Soft, scraping sounds came from behind the door.

From where I stood, I could see through the small window a little girl, so thin she looked like nothing but skin and bones, collapsed beside the door.

With what little strength she had left, she clawed weakly at the wood, her movements slow and desperate.

Hunger had already stolen her voice. Even forcing her eyelids open took everything she had.

Starving to death was an unbearably cruel process, and yet, even then, her lips were still moving faintly.

It was clear that she was silently calling for her mother.

In her short six years of life, she had lived under Desmond's cruelty, under her own mother's hatred, and under a deep resentment toward a father she had never once met.

She was so small, and she had thought about it again and again, unable to understand.

Why did her mother not love her?

Outside the door, the father was still sobbing and begging, swearing and cursing, doing everything he could to convince Winnie that I was already dead.

Inside the basement, Winfrey had lost all signs of life.

Her eyes slowly closed.

A grief so violent it felt like a beast crashing into my skull overtook me. I screamed Winfrey's name at the top of my lungs, but nothing could bring her back.

It was as if my father sensed it.

His voice suddenly cut off.

Facing the tightly shut basement door, he let out a raw, meaningless howl that was painful, animalistic, utterly broken.

Winnie's expression finally shifted. Panic flickered in her eyes, and she ordered someone to open the door.

Winfrey's lifeless body came into view.

My father nearly lost his mind. He struggled to get out of his wheelchair, desperate to crawl over and hold her.

However, a crippled body could not complete such a movement.

He fell hard onto the ground.

Winnie's lips trembled, as if she were about to say something, but before she could, Desmond rushed in.

He let out an exaggerated cry.

"Winfrey is dead? I'm so sorry, Winnie. This is all my fault…"

Winnie instantly forgot the faint trace of grief she might have felt as a mother and moved to comfort him instead.

"It has nothing to do with you! That little witch should've died six years ago! Just thinking that I once had a child with Andy makes me sick!"

My father, sprawled on the floor, looked up at them with burning fury.

"Winnie, even tigers don't eat their own cubs! You're nothing but a monster!"

Winnie laughed in rage.

"I'm a monster? The real monster is Andy!

"I only wanted him to kneel before me and apologize, but he wouldn't show himself, no matter what!

"He's the one who killed your wife! He's the one who killed that little wretch!"

Every word she spoke carried bone-deep hatred toward me.

I collapsed to my knees, my entire body shaking.

Yes.

It was all my fault.

I was wrong to love Winnie. I was wrong to donate my heart to her.

If I had never given her my heart, if I had not staged that cruel performance just to make her forget me..,

None of that would have happened.

My father knew there was no turning back. Over and over, he whispered hoarsely, "Winnie… You will regret this…"

She grew irritated.

Her eyes shifted, and then she smiled.

"You think this is the end?

"I'm going to drag that little wrench's corpse out to feed the dogs. Let's see how long Andy, that coward, can endure it."

The father's face changed instantly.

Using both hands, he crawled toward Winfrey, clumsily trying to gather her emaciated body into his arms.

However, the security guards rushed forward, pulling him away without mercy.

Ignoring his desperate screams, they carried Winfrey's body off.

Winnie deliberately brought my father out into the fields.

Right in front of him, she threw the body of his granddaughter into a pack of wild dogs and stood by as they tore into it.

My father screamed in agony, his heart breaking apart, but his crippled body left him powerless to resist.

Rage consumed him, then despair, until at last his gaze fixed on the ring in Winnie's hand.

His voice trembled with grief.

"Winnie… You're still wearing that ring. That means you haven't forgotten how good Andy was to you, so why… Why would you do something like this?"

Winnie lowered her eyes to the ring on her finger and froze for a moment.

That ring was a gift from me.

I had made it myself. Me, a pampered young heir who had never lifted a finger in his life.

My hands were so clumsy it was almost laughable, yet I stayed up night after night, painstakingly crafting that ring bit by bit.

When I finally gave it to her, she cried so hard she could barely speak.

As she rubbed the ring between her fingers, there was only coldness in her eyes.

She replied flatly, "I wear it to remind myself to never forget the pain of betrayal."

Maybe she truly had not forgotten.

Maybe she remembered more clearly than anyone how deeply we understood each other back then, how fiercely we believed in a beautiful future.

She hated me precisely because she remembered.

That memory was what drove her into madness.

Winnie suppressed the fleeting nostalgia in her eyes and spoke with icy indifference.

"Don't say such disgusting things. Desmond and I are getting married. Everything I've done was just revenge on that scumbag."

After harming so many people, she spoke of marriage as though it were nothing more than casual news.

My father's fury surged, his chest tightening, and he spat out a mouthful of blood.

Winnie clicked her tongue impatiently.

"Stop pretending. My patience is limited. If Andy doesn't show up soon, I'll throw you to the dogs too."

At that moment, the hospital director's call came through.

The director, Dr. Rachel Lewis, was a close friend of both Winnie and I. She had witnessed our love, and she knew my secret.

Before signing the donation agreement, I had cried and begged her to keep it hidden.

Rachel agreed.

After my death, she feared Winnie would interrogate her, so she frequently found excuses to leave the country.

Unable to find Rachel, Winnie resorted to extreme measures to force me out of hiding.

Rachel had been incredibly busy, traveling nonstop overseas for over half a year. She had only just returned when she learned of my mother's death.

The upright, principled doctor trembled as she dialed Winnie's number.

Winnie glanced at the caller ID, her expression softening slightly.

"Rachel? Why are you calling all of a sudden?"

Rachel's voice came through the phone, distorted but steady.

"Winnie, there's something I've been hiding for six years, but now… I have to tell you. I heard you've been searching for Andy. You even cut off his mother's treatment…

"Andy is already dead. He died six years ago. I personally removed his heart and transplanted it into your chest."

In just a few sentences, the truth buried for six years was laid bare.

The affair was a lie.

Moving abroad was a lie.

The only truth was the love that once burned fiercely, and the heart that continued to beat inside her.

Winnie's expression shattered.

Her beautiful face drained of all color, and the hand gripping the phone began to tremble uncontrollably.

The always composed, proud CEO completely lost her poise. Her voice rose, sharp with panic.

"What did you say?! How is that even possible…"