Elliot's eyes were cold, his face twisted with disgust. "You never learn."

Amelia, her head covered in blood, tried desperately to explain: "Elliot, it was... her! She told them... at the center... to beat me! They broke... my leg! Pulled out my nails!"

He sneered. "Oh? I thought you said you got sick and they rotted. Amelia, how many more lies are you going to tell?"

She choked, unable to speak.

Mrs. Rollins helped her daughter up, her eyes full of concern. "Elyse, are you all right? Does it hurt?" When she saw the finger marks on Elyse's neck, her face flushed with anger. "Amelia! How could you do this to Elyse? She's always thinking of you, caring about you. She even went to the center to bring you food-and this is how you repay her?"

Visit? Bring food?

Amelia suddenly remembered the monthly electric shock punishments. Her voice trembled. "Every month... on the seventh?"

Mr. Rollins looked at her with disappointment. "Amelia, you know Elyse visits you every seventh. She cares about you, looks out for you. And this is how you treat her? We should have let you go to prison back then. Atone for your crimes."

Four years ago, she had been accused of hit-and-run, nearly facing jail time. The family had paid a large settlement to get a letter of forgiveness.

But she hadn't done it. The "evidence" was fabricated. No one believed her.

Then Elyse had said, "Sister has gone bad. Maybe a rehabilitation center will help her become a better person." And Amelia was locked up in Westcliff for four years.

"Dad... Dad! She's not... kind! She didn't come to... visit me! She came to... punish me! She-"

"Enough! I'm not your father. I don't have a daughter with a venomous heart like yours. We never should have let you out. Driver, take her back."

Amelia looked at her adoptive parents, who refused to believe her, and the light slowly faded from her eyes.

How had she forgotten? She was no longer the beloved eldest daughter of the Rollins family.

She turned stiffly to Elliot and forced out the words, "What... do I have to do... to not go back?"

The entire Rollins family depended on the Hardins. Elliot's word was law.

His gaze was icy, his voice low and sharp. "Apologize to Elyse."

She looked at Elyse, who was leaning tearfully against Mrs. Rollins, her eyes red.

Apologize?

But what had she done wrong?

She hadn't chosen to be switched. She hadn't done those things. She hadn't planned to climb into his bed...

One by one, every accusation crushed her. She had fought, she had pleaded, but no one believed her.

It didn't matter anymore.

Slowly, she knelt in front of Elyse, murmuring, "I was... wrong. I'm sorry."

*Thud.*

Her forehead hit the floor hard.

"I was wrong."

*Thud.*

An apology, a kowtow.

She ground her last shred of dignity into the dust.

Soon, bloody prints marked the floor.

Elyse's eyes glittered with satisfaction, but when she saw Mrs. Rollins' expression soften slightly, she quickly helped Amelia up.

"Sister, I don't blame you. Get up. I know you didn't mean it. I forgive you."

Mr. Rollins looked pleased. "Elyse is so kind-hearted. Even after all this, she still cares about her sister."

Amelia no longer resisted or denied. Darkness pulsed at the edges of her vision, and she could barely stand.

But pain shot through her arm-Elyse's sharp nails digging into her flesh like knives.

"Sister, let's get along from now on."

Amelia nodded, enduring the pain.

Mr. Rollins glanced at the time. "It's getting late. Let's take care of business first."

Elyse's eyes lit up, but she put on a hurt expression. "Elliot, would this ruin your marriage? Maybe we shouldn't..."

Elliot's voice softened slightly. "Don't worry. It should have been you all along."

Amelia's head snapped toward him. *Should have been you?* What did that mean?

The Rollins and Hardin families had no marriage agreement. It had been her, Amelia, chasing Elliot for ten years. She had given up hope-and then he suddenly agreed to marry her.

She had just escaped her biological parents and was barely surviving with the Rollins family. She had been overjoyed, thinking Elliot had finally seen her worth.

Then she was framed for climbing into his bed, and he reneged on his promise.

Old Mr. Hardin had forced him to go through with it. They had signed the marriage certificate in secret-no wedding, no announcement. She was like a shameless stray dog.

He grew to hate her more each day. That brief warmth had come out of nowhere and vanished just as fast.

Elyse said shyly, "Elliot, I don't mind."

He reassured her with a few words, then gathered the documents and took Amelia away.

Mr. Rollins took his daughter's hand. "Elyse, the future of this family rests on you. Don't mess it up."

Compared to the unloved Amelia, Elyse-whom Elliot clearly favored-was the better choice. Mr. Rollins preferred her too.

The car headed toward the city clerk's office.

Amelia stared blankly out the window at the passing scenery-familiar and strange.

After four years locked away, the outside world had changed completely. She didn't even have a phone. The Rollins family had taken all her documents and belongings.

She caught a whiff of smoke. Turning, she saw him light a cigarette and instinctively shrank back.

She remembered he hadn't smoked before.

"Bother you?"

She shook her head quickly. Who was she to complain?

But her body betrayed her. Her throat itched, and she began to cough.

Once she started, she couldn't stop-as if she would cough out a lung.

Elliot's face darkened. "Stop the car."

The car pulled over.

"Get out."

The driver followed orders, yanked her out, and left her on the roadside.

"Walk. If you're late, you know what happens."

The car sped away.

She bent over, coughing violently, and a stream of warm liquid shot from her mouth.

She looked down at her hand-covered in blood.

Last winter, she had been left outside all night in the cold. She'd developed a high fever that never fully healed. Her lungs were damaged. She couldn't handle smoke.

Slowly, she straightened up and limped forward.

The sun was setting.

Outside the city clerk's office.

Elliot's shadow stretched long. The setting sun cast a warm glow over his handsome face, but it couldn't melt the ice in his eyes.

He turned and walked away.

He didn't know that a hundred meters behind him, someone shouted, "Someone help! A woman collapsed!"

Amelia had fallen-a hundred meters away from him.

As the Cullinan rolled past the crowd, Elliot glanced out the window. His phone rang.

His expression softened as he answered, and at that exact moment, the crowd lifted Amelia up and carried her past his window.

An ambulance siren wailed. She was rushed to the hospital.

When she woke up, it was the next day.

She saw the doctor's serious, grave expression and felt dread crawl up her spine.

"Contact your family and have them come to the hospital as soon as possible. Your condition is critical."

"Doctor... what's wrong with me?"

"You have lung cancer. The cancer cells have spread."

Lung cancer.

The two words hit her like thunder, shattering her sanity.

She tried to smile, but tears poured down her face.

She had thought that leaving the rehabilitation center meant she could start over. But fate was playing a cruel joke.

"Doctor... how long... do I have?"

"With proper treatment, you might live longer. But the treatment is expensive."

She was silent. Her hands slowly clenched. "Worst... case?"

"Two months."

The doctor's face was sympathetic, but he pressed on. "With good results, there could be a miracle. You should discuss this with your family."

Her expression went blank. "I... have no family."

Her biological parents wanted to sell her. Her adoptive parents despised her. She had no one.

She couldn't afford the hospital bill or even the medication. She owed the hospital money-she would pay it back someday.

Her phone and ID were with Elliot. And her mind, dulled by years of electric shocks, couldn't remember the way back.

Her bad leg throbbed with pain. She could barely walk. She couldn't go back, and no one would lend a phone to a beggar.

She ended up on the streets, sleeping under a bridge, surviving on garbage.

She kept telling herself that Elliot would come looking for her to finalize the divorce.

But she didn't know that everyone thought she had run away to avoid signing the papers.

"Nothing?"

"No, sir. We've searched everywhere-the Rollins house, the Boggs house. No sign of Miss Mcpherson."

Elliot frowned deeply, his eyes flashing with understanding-and disgust.

Of course. Amelia would never cooperate with a divorce.

She had chased him for ten years, refused to leave, even impersonated Elyse and climbed into his bed to marry him. Why would she want a divorce?

Her obedient act on the way here had just been to lower his guard so she could run and hide.

He let out a cold laugh. "Start with her friends. Without her documents, she can't go far."

But three full days passed, and they found nothing.

Elliot grew impatient. He thought of one person and called her.

Clara Vance, Amelia's former best friend.

She screamed into the phone, "Elliot Hardin! Are you even human? You sent Amelia to that place for four years! You're an animal! A bastard! Don't call me!"

"She's with you. Have her come out."

"Are you insane? You think I'm hiding her? Wait-what do you mean? Amelia is missing?"

"Clara, don't play dumb."

"Play dumb, my ass! Elliot, I've held back for years. You were the one who agreed to marry her, then you backed out. You're worse than a-"

"The Vance family business deal is canceled."

She went silent. After a moment, her voice softened. "She's not with me. I swear."

He hung up, his face dark.

Not with the Rollins family, not with the Boggs family, not with Clara. No one in their circle would dare take her in.

She had gotten better at enduring. Better at hiding.

He gave the order: "Contact Westcliff. Once we find her, send her back."

If she wasn't reformed yet, they would keep reforming her.

This was Amelia's fourth day on the streets. She was covered in filth, reeking of garbage, chased away everywhere she went.

She had waited and waited, but Elliot never came for her.

She coughed constantly, day and night. The other homeless people stayed away, afraid she was contagious.

She coughed up mouthful after mouthful of thick, dark blood.

Each breath burned. Every step felt like walking on cotton.

She struggled down the street, asking everyone she saw to borrow a phone. No one would lend one.

She couldn't walk anymore. She collapsed. A kind-hearted college student helped her up.

"Are you okay? Should I take you to a hospital?"

"Can... I borrow... your phone?"

"A phone? Here."

Her trembling hands took it. She dialed the number burned into her bones.

*Ring. Ring.*

"Who is this?"

That cold voice.

Her eyes slowly reddened. Her voice was rough and hoarse. "Elliot... it's me."

"Amelia, you need to-"

"No, that's not... cough, cough, cough-" She started coughing again, and a huge gush of blood sprayed out. The student next to her gasped. "Oh my God, are you okay? You're coughing up blood!"

She felt her body growing cold. A fierce will to live made her beg.

"I'm... sick. Really sick. Can you... lend me some money? Just... three thousand dollars? Please? I'm in so much pain..."

Every organ, every inch of her body ached-a deep, bone-crushing pain.

But on the other end of the line came a laugh-cold and cruel.

"Amelia, using that trick again? Why don't you just die?"

Each word was a knife.

In a daze, she looked up and saw a giant screen playing a news headline:

**[Hardin Group CEO Spends 30 Billion on a Private Estate to Make His Beloved Smile]**

And in her ear, Elliot's merciless voice: "You'd better pray I don't find you. Because if I do, you'll spend the rest of your life in Westcliff."

The line went dead.

And so did the last flicker of hope inside her.

After Elliot hung up, he immediately ordered a trace on the IP address to find her.

"Elliot, what's wrong? Who was that?"

"Business."

He didn't tell her the truth. Elyse's health was fragile. No need to worry her.

"Elliot, I love this estate so much! Thank you!"

"I'm glad you like it."

An estate meant nothing to him.

Years ago, he had been hunted, gravely wounded, at death's door. If Elyse hadn't saved him, he would have died.

He owed her his life.

Then Amelia had stolen the token he left for Elyse and pretended to be his savior, blackmailing him into marriage.

He had thought she was just spoiled and willful. But this proved she was vicious and unforgivable.

Elyse asked tentatively, "Elliot... have you gotten the token back yet?"

He came back to himself. "She hasn't returned it to you?"

Elyse looked troubled, then said softly, "No, not yet. Sister just got out. I feel bad asking. I don't want to upset her. I was going to wait until she's adjusted to life outside. After all, it's the keepsake you left for me."

She looked down shyly, the picture of maidenly modesty.

Elliot said quietly, "You're too kind."

She had stolen the token and impersonated Elyse, and yet Elyse was still considerate of her feelings.

Elyse started to lean toward him. "Elliot, I-"

His phone vibrated.

He answered immediately. The voice on the other end reported:

"Boss, we've found Miss Mcpherson."

Elliot's expression shifted. "I'll be right there."

He hung up and said to Elyse, "Look around for a bit. I'll be back soon. Talk to my assistant if you need anything."

Then he turned and left quickly.

"Elliot!"

Elyse stamped her foot, nearly losing her delicate composure.

Where was he rushing off to so eagerly? To see that bitch Amelia?

No, impossible. Elliot hated Amelia.

And soon she would be Mrs. Hardin. Amelia would be nothing.

When Elliot learned that the location was a hospital, his brow furrowed. "She's here?"

His subordinate chose his words carefully. "Yes, sir. Miss Mcpherson... doesn't look well."

Elliot stopped walking, his eyes turning cold. "You're being reassigned. Ten years out of the country. Don't come back."

The man's face stiffened, but he didn't dare object. "Yes, sir."

After the boss walked away, a colleague muttered, "You know how he feels about anyone defending her. Watch yourself."

In the hospital room, Amelia had just woken up. The college student who had lent her the phone was still there.

"You're awake! Oh, thank God. You coughed up so much blood and passed out. You didn't have any emergency contacts, so I brought you here."

"Thank... you."

"No problem. Um..." The student hesitated, then continued, "I'd like to do a good deed without asking for anything, but I'm a student too. When they brought you in, I had to use my tuition money to pay your bill-it also covered your previous balance. So... could you pay me back?"

Amelia froze, then said apologetically, "I'm... sorry. How much... total? I'll... pay you back."

The student breathed a sigh of relief. "Not too much. Sixty-eight hundred dollars. You can just transfer it to me."

Sixty-eight hundred dollars.

Amelia's breath caught. To her, it might as well have been a fortune.

Once upon a time, she had had more allowance than she could spend, buying every new luxury item without a second thought.

Now she couldn't even afford life-saving medicine.

"Um... do you have it?"

Amelia didn't. But she knew she couldn't not pay this girl back.

"Can you... wait two days? I promise... I'll pay you."

She would find a way. Even if she had to sell her blood.

The student looked like she was about to cry. "I can't wait. My tuition is due tomorrow."

Before Amelia could say *I don't have any money right now*, her eyes caught a figure standing in the doorway. Her body went rigid.

Elliot stood there. She didn't know how long he had been watching.

She forced the words out. "Elliot... Mr. Hardin."

He strode into the room, his eyes sharp and mocking. "Amelia, you're better at hiding than a rat. Did you forget what I said?"

He had said he would send her back to the rehabilitation center.

Her face drained of color. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead. "No... that's not... I wasn't hiding from you. I passed out. When I woke up... you were gone. I had no phone... nothing."

Elliot found her halting speech irritating.

Was she putting on an act for someone? She hadn't had a stutter before. Now she was pretending to be a victim!

He cut her off. "Enough. I don't want to hear your nonsense. Take her back."

The last part was to his men.

Two men stepped forward and dragged her off the bed.

Amelia struggled desperately. "No! I won't go! Don't... don't touch me!"

Fear-carved into her bones-gave her a burst of strength. She shoved one of the men away. In her panic, she collided with an IV stand. It toppled, and the sharp hook at the top swung straight toward Elliot.

He stepped back quickly, but the hook still grazed the side of his neck, drawing a thin line of blood.

The men gasped. "Boss!"

Amelia went white as a sheet, nearly collapsing to her knees. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't... mean to!"

Her terror peaked. Her mind lost all reason. She dropped to her knees and began kowtowing. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

It was a conditioned reflex-trained into her.

Elliot touched his neck. It stung. His fingers came away with blood.

He rarely got hurt.

The rage building inside him shifted into another kind of disgust when he saw her like this.

"Get up."

She scrambled to her feet, then nearly fell again as pain shot through her knees.

Her cowering posture only irritated him more. "Take her away."

The college student, who had been watching in shock, finally found her voice. "Wait! How can you do this? She's really sick! Why are you being so mean to her?"

Elliot's gaze slowly turned to her-sharp as a blade. "Sick?"

The student was intimidated by his handsome but harsh face, but she pressed on. "Yes! She's sick! Really sick!"

Elliot's lips curled into a cold smile. "What kind of sick? Heart disease? Stomach problems? Or maybe depression? Bipolar disorder?"

With every word, Amelia's body trembled more. Her eyes were full of despair.

The student was confused. "What?"

"How much did she pay you?"

"Huh?"

"Nice acting."

The student understood. "You think I'm an actress? No! She's really sick! The doctor said-"

Elliot picked up the medical chart lying on the bedside table and flipped through it casually. He laughed. "Lung cancer this time? That's new. You're getting more creative. And the props are convincing."

Whether it was the paid extras or the fake chart, she had upped her game.

But her nature hadn't changed.

Amelia swayed, forcing down the metallic taste rising in her throat. Her voice shook. "I'm... not lying. I'm really... sick."

"Do I need to remind you about the time you faked a stomach ulcer by making yourself throw up? Or when you slit your wrists to get me to come home? Or the car accident you staged-ramming into a barrier to put yourself in the hospital? You make me sick, Amelia."

Each word cut like a knife.

And she couldn't deny any of it.

She had done all those things.

During the years when she loved him most-obsessively, like a madwoman-she had done anything to get his attention.

Stalking. Harassing. Faking illness. Attempted suicide. Everything.

Everyone in their circle thought she was a rabid dog.

Of course he hated her.

But now... she didn't dare love him anymore. She didn't want his love. She knew she was wrong. But he wouldn't let her go.

Elliot tore the chart in half. "Enough of these games. It's time to go back."

Go back where?

Back to Westcliff.

The last glimmer of light in her eyes went out. She stopped struggling.

He thought it was because she had been caught.

His men took her away.

Just before she left, she gathered her courage and said, "Can you... give me... some money?"

Elliot stopped walking. The air pressure in the room dropped.

"Just a little... please?"