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.

Sasha didn't make it to the hospital till early morning, limping in solo once she scraped together enough strength.

The doctor flinched when he saw her. Took three hours just to clean and wrap everything.

She was shaking so bad her clothes stuck to her from sweat. Ended up snapping a few nails from clenching too hard.

After two days in that hospital bed, the scabs finally started forming.

During that stretch, Mira blew up Sasha's phone with nonstop taunts:

[Mom and Dad said they're turning your room into a nursery. When Vincent and I bring our baby home, that's where they'll stay. So when are you clearing out your junk?]

[Went wedding dress shopping today. Vincent couldn't pick, so he bought them all. I tried on heels till my feet were dead—he even rubbed my legs after.]

Sasha scrolled through photos of him staring at Mira like she hung the stars.

Sasha's eyes were empty. Nothing left.

She didn't reply. Just waited for the pain to fade, then went home and packed.

Besides her documents and bare essentials, she trashed everything. Not a single thing stayed.

The butler hovered nearby, nervous. "Your sister wants you in the basement. The light's bad, but it's big. You don't have to toss all this."

Sasha stared at the stripped room, voice flat. "No point. I won't need any of it. Throw it all out. I'm leaving the country soon. I'm not coming back."

The butler stiffened. "You're leaving... and not coming back?"

Before the butler could respond, Vincent pushed into the hallway. "Who's leaving and not coming back?"

He barely got the words out before Mira popped out of the bedroom. "Why're you here so early? I haven't even finished my makeup."

Vincent didn't even look at the butler. Just walked over, tapped Mira's nose. "No rush. I've got time."

"I can never get my brows right," she pouted. "You're good with your hands—help me?"

They laughed, chatted, and slipped back into the room, door swinging shut behind them.

Sasha looked away, silent, dragging her packed suitcase behind her.

The rest of the day, Vincent and Mira were stuck together like glue—grossly affectionate.

He made her breakfast, fed her piece by piece, arms around her like they were in some rom-com.

They watched movies—he kept pausing to explain random Easter eggs like it mattered.

Out on the balcony, he kissed her hard, let her lipstick stain his collar. The way he smiled at her... yeah, there was no hiding it.

The servants, catching glimpses, couldn't help whispering.

"Mira and Mr. Scythe are glued together. Not even married yet, and already acting like newlyweds."

"She's been spoiled since forever. Once they tie the knot? Forget it. No one'll be able to tell her anything. Girl's got it made."

"Feel bad for Sasha though. Ignored her whole life, then falls for her sister's fiance? That's brutal. Same blood, totally different luck."

Sasha stood behind the door, hearing every word. Her eyes dropped, quiet.

She used to ask fate why it hated her so much—over and over.

But dying once? That changed everything.

If she had to fight that hard to keep something, it was never really hers to begin with.

Family. Love. All of it.

So now? She didn't hold on to anything. She just wanted out—no mess, no looking back, no getting dragged down again.