“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.

The taillights had just vanished from sight when the pain exploded inside Savannah—vicious, complete. Sweat soaked her clothes in an instant; thick, dark blood began pouring from her nose and the corners of her mouth.

Biting down on her tongue until she tasted blood, she used the sharp pain to claw her way back to awareness. Then, inch by agonizing inch, she dragged herself toward the rock that had gashed her knee. She began sawing the rope against its jagged edge.

Time crawled. When the rope finally gave way, her hands were a mess of cuts and raw flesh.

She tried to push herself up, to stumble toward the main road for help.

Two steps. Then her legs gave out completely, dropping her into the dirt.

Still, she didn’t stop. She crawled. Hand over bleeding hand, knees scraping over sharp stones that sliced her skin and tore her nails. Jaw clenched until it ached, she dragged herself forward—one desperate inch at a time.

She didn’t know how long she crawled. Was she even still alive? Maybe she was already a vengeful ghost, refusing to be buried in this place.

Then, through the haze, voices. Human voices. Only then did the last shred of tension leave her body, and she fell into blackness.

When she woke, every wound had been meticulously treated.

Zachary sat in a chair by the hospital bed, peeling an apple. The long, unbroken peel spiraled down—a pointless, graceful exercise from a man who had all the time in the world while she lay broken.

Before Angela appeared, this was how he’d always kept her company in the hospital.

“It was Angela. She poisoned me. The poison was a white powder, hidden in her ring.”

Her throat felt scorched. Her voice came out low, raspy, utterly unfamiliar. A wave of despair hit her: she’d never be able to host again.

“Savannah, you didn’t used to lie to me.” Zachary sighed softly, cutting a piece of the snow-white apple and holding it to her lips. “I know you’ve misunderstood my relationship with Angela, but to frame her, you’d risk your life eating poisonous mushrooms? That’s going too far.”

Savannah didn’t open her mouth. She just stared at him. “I didn’t eat any mushrooms. Angela poisoned me. Have her silver ring tested. You’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

“That doesn’t matter now. You’re fine. What matters is that because of you, a lot of people online think Angela is a fraud. I need you to go live, right now, and clear her name.”

“Doesn’t *matter*? I almost died! How can that not matter? ‘Clear her name’? She *is* a fraud. Why would I do that? She burned down my family home. She poisoned me. I will *never* let her get away with this.”

“Savannah, when did you become so unreasonable? I’ve told you, Angela is trying to help us!”

Zachary sighed like a man pushed to his limit and handed her a file. Savannah took it hesitantly, flipping it open. Her breath caught. Inside were vile slanders against her parents, painting her lifelong philanthropist parents—who had died tragically young—as fame-hungry hypocrites. Forged documents, photos, all meticulously crafted to look devastatingly real.

Anyone who didn’t know the truth would believe every word.

“If you don’t clear Angela’s name,” Zachary said, his voice gentle, “I’ll have no choice but to release this file online.”

He reached out, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek she hadn’t even felt fall. “Savannah, you’re forcing my hand.”