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?"

The moment his eyes turned to her, Amelia regretted it.

She shouldn’t have asked him.

But the words were out. She had to finish.

She didn’t want to die owing anyone.

“Amelia, say that again.”

“Give—no, no. Lend. Lend me… some money. Just sixty-eight hundred dollars. Please?”

Sixty-eight hundred dollars wouldn’t even buy one button off his shirt.

But it could save her life.

Elliot’s gaze turned icy cold. “Lend? What will you use to pay me back?”

She froze. Her hands slowly clenched at her sides. She had nothing.

The money she had saved, the funds, the properties—all taken back by the Rollins family and put in Elyse’s name after her identity was exposed.

And the jewelry that had been left for her? Her biological parents had sold it.

Her lips trembled for a long moment before she finally forced out, “I can… sell…”

Before she could say *blood*, Elliot’s expression changed—turned terrifying.

“Amelia, you really are that cheap.”

Rage burned hotter inside him.

The woman who had once been so proud—who had stalked him, cornered him, sabotaged his business deals—was now willing to sell her body for sixty-eight hundred dollars?

Had she changed? Or was this her true nature?

“No… that’s not… you misunderstood. I meant sell—”

She tried to explain, but the more flustered she got, the more she stammered.

The next moment, his hand gripped her chin, forcing her head up to meet his suddenly close face.

His eyes gleamed with cold fury, flaying her inch by inch.

“Sixty-eight hundred for a night? Hah. You’re not worth that much.”

Shame crashed over her.

Her eyes reddened. She opened her mouth to explain, then realized—it didn’t matter what she said. He had already decided what kind of person she was.

All she had done these years was explain. Explain misunderstandings. Explain right and wrong. Explain cause and effect.

No one ever believed her.

She fell silent, her head drooping, her eyes hollow.

He took her silence as admission. Rage surged higher.

Then he laughed—a cold, humorless laugh. “Fine. I’ll give you the money.”

She stirred, looking up at him with a flicker of hope.

“You. Come here.”

Elliot called over one of his men and said flatly, “Kiss him.”

The room went dead silent.

Amelia’s shoulders shook. She thought she had misheard.

“What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted? Can’t do it?”

He was still humiliating her.

The last shred of her dignity was ground under his heel.

But then… she stopped caring.

She had lost her innocence long ago. She wouldn’t live much longer. What did it matter who she kissed?

She limped forward, one step at a time, toward the bodyguard.

The man broke out in a cold sweat, frantically looking at his boss, praying he would take back the order.

This was insane. No matter what, Miss Mcpherson was still his wife in name. How could he do this?

When she stood in front of the bodyguard and slowly rose onto her toes, about to kiss him—

Elliot’s eyes grew darker and darker, fixed on her.

“Enough! You’ve gone too far!”

The college student who had been silent until now rushed over and pulled Amelia away, stopping the whole ugly scene.

Elliot’s hand, which had been half raised, dropped back to his side. He shoved it into his pocket, his expression cold.

“How can you humiliate her like this?”

The student, full of righteous indignation, couldn’t stomach it.

Amelia was terrified that she would be dragged into this. She knew too well what Elliot was capable of. If he targeted this girl, she was done for.

“I’m… fine. It’s okay. Don’t… don’t get involved!”

“You’re really sick! And he’s doing this to you! Isn’t he your—”

Before she could say *husband*, Amelia clamped a hand over her mouth.

Her face was ashen. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please… don’t blame her. I’m sorry.”

Elliot’s lips curled. “The extra you hired has a lot of nerve.”

Amelia’s breath caught. She knew he held grudges. He wouldn’t let this student off.

She gritted her teeth and shoved the girl hard. “Go! Get out! You don’t… have to pretend anymore. Just go. I’ll pay you… later. Go!”

The student tried to protest, but when she met Amelia’s eyes, she stopped.

They were pleading—desperately.

And in her hand, Amelia pressed something heavy. It felt like gold.

Finally, the student left.

Amelia barely managed to stay on her feet. She forced back her tears and murmured, “You’re right. I was… acting. I lied. I’m sorry. Blame me… not her.”

She was already covered in filth. A little more didn’t matter.

Elliot was unsurprised. “Four years in there, and you haven’t changed at all.”

She nodded numbly. “Yes. I was… wrong. I admit it.”

The more she gave in, the more unsettled he felt.

He told himself it was disappointment.

She was rotten to the core. Spoiled. Willful. Even after her true identity was exposed, she hadn’t changed. She still tried to take everything Elyse had.

Status. Love. The token. Everything.

He had been disappointed and disgusted, so he sent her to Westcliff.

Westcliff Rehabilitation Center was well-known. Its treatments were scientific, safe, and effective. It had an excellent reputation.

He had personally looked into the facility. It was as good as any Nursing home—with reasonable programs. And it was expensive.

But she didn’t appreciate it. She came out and went right back to her dirty tricks.

“Take her away.”

His men escorted her out.

They had barely left when a doctor arrived with police officers.

“She was in here. She’s covered in injuries. Severe. It must be domestic abuse. And she’s missing—”

But the room was empty.

Before sending Amelia back to Westcliff, they stopped by the city clerk’s office to file for divorce.

Unfortunately, it was the weekend. No one was working.

Elliot frowned and looked at Amelia. His voice was cold. “Monday. You’ll stay with the Rollins family until then. Don’t do anything stupid.”

She didn’t respond.

He didn’t need her response. He had her taken back to the Rollins house.

When Elyse learned that the divorce wasn’t finalized yet, anxiety prickled inside her. “Elliot, are you sure you’re not having second thoughts about my sister? If you are, I don’t mind. I’ll step aside.”

His expression softened. “Don’t overthink it. The office was closed for the weekend. We’ll handle it Monday.”

Elyse pouted, putting on a coy expression. “Are you sure it’s not a problem for you?”

“No. Don’t worry.”

Amelia tried not to look at that scene—tried not to see the rare gentleness on Elliot’s face.

Elliot Hardin had always been aloof and cold to everyone, harsh and hostile to her. But with Elyse, he showed a tenderness he never showed anyone else.

She swallowed her bitterness and dared not feel jealous.

Elliot had other business. He left Amelia behind.

As soon as he was gone, Elyse dropped her fragile act and showed her true malice.

“Amelia, look at yourself. You look like a beggar. What do you have to compete with me?”

She stepped closer, sniffed exaggeratedly, and made a face. “You stink! Don’t you dare come inside. You can stay out there.”

Elyse pointed at the doghouse by the gate, her eyes full of mockery.