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.

The woman's apology was not for me; it was for her children. She was protecting them.

Would my mother have done the same for me if she were still here?

Thinking of my mother, I instinctively reached for the jade pendant around my neck. It was the only thing she had left me—a small reminder of her love.

However, there was nothing around my neck.

Panic surged through me. My body went numb as I realized the pendant must have fallen when I was shoved out of the Hall family villa earlier, my clothes in disarray.

If Yvette got her hands on it...

The thought sent me into a frenzy. Without hesitation, I turned back and sprinted toward the Hall family house.

When I arrived, the gates were locked.

Desperate, I crawled through the dog hole by the side of the house—a passage that held bittersweet memories. Whenever I was kicked out, Jameson used to secretly unlock the small metal gate to let me back in.

Over the years, weeds had grown over the hole, but the gate remained ajar, frozen in time from the last time I’d been thrown out.

I snuck into the house and went straight to the room. There it was—my jade pendant, dangling from Yvette’s hand as she toyed with it.

“Yvette, that’s my pendant! Give it back!”

She looked at me with disdain. “You say it’s yours, so it’s yours? I’d say it’s just some trash I picked up.”

“You can’t talk about it that way!” I angrily retorted.

“Oh, I’ll call it trash—and I’ll call you trash too. What can you do about it?” She sneered.

With that, she leaned out the window, holding the pendant precariously.

My heart leapt to my throat. My fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles cracked, but I forced myself to stay calm. I couldn’t risk her damaging it.

Lowering my voice, I pleaded, “Yvette, please. Give it back. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Her lips curled into a triumphant smirk, her eyes sparkling with malice.

“Alright,” she drawled, “kneel and kowtow to me three times. Apologize sincerely. Maybe then I’ll return your little trinket to the beggar it belongs to.”

I froze, my body stiff with humiliation.

At that moment, Jameson appeared at the door.

“Yvette, why are you still up this late?”

“Jameson,” she said sweetly, “Lauren is accusing me of stealing. She claims this pendant is hers.”

Jameson’s eyes immediately fixed on the jade in her hand.

“Lauren,” he said coldly, “it’s just a pendant. Why can’t you give it to Yvette? Consider it an apology gift.”

“Jameson, I didn’t steal it,” Yvette said with mock indignation, her voice dripping with false innocence. “I have one just like this. It’s very expensive, something ordinary people could never afford. If it really is hers, maybe it was a gift from some man.”

Her words twisted the truth effortlessly. Jameson’s gaze darkened as he looked at me.

I glanced between him and the pendant, which still dangled perilously out the window.

Clenching my teeth, I dropped to my knees with a thud, swallowing my pride as I begged Yvette.

“Please, give me back my pendant.”

Jameson’s eyes narrowed as he watched me kneel. He stepped forward, his expression a mix of anger and discomfort, and tried to pull me up.

But I was trembling, desperate, and clung to his leg in panic. “Jameson, please! Help me! Make her give it back! I’ll forgive you for breaking off our engagement. I’ll leave if that’s what you want. I’ll stay far, far away...”

The helplessness and despair of having my lifeline held hostage brought tears streaming down my face.

But my words only made him angrier.

“So, this pendant really is a gift from some man, isn’t it?”

I stared at him in disbelief. After everything we’d been through, after years of knowing each other, he trusted Yvette’s lies over me.

When I didn’t respond, his expression darkened further.

He shoved me aside with force and turned to Yvette, his voice gentle and doting. “If this pendant belongs to you, then you can do whatever she wants with it.”