On New Year's Eve, my longtime boyfriend, Jameson Hall proposed to me.

Yet, that very night, he left me behind to pick up his long-lost "first love"—the woman who had once bullied me—and brought her back to the old family estate.

By the time I arrived, their family was already enjoying a cozy reunion dinner together.

“Mom, Dad, let me introduce my fiancée, Yvette,” Jameson said.

Blushing, Yvette murmured, “But, James, didn’t Grandpa say you should marry Lauren? Won’t she be upset if she finds out you broke off the engagement?”

“Don’t worry about her. You’re the daughter-in-law my parents and I have already accepted in our hearts,” he replied firmly.

His words shattered the fragile resolve I’d clung to as I stood frozen in the biting cold, clutching a gift in my trembling hands. My heart crumbled, breaking into as many pieces as the gift I accidentally dropped.

——

The loud thud of the falling present seemed to draw their attention. Every gaze inside the room turned toward the door.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the little maid. Since you’re here, come in. Don’t freeze yourself and run crying to Old Master again,” a mocking voice quipped from within.

My nails dug painfully into my palms, but I swallowed my pride. For Grandpa Carlos’s sake, I forced myself to step inside.

The wave of warmth from the central heater hit me, momentarily stealing my breath. I did my best to maintain my composure, offering a polite greeting to Jameson’s parents.

“Mom, Dad, Happy New Year—”

Before I could finish, Jameson rushed over and yanked my hand hard.

“Lauren, don’t call them that! Yvette might misunderstand,” he said sharply.

The pain in my wrist made me gasp. I stared at the man who had just hours ago knelt before his gravely ill grandfather, promising to announce me as his fiancée and treat me well. Now, he was hurting me just to avoid upsetting another woman.

Yvette blinked in surprise before her eyes reddened with tears. She turned to Jameson’s parents, her voice trembling.

“Uncle, Aunt, I guess James was lying to me. So Lauren is already your daughter-in-law? If that’s the case, what am I doing here, being a nuisance?”

Jameson’s mother immediately pulled Yvette into her arms, comforting her tenderly. “Don’t listen to that little brat’s nonsense. Her mother only sacrificed herself to extort Dad. Out of pity, he raised the girl and let her call us ‘Mom and Dad.’”

Jameson frowned at me with open displeasure. “Lauren, stop pretending now that Grandpa isn’t here. You’re just a maid’s daughter; calling them Mom and Dad is out of line.”

I couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Furious and heartbroken, I wrenched my hand out of his grasp.

“You’re right. There’s no need to pretend anymore, so I won’t,” I said, turning to leave.

But Jameson’s father’s voice stopped me.

“Where do you think you’re going? Our family has raised you for years, and now you forget your place?”

My steps faltered as my back began to ache. Memories of being beaten with willow branches until my skin bled for disobedience came rushing back.

I shook uncontrollably, unable to move.

In the past, Jameson would have defended me against his father and taken me to Grandpa Carlos for refuge. But now, he simply returned to his seat, comforting the still-sobbing Yvette.

“Lauren, if you realize your mistake, you should make up for it. Go fetch the chicken soup from the kitchen and serve it to Yvette,” he commanded coldly.

I hesitated, my legs too weak to take a single step.

In the end, a servant pushed me toward the kitchen. I was handed the steaming pot of chicken soup, the heat scalding my hands.

“Miss Cameron, you’d better behave. Otherwise, you’ll get punished again, and this time it’s New Year’s. If Old Master Hall hears about it, his health might deteriorate even further,” the servant warned.

Though the servant’s words sounded kind, they deliberately withheld gloves, forcing me to carry the bowl barehanded.

To avoid worrying Grandpa, I gritted my teeth, picked up the scalding bowl of chicken soup, and walked to Yvette’s side. However, she acted as if I didn’t exist, engrossed in a conversation with Monica, my supposed to be mother-in-law, about her experiences abroad.

The porcelain bowl conducted heat mercilessly, and the burning sensation spread across my palms, leaving them a deep red print. I was desperate to set the bowl down, but Jameson’s cold voice stopped me.

“Lauren, you upset Yvette with your words. If you’re going to apologize, at least show the proper attitude. Keep holding the bowl.”

His words pierced my heart like a dagger. Furious and humiliated, I slammed the bowl onto the table.

At that moment, Yvette suddenly stood up and “accidentally” bumped into my wrist. The bowl tilted, spilling the scalding, oily soup all over me. A burning pain spread across my skin, and I gasped in agony.

Before I could recover, Yvette cried out dramatically. “Ah! It hurts! Lauren, even if you’re unhappy with me, you shouldn’t pour hot soup on me! Are you trying to ruin my face?”

Jameson stormed over and shoved me hard. “Lauren! How could you stoop so low!?”

Shards of the broken bowl pierced my palm, sending a sharp, searing pain shooting through my hand and into my chest. Tears welled up in my eyes and finally spilled over as I stared at Jameson, my heart breaking all over again.

But he didn’t spare me a glance, his entire focus on checking Yvette’s neck with concern.

“Are you okay, Yvette?” he asked gently.

Yvette shook her head pitifully, her eyes brimming with tears as she looked at me. “I’m fine. But Lauren seems upset. Did I do something wrong? I shouldn’t have complained about the pain. I’m sorry, Lauren.”

Jameson finally turned his gaze to me, filled with irritation and disgust. “Lauren, if you can’t behave during the New Year, get out. Stop ruining everyone’s mood.”

Yvette chimed in with feigned kindness. “James, Lauren accidentally spilled soup on herself. Her clothes are dirty, and sending her out like this would embarrass the Hall family. Why not let her change before leaving?”

Her tone was filled with concern, but the subtle superiority in her words made it clear she saw herself as the true mistress of the Hall family.

Moments later, perceptive servants led me to a room.

The instant we entered, they began pulling at my clothes. I resisted, but my struggles only left my garments disheveled, exposing large swathes of skin.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed.

I turned instinctively toward the source of the change, only to be blinded by a flash.

Click!

It was Yvette with a camera, a triumphant smile on her lips.

“Well, well, long time no see, my little stand-in,” she taunted, her tone dripping with malice.

A chill ran down my spine, my body stiffening as if stabbed by needles. My face turned ghostly pale.

The scene before me transported me back to those dark days when I was mercilessly bullied.

It was shortly after my mother had died in a car accident while saving Grandpa Carlos. Out of gratitude, Grandpa took me in and arranged for me to attend the same school as Jameson.

At first, Jameson often looked after me, walking me to and from class. Rumors began to spread, with people teasing that he liked me.

Naively, I allowed myself to develop feelings for him. But the moment he heard the rumors, he wasted no time clearing his name. In front of everyone, he not only denied any connection to me but introduced his girlfriend—Yvette.

The tide turned quickly. Admiring gazes shifted to scornful ones, and the rumors about Jameson liking me were replaced by ridicule that I was nothing but Yvette’s stand-in.

Just when I began to believe it myself, Yvette sought me out.

The moment Yvette arrived, she grabbed my head and shoved me into a filthy pool of water, screaming at me.

“How can someone as lowly as you look like me?”

It wasn’t until years later that I finally understood her hatred. Back then, Jameson, drunk and delirious, had held her tightly—while calling out my name.

From that day, her torment began. She bullied me relentlessly, taking pleasure in humiliating me and capturing every degrading moment in photos. Those photos became her leverage, used to silence me, ensuring I wouldn’t tell anyone about the abuse.

Her reign of terror only ended when Jameson broke up with her. That year, consumed by anger, she left the country.

Shaking, I dragged myself back to the present and lunged for Yvette’s phone. “Delete it!”

She smirked, taunting me. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Feeling desperate now, little stand-in? Don’t worry; I’ve got plenty of pictures of you begging and crying. Want me to show you some?”

I stared at her with cold fury as she laughed openly. “Yvette, I’m not the same Lauren you used to bully. If you dare use those photos to threaten me again, I’ll sue you!”

“Oh, the little beggar has grown some claws, huh? I’m so scared! But guess what? I’m not deleting anything. What can you even do about it?”

Her voice turned cruel, her gaze dripping with contempt. “After all these years, you’re still the same—fit only to grovel at my feet like a dog.”

Ignoring the burning pain in my hand, I rushed forward to grab her phone.

Before I could touch her, she took a dramatic step back and deliberately fell to the ground, tears welling up in her eyes. “Lauren, I was only checking if you were hurt. Why did you push me?”

Right on cue, Jameson stormed over, shoving me aside with force. His father, Arthur followed, slapping me hard across the face.

“You bastard child of a servant! Do you think this house is yours? Get out of my sight!”

Clutching my burning, swollen cheek, I instinctively turned to Jameson, hoping—praying—that he would defend me, as he always had.

But there was nothing.

Jameson didn’t say a word in my defense. Instead, he shot me a look of disgust before turning his full attention to Yvette, who was now cradled in his arms. He walked away with her, murmuring words of comfort.

The servants wasted no time shoving me out of the Hall family villa.

Barefoot, I wandered aimlessly through the desolate streets. The bitter wind and snow lashed against my face, but no physical cold could compare to the chill in my heart.

Three years ago, on New Year’s Eve, Jameson had accepted my confession.

He said, “I’ve been protecting you since we were kids. From now on, you can entrust your life to me.”

He defied his family’s rules, stayed with me in my small rented apartment, and celebrated a New Year that belonged to just the two of us.

Back then, when the world was lit with festive lights, he was the brightest one in my life.

Now, I didn’t know how long I had been walking. My feet were numb, and every step felt like a distant echo.

A sudden crackle of firecrackers startled me.

I turned to see a group of children laughing and playing.

“Look! There’s a crazy barefoot lady walking in the snow! Hahaha!”

“Brother, she must be a monster! Let’s destroy the monster!”

Giggling, they began throwing firecrackers at me.

I stood there, quietly watching them, tears streaming down my face. Then, inexplicably, I started laughing along with them.

I took a step toward them, hoping they might share a sliver of their joy with me—just a little.

But before I could get closer, their mother appeared, wary and protective. She pushed me away, shielding her children.

I stumbled and fell into the snow, hearing her faint voice as if through a fog.

“I’m so sorry, Miss. The children didn’t mean it. Please don’t be mad at them.”

She tossed a ten dollar bill at my feet and hurried off with her kids, casting anxious glances back at me.

I understood her fear. To her, I was nothing more than a homeless, broken stranger—someone who might lash out in vengeance against her children.