The car ride was suffocatingly quiet.

When the vehicle finally stopped, I looked out the window.

The Sinclair manor sat in the dead of night, wrapped in heavy fog. It didn't look like a home. It looked like a fortress.

Rows of men in black suits stood by the iron gates.

No one welcomed me. No one offered a warm greeting.

An elderly butler with a cold face led me straight up the stairs.

“The young master's temper has been... unstable,” the butler warned, not looking back. “Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not turn on the main lights.”

He stopped in front of a heavy oak door at the end of the hall.

He opened it, gestured for me to step inside, and didn't follow.

I stepped into the pitch-black room.

Click.

The heavy door shut behind me, and the lock turned from the outside.

I stood in the dark, my duffel bag gripped tightly in my hand.

The air in the room was freezing. It smelled faintly of expensive cedar and something sharp, like sterilized metal.

I braced myself.

I expected the heavy breathing of a dying man. I expected the squeak of a wheelchair, or the angry shout of a disfigured invalid.

Instead, I heard steady, even footsteps.

They were coming from the shadows near the balcony.

The moonlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, cutting across the dark room.

A figure stepped into the pale light.

My breath caught in my throat.

He was towering, easily over six feet tall, with shoulders broad enough to block out the light.

He wasn't in a wheelchair.

He wasn't covered in burns.

His face was breathtakingly handsome, with sharp, aristocratic features and eyes as cold as a frozen lake.

He stood firmly on his own two feet.

It was Brandon Sinclair.

Before I could even process the lie, he moved.

He was impossibly fast.

In a split second, I was slammed hard against the wall.

The duffel bag dropped from my hand.

A large, calloused hand gripped my jaw, pinning me in place. His fingers pressed dangerously close to my throat.

“Who sent you?”

His voice was a low, murderous rumble. It vibrated against my skin.

“Did Ashton finally run out of patience? Or did the elders decide to speed up my funeral?”

He leaned in closer. The sheer force of his presence was suffocating.

“Speak. Before I snap your neck.”

He was testing me.

He thought I was just another spy, another assassin sent by his greedy relatives to finish the job.

Anyone else would have cried.

Anyone else would have begged for their life, trembling under the weight of his killing intent.

But I had already died four years ago in those mountains. I had nothing left to fear.

I didn't flinch.

I didn't scream.

I looked the terrifying billionaire dead in the eye.

“If I were here to kill you, Mr. Sinclair,” I said, my voice completely steady, “I wouldn't have come through the front door.”

His eyes narrowed. The grip on my jaw tightened slightly.

I didn't break eye contact. Slowly, deliberately, I reached into my coat pocket.

Brandon’s muscles tensed, ready to strike if I pulled a weapon.

Instead, I pulled out my phone.

I unlocked the screen, opened the voice memo I had saved an hour ago, and hit play.

The quiet room was suddenly filled with Ashton’s bitter voice.

“I care about Brandon! The man is a half-dead cripple...”

Then, Candice’s smooth, venomous tone followed.

“A slight dosage increase in his pain management IV... He goes to sleep one night and simply doesn't wake up.”

I watched Brandon’s face as the recording played.

He didn't look surprised.

But the cold, murderous intent in his eyes slowly shifted into something else.

When the recording ended, the room fell into a heavy silence.

Brandon stared at me for a long moment.

Then, he let out a low, dark chuckle.

He released my jaw and took a step back, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“So,” Brandon said, his tone carrying a hint of dark amusement. “The sacrificial lamb has teeth.”

I rubbed my jaw, keeping my posture perfectly straight.

“The car accident,” I said calmly. “The paralysis. The six months to live. It was all a lie.”

“A necessary one,” he replied, walking over to a leather armchair and sitting down.

“The Sinclair empire is rotting from the inside. Traitors in the board, greedy relatives waiting for me to fall. I needed to flush them out.”

He looked at me, his gaze sharp and calculating.

“And they sent you. The disgraced Mercer daughter. The perfect scapegoat.”

“They think I'm stupid,” I said. “They think I'll quietly take the fall when they finally make their move against you.”

“And what do you want?” Brandon asked.

I walked toward him, stopping just a few feet away.

“A partnership.”

I laid it out plainly.

“I will play the role of the terrified, obedient wife. I will keep Ashton and Candice completely blind to the truth. I will be your eyes and ears inside this house.”

Brandon tilted his head, listening.

“In return,” I continued, my voice dropping to a cold, hard pitch. “You will protect me. And you will give me the power and resources I need to completely destroy the Mercer family.”

I didn't want a quiet escape.

I didn't want to just walk away and let karma do the work.

I wanted to be the karma.

Brandon looked at me.

For the first time, a genuine smile touched his lips. It was a dangerous, predatory smile.

He was fascinated.

He had expected a weeping, useless girl begging for mercy. Instead, he got a woman just as ruthless as he was.

Brandon stood up.

He reached out his hand.

“Deal, Mrs. Sinclair.”

The Sinclair Matriarch’s welcome dinner was set to be a grand affair.

The entire capital knew about this marriage.

Ashton, Candice, Richard, and Evelyn were already seated in the main hall. They were eagerly waiting for me to shuffle into the room, covered in bruises, my spirit completely broken by Brandon’s supposedly violent temper.

Because Brandon was “too weak and unstable” to leave his room, I was told to attend the banquet alone.

I walked down the grand staircase wearing a flawless emerald silk gown, my posture perfectly straight, my expression calm and untouchable.

I saw Ashton’s hand tighten around his wine glass.

Candice’s sweet smile froze on her face, a flash of pure jealousy crossing her eyes.

Desperate to reclaim the spotlight, Candice quickly stood up.

She held a velvet box in her hands and walked toward the Sinclair Matriarch with a soft, practiced smile.

“Grandma Sinclair,” she said smoothly. “To celebrate this union, I brought a special gift.”

She opened the box.

Inside sat a diamond-cut bottle.

It was “Elixir,” supposedly the world's most exclusive and expensive fragrance.

“I know my sister Lorraine is used to cheap, village-level things,” she sighed. “I wanted to ensure the Sinclairs experience true luxury today, to make up for her lack of refinement.”

Everyone’s eyes settled on me, waiting to watch the chaos, convinced I would feel ashamed. Instead, I let out a light laugh.

I walked over, picked up the diamond-cut bottle, and unstoppered it.

I took one sniff.

Then I dropped it back into the box with a dull thud.

“True luxury?” I asked, my voice even. “This is synthetic linalool mixed with artificial musk. The ethanol base is already separating.”

I looked straight at Candice. “It's a cheap, black-market counterfeit.”

“How dare you!” Ashton slammed his hand on the table, his face turning dark. “Apologize to Candice right now!”

I calmly opened my clutch, pulled out a tiny, unmarked glass vial, and handed it to Mr. Sterling, the Sinclair family’s legendary luxury appraiser who sat nearby.

Mr. Sterling frowned, but he opened the vial.

“This…” His voice trembled in the quiet room. “The botanical purity… This is the unreleased master formula!”

Suffocating silence fell over the entire banquet hall.

No one spoke.

The guests turned their eyes toward Candice, their looks shifting from praise to barely hidden disgust.

Gifting a fake to the Sinclair Matriarch was an unforgivable insult.

Ashton stood frozen, utterly humiliated in front of the capital's elite.

I retrieved my vial, turned to Ashton, and flashed a chilling smile.

“Teach your fiancée how to shop, little brother-in-law,” I said lightly. “It's embarrassing.”

I didn't want to stay in that room any longer, so I turned and stepped out onto the darkened stone terrace.

Moments later, the heavy glass doors were pushed open violently.

Candice stormed out.

“You bitch!” she screamed.

Before I could even speak, she grabbed a heavy crystal champagne flute from the patio table.

She smashed the rim hard against the stone railing.

The glass shattered, leaving a jagged, sharp edge.

Without a second of hesitation, she lunged straight at me.

I twisted my body instinctively to dodge.

But I wasn't fast enough.

The jagged crystal sliced brutally into my side.

It tore through the expensive emerald silk and bit deep into my flesh.

A sharp, breathless agony ripped through me in an instant.

Warm blood poured down my waist, soaking my dress.

Before I could even react to the pain, Candice dropped the bloody glass.

She threw herself onto the hard stone floor, scraping her own knees, and burst into hysterical, loud sobs.

Right on cue, the terrace doors swung open again.

Ashton, Richard, and Evelyn rushed out into the night air.

“Mom! Dad!” Candice cried out, curling into a pitiful ball. “I came out to apologize, and she attacked me! She tried to kill me!”

In the dim moonlight, my dark emerald gown perfectly hid the massive amount of blood I was losing.

But the bloody broken glass lay right there on the floor.

Evelyn dropped to the ground right away, pulling Candice into her arms, glaring at me with pure hate.

Richard marched straight toward me.

A heavy slap landed hard across my face.

My head turned to the side, my ears ringing, the taste of copper filling my mouth.

“You vicious, jealous monster!” Richard yelled, his face twisted with anger.

I slowly turned my head back.

I pressed my hand to my side. My fingers were completely wet with my own blood.

“She stabbed me, Father,” I said.

My voice was tight from the tearing pain in my ribs, but I forced it to stay steady.

“Don't call him that!” Evelyn shrieked from the floor. “Candice is our true daughter! We should have left you to rot and die in those mountains!”

In that moment, the last fragile thread in my chest finally snapped.

I had always believed that if I just proved myself, they would eventually see me.

I believed they were capable of being decent parents.

But now I finally understood that it was nothing more than my own fantasy.

The small hope I still held that they might care broke apart right then.

Staring at the faces I knew so well yet felt so distant from, a wave of ridiculousness rushed through me.

I felt nothing at all.

No hurt, no anger, no need to explain.

“Then from this moment on, you no longer have a daughter.”

I didn't wait for their reply.

I turned my back and walked down the stone steps, stepping into the pitch-black gardens.

I kept my back perfectly straight.

But once the shadows of the hedge maze swallowed me and I was out of their sight, the adrenaline suddenly faded.

My knees buckled.

I pressed my hand hard against my side, but the warm, sticky wetness kept flowing, dripping down my leg and pooling in my shoes.

The cut was too deep.

My head spun, and my breathing grew shallow as the severe blood loss took over.

I pulled out my phone with shaking fingers and ordered a private car to the back gates.

I barely managed to stumble out of the estate and fall into the back seat of the waiting car.

“City General Hospital,” I choked out to the driver, my fingers gripping my violently bleeding wound.

“Hurry.”

Just as the car sped forward, my vision tunneled, and everything faded into absolute blackness.

I woke up to the sharp smell of antiseptic and the steady beeping of a heart monitor.

My side burned with a dull ache, but the blinding pain from the terrace was gone. I slowly opened my heavy eyelids, the bright hospital lights forcing me to squint.

Standing around my hospital bed were Richard, Evelyn, Candice, and Ashton.

"Good, you're awake," Evelyn sneered. "We don't have time for your tantrums today," she said coldly.

Richard stepped forward. His face was set in a mask of absolute stone. He tossed a thick stack of legal documents onto my lap, followed by a heavy pen. It landed right on my legs.

"The doctors informed us that you lost a severe amount of blood," Richard stated. His voice was as clinical and detached as a butcher discussing meat. "You require an immediate blood transfusion to survive the night. But you won't get it unless you sign this."

I lowered my gaze to the papers resting on my lap.

Full Medical Proxy and Power of Attorney.

"Since you are clearly mentally unstable and prone to hurting yourself," Ashton stepped forward, his chin raised in absolute arrogance. "And since your new husband, Brandon, is a bedridden vegetable who can't even stand, the two of you are legally incapable of managing your shares."

"Just sign it, Sister," she said, her eyes dancing with malice. "We will represent you and Brandon from now on. We'll take over your voting rights for tomorrow morning’s board meeting."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "If you don't sign... Dad can just tell the doctors to withhold your treatment. It would be a shame if you bled out here tonight."

Without saying a single word, I reached down and picked up the pen.

"Lorraine, don't be stupid—" Richard began, expecting me to fight back.

But I simply uncapped the pen and signed my name on the dotted line. My handwriting was steady and clean, with no sign of doubt.

I dropped the clipboard back onto the bed.

"Smart girl. You finally learned your place," Ashton laughed. "Tomorrow morning, I will use these proxy votes to officially acquire the Elixir brand and take over the Sinclair empire. You and your crippled husband can rot in this room."

Without another word, they turned their backs on me and walked out.

The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut behind them.

Then, the door to the adjoining VIP lounge slowly opened.

Brandon, the supposedly crippled outcast of the family, stood in perfect health.

"You signed it." His low voice sent a chill through the room. He walked to the edge of my bed, his jaw clenched tight.

"You let them threaten your life, and you handed them the keys to the Sinclair board," Brandon said, his chest moving hard. "Why didn't you let me step out there and break his neck?"

"Because breaking his neck is too easy, Brandon," I whispered, looking up into my husband's furious eyes.

"They want to acquire the Elixir brand tomorrow. They want to use my shares to do it."

Brandon frowned, his anger pausing. "And?"

"And," I curved my lips into a faint smile. "They don't know who they are acquiring."

I looked toward the window, my voice perfectly calm.

"I am the creator and sole owner of Elixir. I built that brand from nothing while they thought I was rotting in the mountains."

Brandon’s eyes widened slightly as the truth hit him.

"They think they stole my life's work," I continued softly. "But they don't know that the raw, unrefined base of Elixir is highly toxic before the final synthesis. Ashton is too greedy. In his rush to show off, he will bypass all safety protocols."

I looked back at Brandon.

"We will let them have their victory. Let them present their grand acquisition to the investors tomorrow."

The next morning.

The Sinclair Corporate Headquarters.

The grand boardroom was packed with the capital's elite investors and shareholders. Ashton sat proudly at the head of the massive glass table, with Candice glowing by his side.

"With the proxy votes from my brother and his wife, I now hold the majority," Ashton announced into the microphone. His voice echoed with absolute arrogance.

"My first act as the new Patriarch is the official acquisition of the world's most exclusive fragrance brand—Elixir!"

The room burst into applause.

"To prove the success of this acquisition, my team seized the master sample of Elixir's unreleased core formula from their lab last night," Ashton declared. "A scent so exclusive, it is valued at over ten million dollars a drop."

He picked up the silver case and walked toward the three lead investors sitting at the front. These were the men who controlled the capital's biggest banks.

"Today, our top partners will be the first in the world to experience it."

The investors leaned forward, their eyes wide with greed and anticipation.

Ashton entered the passcode. The silver case clicked open.

Inside sat a glowing glass vial. The liquid shimmered like liquid gold under the boardroom lights.

"Please," Ashton smiled, carefully lifting the vial and handing it to the lead investor. "Breathe in the future of our empire."

The lead investor took the vial. The two men beside him leaned in close.

They took a deep, eager breath of the golden liquid.

For one second, the boardroom was completely silent, waiting for their praise.

Then, that second passed.

The lead investor's eyes suddenly rolled to the back of his head.

The glass vial slipped from his fingers. It shattered against the polished floor with a sharp crack.

"Mr. Holls? What's wrong—" Ashton started to ask, his smile faltering.

Before Ashton could finish his sentence, the lead investor let out a suffocated, wet gasp. Blood began to pour from his nose.

The two investors beside him grabbed their own throats, their faces turning a terrifying shade of gray.

Panic broke out in the boardroom.

Without another sound, all three lead investors collapsed backward.

They hit the boardroom floor with a heavy, lifeless thud.