Sasha wasn't about to play Mira's game. She turned to leave.

Mira scowled, ready to snap again—then froze. Someone familiar was walking down the corridor.

In a blink, she yanked Sasha's wrist and dragged her into the fountain.

Neither of them could swim.

They splashed, kicked, screamed for help.

Sasha's stitches ripped open. Blood spread fast.

Freezing water shot up her nose—she choked, coughing hard.

Her body gave out. Everything burned, then went numb. She sank.

Right before it all went black, she saw Vincent sprinting toward the fountain—then diving in.

He swam right past her—didn't even look her way—and dragged Mira to the edge.

Mira, eyes red and watery, collapsed into his arms. She peeked back at Sasha, still sinking, then threw on a worried face.

"She... She pushed me in by accident," she said sweetly. "Vincent, she's my only sister. Can you get her too?"

Vincent's face iced over. He glanced at Sasha, flailing and half-submerged.

"Mira, don't defend her. She clearly tried to drown you, then jumped in for show. If she wants to play the victim, let her soak in it."

Every word cut deep.

Her face burned purple, lungs empty. A sharp ringing swallowed everything. The world smeared and tilted.

Through the blur, she saw Vincent carrying Mira away.

Then darkness.

A blast of cold air snapped Sasha awake. She shook hard as she opened her eyes.

Donald and Diana loomed over her, faces tight with fury.

"Are you insane?" Diana snapped. "How dare you shove Mira into the water? Were you trying to kill her and steal Vincent? As long as we're alive, that'll never happen."

Donald's voice hit just as hard. "You'll never compare to your sister. You're not worthy of Vincent. Face it and quit the fantasy."

Their yelling cut colder than the water. Sasha's chest tightened, eyes filling with something heavier than tears—pure, bone-deep despair.

But the pain? It finally cracked wide open.

"Not worthy? SHE'S worthy?" Her voice shook. "If you hadn't lied and faked everything, Vincent wouldn't have looked at her twice. You stole what was mine and handed it to her. Doesn't that shame you at all?"

Diana flushed. Donald's hand flew.

The slap snapped her head sideways.

"You ungrateful brat!" he barked. "We gave you life. Everything you have came from us. If we wanna take it and hand it to Mira, we will. You think you get a say? You dare speak the truth again—just try it and see what happens—"

The door slammed open.

Vincent stepped in, frowning. "The truth? What truth?"

Donald and Diana jolted, scrambling to cover.

"W-We were just disciplining her," Donald stammered. "Trying to get her to admit she pushed Mira."

"She won't confess no matter what," Diana added quickly. "We're furious—don't even know how to punish her."

They shot each other a quick look, smoothly dodging the topic.

Vincent didn't think much of it. His stare landed on Sasha—cold, sharp.

"Still won't own up? Lock her in the morgue. Let her out when she figures out what she did wrong."

Donald and Diana nodded like it was genius, then waved the guards in without hesitation.

Sasha clutched her burning cheek, eyes blank, checked out.

Fighting back would only make it worse. So she didn't. Let them drag her off.

The morgue was a freezer. Bone-deep cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, shaking like crazy.

Her mind drifted, foggy and frayed.

She saw flashes of the old Scythe estate—those stormy nights when she and Vincent huddled together under one coat. He'd pull her close, hold her hand tight, whisper over and over, "I'm here. You're safe."

Those memories stabbed sharper than the cold.

Minutes blurred. Her stomach screamed, her body numb. She could barely think.

Then the door creaked open.

Vincent stepped in, expression stone-cold, eyes cutting.

"You've been in here a full day and night. Ready to admit what you did?"

Sasha stayed curled up, voice raw and rasping. "I admit it. I was wrong."

He looked satisfied.

She wobbled to her feet and walked out, whispering to herself. 'Wrong for believing you'd be with me. Wrong for ever falling for you.'

After getting discharged, Sasha went home and purged every trace of Vincent.

Old diaries, crumpled love notes, hidden photos, unopened gifts, the little surprises...

She was supposed to tell him everything once they made it.

But that was never happening. Not now. Not ever.

None of it meant anything anymore.

She dumped everything. Turned around—and slammed right into Vincent.

He'd just dropped Mira off.

His eyes flicked to the trash. Then back to her.

Still cold. Still blank.

Mira noticed too. She latched onto his arm, all fake-sweet. "Vincent, looks like Sasha finally got the message. She won't bug you anymore. She's my little sister, y'know. Don't be so harsh."

Vincent didn't even blink. "I've never been nice to people I don't like. No point pretending."

Sasha just stood there, quiet.

One breath. Swallowed it all down. Then turned and walked back to her room.

***

The next day was Mira's birthday bash.

The hall buzzed—packed with guests, all gossip and glam.

"Vincent went all out, huh? Flew in those flowers from Eurphie this morning. Three days of fireworks, can you believe it? And that necklace Mira's wearing? He snagged it at Sotheby's—cost a fortune."

"He's totally obsessed with her. Mira hit the jackpot. The Clarke family's about to blow up... though it sucks they've still got Sasha hanging around, obsessing over Vincent. So pathetic."

"Right? Same blood, but Sasha's just... less. Forget looks and personality—she's got zero shame. Still chasing her sister's fiance? If my kid pulled that, I'd have kicked her out ages ago. Donald and Diana are way too soft."

Sasha heard every word. Felt none of it.

Just silence inside. Cold, hollow silence.

She sat off to the side, quiet, invisible—trying not to exist.

A few feet away, Donald and Diana stood with Vincent, all smiles around Mira like she was their sun.

They fussed over her dress, blocked her drinks, lit her candles. Sang like it was the happiest day ever.

Sasha watched. And remembered.

Her own birthdays? Mira always dragged their parents off somewhere, leaving Sasha to light her own candles in an empty house.

Back when she was with Vincent, he used to be there. Cake, wishes, little gifts—just enough to make her think maybe she wasn't alone anymore.

But even that scrap of warmth was gone now.

And she wasn't chasing it anymore.

In the middle of all the noise and glitter, Mira shut her eyes and made her wish.

Guests lined up with gifts—designer bags, diamonds, all the luxury.

She opened each one slow, soaking up the spotlight, smile locked in place.

Then came the final two.

Donald stepped up first. "After thinking it over, Diana and I have decided—Mira will be the successor to our company. She's inheriting everything."

The room lit up.

Vincent followed. "My gift to Mira is fifty percent of Scythe Corp... and my family's heirloom ring. My grandma always said any couple who wears these rings will grow old together."

He turned to Mira. "You're the only one I want to marry. Thank you for saying yes."

With everyone watching, he slipped the ring on her finger, pulled her close, and kissed her like the rest of the world didn't exist.

The whole hall exploded—cheers, applause, nonstop congratulations.

From the sidelines, Sasha watched, chest tight like she couldn't breathe.

Her nails bit into her palm. She was ready to bolt—until Mira's voice cut through.

"Sasha, where's your gift? When are you giving it to me?"

Just like that, every head turned.

Sasha froze. Then slowly pulled the gift she'd prepared ages ago from her bag and handed it over.

Mira was mid-smirk, ready to drop some snide comment—

But Vincent stopped cold.

His eyes zeroed in on Sasha's hand. "Where'd you get that bracelet?"

She blinked, thrown by the bite in his voice. Her fingers drifted to the bracelet, like muscle memory.

Back when he was blind, she used to dress up anyway—like he could see her. She always wore that bracelet. He'd hold her hand, trace the stones, ask about them.

Now? She stayed quiet.

Vincent lunged, grabbed her wrist. "Answer me. Why do you have this? Who are you?"

Sasha hadn't expected him to recognize a bracelet before he recognized her.

Her chest tightened, emotions swirling too fast to name. She opened her mouth—

"Sasha, you didn't get my permission," Mira cut in. "Why'd you steal my bracelet?"

She stepped in fast, claws out. Her nails raked across Sasha's hand, slicing clean lines of blood.

Sasha hissed, yanking back—too slow.

Mira threw herself backward like she'd been shoved.

Vincent's face shifted in an instant. He caught Mira like it was instinct, eyes locking onto Sasha—cold and unreadable.

"So that's it. I almost believed you." His voice dropped. "You stole Mira's bracelet. And when you got exposed, you attacked her? Sasha, you're disgusting."

No hesitation. No space for her side. Just blind trust in Mira.

Something icy slid down Sasha's spine.

She lifted her bleeding hand, voice shaking with raw, helpless fury. "If you remember this bracelet, then you should've noticed—Mira never wore it after you got your sight back. Because she doesn't even know it exists. She was never the one who—"

Crack.

Donald's hand smashed across her face.

Everything went black as she crashed into the champagne tower.

Glass shattered around her as the champagne tower collapsed, soaking her in sticky cold.

She hit the floor hard, cuts blooming across her skin, her whole body screaming. Tears mixed with blood and glass.

Diana stalked over, face like stone. Without a word, she dumped her wine straight over Sasha's face.

"Mira didn't wear it," she snapped, "because it was damaged and sent out for repairs. The butler just got it back today. You slipped it on while we were gone and tried to pass it off as yours?"

Donald jumped right in. "It's bad enough you cause drama at home, but today? Your sister's birthday? You embarrassed the entire Clarke family. That bracelet was your grandmother's favorite—meant for her most beloved, Mira. You? You were never in the running."

Vincent didn't even question it. Just like that, he believed them.

He held Mira close while she fake-cried like her lungs were collapsing, gently wiping her tears.

Then he crossed the room, crouched by Sasha, and grabbed her bruised wrist.

He unclasped the bracelet, wiped the blood off with his handkerchief, and gently fastened it around Mira's wrist like it was sacred.

"This holds your grandmother's love—and our five years together," he said softly. "I won't let anyone stain that."

After that, Vincent turned to Donald, his tone ice-cold.

"Mr. Clarke, Sasha stole family property and showed her true colors. Aren't you going to discipline her?"

Donald nodded like he'd been waiting for permission. He barked for someone to bring a whip and grabbed it himself.

"By family rules, what Sasha did today earns fifty lashes. I failed to raise her right and ruined everyone's celebration. I'll punish this unfilial daughter right here and uphold the Clarke name."

The whip cracked down.

Sasha's body jolted, her back torn open on impact. Pain exploded through her spine.

A scream ripped from her throat. Blood soaked through her clothes in seconds.

Everything blurred. Her voice came out in shattered gasps.

"I didn't... steal anything. That bracelet... it was mine. Grandma gave it to me..."

She lay there, shaking, drowning in pain and blood.

Vincent didn't flinch. He just covered Mira's eyes and walked her away.

As their silhouettes faded, Sasha shut her bloodshot eyes.

She bit down on her torn lip, already smeared with blood and tears, and stayed silent.

When it was over, Donald and Diana didn't even look at her. They just left.

One by one, the guests and staff trickled out, whispering, sneering—no one stopped. No one cared.

She stayed there, wrecked on the cold floor, the lights clicking off around her.

Darkness swallowed everything.