved instantly.

“Drink this charm-infused water. It may break the hold on Ms. Savannah’s heart. A good deed brings its own reward.”

“I won’t drink it!” Savannah refused vehemently. “What did you put in there? I saw you!”

Angela’s expression turned cold. She shook her head with disdain. “It seems my efforts are all in vain. So be it. Zachary, from now on, the fortunes of Ms. Savannah and your family are no concern of mine!”

She thrust the bowl into Zachary’s hands and made to leave, but he pulled her tightly back into his embrace.

“Someone! Pry her mouth open!” Zachary commanded, his face an emotionless mask as he glared at Savannah.

The bodyguards swarmed forward, restraining her. One moved with practiced efficiency, dislocating her jaw. Savannah could only watch, helpless, as Zachary himself tilted the bowl and forced the talisman water down her throat.

As soon as she was free, Savannah scrambled, fingers clawing at her throat, desperate to vomit it up. Zachary immediately ordered the guards to bind her hands and feet with rope.

“If she can endure for twelve hours, the darkness in her heart will surely be broken… I hope Ms. Savannah will not spurn my goodwill this time.”

With that, Angela’s face paled dramatically. She went limp in Zachary’s arms, her voice a faint whisper as she claimed the ritual had drained her energy and she needed immediate rest.

“Angela, hold on! Just hold on!” Zachary didn’t dare waste a second. He gathered her up with exquisite care, as if cradling a priceless, fragile treasure. Savannah, bound hand and foot with her jaw dislocated, was left behind on the ground like a sack of garbage—discarded without a backward glance.