In my past life, I had gone to the hospital with them.

On the way there, a fatigued truck driver rammed straight into the ambulance, and I shielded Horace with my body, taking most of the impact and ending up becoming disabled as a result.

Horace's parents were so moved by my sacrifice that they forced him to marry me, and from that moment on, Horace loathed me to the core, even though I saved his life.

After we got married, he practically tortured me in bed, but forced me to take birth control each time afterwards.

It was only until Vivian came crying to him, saying that she had acute leukemia and needed a newborn's umbilical cord blood to survive that he allowed me to stop taking birth control.

That night, for the first time, he was gentle when he touched me.

"Let's have a baby. Then, even if I was no longer around, our child would be able to take care of you."

I was moved beyond words, and after I got pregnant, I refused to have an abortion, even at the threat of my life.

When my child was about to be born, they made love on the sofa in my bedroom, thinking that I was asleep. That was when I knew that my child and I were only useful tools for him to save Vivian.

I sacrificed my future, only to get a marriage filled with deceit and violence in return.

Shaking away the memories in my head, I went back to my bedroom. It was clear that Vivian had an allergic reaction, so I sent the sheets for testing.

Because I used my connections to have the process expedited, I got the test results immediately the next day.

From the report, acrylic polymers were found in the bedsheets. Clearly, Vivian had done it on purpose.

After saving the evidence, I started packing the things, much to the distress of Agnes, who had taken care of me all this while.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Miss! I'll tell Master and Madam about this!"

I forced myself not to cry.

Even a nanny trusted me, yet Horace was convinced of my crimes without even asking.

None of that mattered, though. I should have left ages ago.

As I wiped my tears dry and bid a final farewell, Agnes held a cup in my direction.

"This is the cup the Master Horace gave you. Don't you want it anymore?"

Yes, that was a cup that Horace had made himself.

Back in the day, he studied how to do pottery to make me happy, getting burnt by the furnace in the process.

I treated the cup as a sign of his love for me, taking it out and looking at it fondly each and every day.

But now, as I looked at the cup that I used to think was the prettiest in the world, I found that there was nothing about it that I found good anymore.

After a single glance, I said, "I don't."

Halfway down the road, Horace called me.

Without even picking up, I knew that he wanted me to go to the hospital, but why should I apologize for something I didn't do?

After deliberately ignoring many of his calls, Horace started blasting me with messages out of frustration. I didn't want to check them, but the incessant vibrations were making me lose my mind.

I took out my phone, preparing to block him, only to see the threats he sent.

"If I don't see you at the hospital within half an hour, everyone will know that your father was a scammer!"

At that moment, my heart clenched uncontrollably.

Now that I was one step away from leaving, I didn't want anything to drag me down.

Without any other choice, I went to the hospital with the evidence I had collected.

Horace was waiting outside the hospital ward, his face as cold as winter frost.

"Agnes said you moved out. Why?"

I was stunned. Why was that the first question he asked?

"Weren't you the one who asked me to leave?"

"I didn't tell you to leave!" He gritted his teeth. "I just wanted you to recognize your standing—"

Cutting him off, I continued, "My standing, and that I'm not worthy of being your wife! I got it, so I chose to leave. Is there any problem with that?"

"Why, you!"

Not wanting to hear another word, I gave him the report.

"I tested Vivian's bed sheets, and—"

The next moment, Horace snatched the report away and lit it up with a lighter.

"Don't you dare incriminate her with this fake evidence! She even defended you, saying that you didn't do it on purpose! No wonder your dad abandoned you back then!"

A sharp pain pierced my heart.

Of course. Only those closest to you know exactly how to wound you the deepest.

I bent down and picked up the half-burnt report, letting the fire lick my hand.

"Are you crazy?!"

Horace hurriedly took my hand, checking for any wounds.

I quickly shook him off, shouting, "Don't touch me!"

Looking down at his empty hand, Horace was silent for a moment, before he asked, "Where did you move to?"

"That's got nothing to do with you."

I turned to leave, but I had barely opened the door to the stairwell before I was suddenly pinned against it.

Leaning in close, Horace said, "Did I say you could leave?"

I couldn't comprehend what this man was thinking.

He didn't like me, so I left. He hated that my existence affected his relationship with Vivian, so I disappeared without a trace. Was this not what he wanted?

"Horace—"

"You're not allowed to go overseas with that man!" He shouted, veins bulging on his forehead and his eyes bloodshot.

And so, I finally understood what he was mad about.

It was because of Carl Xavier.

Carl and I were classmates ever since we were in primary school, and we'd planned to go to Paris for our postgraduate studies.

In the past, Horace had always been extremely bothered by the fact that I'd known Carl longer than I'd known him.

After he found out that I wanted to go to Paris, he tried to stop me multiple times, to the point where he once smashed a gift from Carl to bits in front of everyone during my birthday party.

Carl, not wanting to make things difficult for me, just smiled and said that he'd give me another gift later. He had even solemnly warned me to stay away from emotionally unstable people, or I would get hurt.

But I was a lovestruck fool at the time, so I didn't heed a single word of his advice.

In the end, I paid for it with my life.

Almost near the end of my past life, Carl had tried to visit me once when I was sick, but he was blocked at the entrance by none other than Horace.

"Keep your dirty feelings toward her to yourself. She'll always be mine."

Carl's eyes turned red. "But you don't love her! Why do you want to torture her?"

"Just because."

"You're insane!"

Carl tried to charge into the room to save me, but was attacked by Horace's bodyguards. I couldn't do anything but listen to the agonizing cries from outside the room, powerless to even plead for mercy on his behalf, much less step in and stop them.

And now, my contemplative silence ended up being perceived as a wordless affirmation of Horace's suspicions.

He was so angry that his entire body trembled, and he stared at me intensely, his hands slithering to my waist and squeezing it tight.

"Did that man touch you here too? Has he made you more comfortable than I have? Is he better in bed than me?"

As he spoke, he started touching me where he knew I was sensitive.

In the past, his actions would have made me crumple to my knees, but now I just coldly pushed him away.

"Don't make a fool of yourself, Horace."

He grabbed my hand, unwilling to let go. "If you go now, I'll make sure you regret it!"

Suddenly, I said, "Seriously—do you have any idea how much this makes it seem like you like me?"

Horace froze for a second before he flinched and quickly let go of my hand.

"Who'd ever like you?!"

"Then stay away from me."

I thought that conversation was the end of it, that we'd never have any contact anymore, but the day before I planned to leave, I suddenly got a call from the academy.

Someone had accused me of plagiarism, and sent the same email to the Academy of Fine Arts in Paris.

I rushed to the dean's office.

Many people were there—onlookers who were being nosy, Horace, and Vivian.

The dean's expression was stern. "Did you paint that piece yourself?"

I took a look at the piece he was referring to, and it was the piece that I had painted of the night Horace brought me back to his home, on that fateful rainy day.

A piece that held my warmest memories.

I nodded. "When I was a kid—"

"She's lying!" Vivian screeched, cutting me off. "This is a painting of when Horace and I first met!

"I drew this piece before, and Vivian saw it and thought it looked beautiful, so she asked me about the story behind it. I didn't expect that she'd plagiarize it completely!

"How could someone like that be qualified to go to Paris?"

Ah, she'd finally shown her true objective.

Carl and I were the only ones who had gotten accepted to the Academy of Fine Arts, after all.

Now that her hopes were dashed, Vivian wanted to steal my spot for herself!

However, all I did was ask, "You drew this yourself… With acrylic paints?"

"Of course!" Vivian huffed and puffed, her chin so arrogantly high. "That painting is at my house right now, so I've got evidence, too! What do you have to say for yourself?"

I smiled, looking down and tapping on my phone, before I took out a medical record and handed it to the dean.

"Sir, this is a record of Vivian going into anaphylactic shock because of an allergic reaction to acrylic polymers just a while ago! She couldn't have used acrylic paints!"

And so, everyone's gazes immediately shifted toward Vivian.