The hospital room descended into utter chaos in an instant.

At Ethan's furious roar, the men who had been standing guard outside rushed in all at once.

But the moment they saw Greta—her face and hands slick with blood—they froze, no one daring to move.

Greta stared straight at Ethan and let out a soft laugh.

"Ethan, you can forget who I am," she said calmly. "But if you keep letting her disgust me like this… I'll kill her."

Ignoring the fury blazing in Ethan's eyes, Greta grabbed the white dress Cara had tossed beside the bed and wiped the blood from her hands.

Then she turned, swept the strawberry cake she had just made onto the floor, lifted her chin, and walked out of the hospital room.

That night, Greta sat alone in the vast, empty villa for a long time, so long that darkness came and went, dawn broke and faded again, and she never once felt sleepy.

She had lived peacefully for too many years. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to stay alert every second, afraid to close her eyes.

From the age of eight, she had been locked in a lightless iron cage. She never knew which day she would be dragged into an octagonal cage she had never seen before, where the only way back to her cell was to kill everyone else in the arena.

Countless lives… all for a scrap of food.

She was the sole survivor of that brutal hunger game, the one left alive to work for the drug lords.

She had thought that was all her life would ever be.

Until Ethan, there on business, had dragged her out without hesitation.

That day, he had been shot five times.

One of those bullets was meant for her. It tore into his chest, too close to the heart, the slug lodged forever beneath his ribs.

Greta, who had only ever known the metallic sweetness of blood, learned for the first time that tears tasted salty.

Ethan said he wanted to take her home. She hesitated.

She didn't know how to love. She was a rose bristling with poison thorns. Anyone who came close was bound to bleed.

Ethan only smiled. "Roses are most beautiful because of their thorns," he said. "With me here, you don't need to change. Just be yourself."

And he meant it. Ignoring the warnings of the senior members in the organization, he forced her way back into Portwick.

When the drug lords launched a cross-border manhunt, he took everything on himself, shielding her at all costs.

Over the years they spent together, she had pulled out every thorn for him.

She stopped holding guns and knives. She learned to hold spatulas instead. She learned how to bake cakes.

Yet now, Ethan's gun was pointed at her head.

She knew him far too well.

Anyone who hurt the people he cared about, no matter who they were, would never escape his wrath.

Back when someone had tried to send her back to the Red Delta, each of them had been cut down, their hands and feet chopped off, thrown into the drug lord's lair.

Even the men who had fought alongside Ethan for years vanished from the organization after daring to call Greta a "bitch."

Now, after she had slashed Cara's face, there was no way Ethan would let it slide.

For days and nights, she hadn't slept in the villa. She had been waiting, waiting for Ethan to come to her.

So she could see for herself who truly mattered to him after his memory was gone.

Ethan stood in the shadows, the cold barrel of a gun pressed against Greta's forehead, his expression dark and terrifying.

"I don't care who you are. Anyone who hurts my people pays the price."

He had said those words countless times before, to anyone who opposed them being together.

Never had Greta imagined that today, he would say them to herself.

How ironic.

Greta tugged at the corner of her mouth and met his icy gaze without flinching.

"What price do you want me to pay? My life? Then go ahead—shoot."

In the darkness, Ethan's eyes flickered.

He had forgotten everything about this woman, yet for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger.

After a long moment, the gun finally lowered.

"Take her to the basement. No food for three days," he ordered.

He couldn't bring himself to kill her, but she had hurt Cara. Punishment, however small, was necessary.

His men stepped forward, bowing to Greta respectfully.

"Ma'am, please cooperate and walk with us. Don't make it hard for us," one of them said.

Greta looked at Greta one last time, but he had turned away, refusing to meet her gaze.

Her eyes darkened. She nodded to his men.

Before leaving, she tossed a silver ring onto the floor at Ethan's feet..

The ring spun across the tiles before coming to rest, its soft clinking somehow shattering the walls around Ethan's heart.

His body jerked. He stared at her receding figure, as if something crucial had slipped from his memory.

Greta sat in the pitch-black basement, a faint, mocking smile playing on her lips.

He had taken three days to drag her out of the abyss, bloodily wiping out the drug lord's lair.

So she would repay him with three days in this basement, a symbolic clearing of debts.

The silver ring had been bought on a whim from a small stall at the border when he had rescued her.

A gift to celebrate her first taste of a new life.

He had promised that one day, when he officially proposed, he would get her a one-of-a-kind diamond ring.

Now that ring he had promised rested on someone else's hand. Keeping the silver ring held no meaning.

Ethan had taught the girl who only knew how to kill how to love. And yet, he had forgotten everything, forgotten enough to claim he no longer loved her.

Greta had never belonged to Portwick in the first place. Without a reason to stay, leaving was the only choice.

Three days. After that, Ethan would release her, and she would walk away, from him, and from Portwick.

But she hadn't expected that not even three days had passed before Cara came first.

Cara was followed by two unfamiliar faces, who did not look like anyone from Ethan's inner circle.

Cara, as arrogant as ever, pulled out a chair and sat down across from Greta.

In the past, Greta had never argued with her. She had held back only because Ethan said Cara was the daughter of an old acquaintance. He had promised that man on his deathbed that he would look after her.

But from the very first moment Cara saw Greta, she had disliked her.

Ethan once asked Cara to take Greta out to clear her mind. Instead, Cara deliberately abandoned her on a deserted mountaintop during a typhoon.

At that time, Greta had only just arrived in Portwick. She did not even have a phone on her.

Wandering alone in the raging wind, she could not find her way back. The torrential rain soaked her through, and a high fever left her barely conscious.

By the time Ethan found her, she was clinging to her last breath.

The once-hardened man who had taken several bullets to save Greta without making a sound collapsed in an instant, crying like a child.

He had never believed in gods. Yet that night, he fell to his knees and prayed until dawn, asking for nothing but Greta's life.

That time, he wanted nothing more than to kill Cara.

Greta thought he truly hated her after that.

Until the day Ethan went to confront his sworn rival, Andrew Kane, to reclaim the ring Greta had been longing for, only to walk in on Cara kneeling at the man's feet, struck hard across the face.

Ethan's eyes immediately reddened. He did not ask why. He rushed forward and started fighting Andrew.

The fight escalated quickly. Blades came out. To shield Cara behind him, Ethan exposed his back and a sharp weapon slashed into him.

He risked his life to protect her.

In doing so, he forgot Greta completely and how viciously Cara had once hurt her.

Cara looked at Greta, her eyes filled with mockery as she sneered, "Greta, I never thought you would end up like this."

Greta remained calm and let out a soft laugh, "Cara, I suggest you don't provoke me. You can't afford it."

Cara scoffed. "What's so scary about you? You're just trash Ethan picked up from the Red Delta. This is Portwick. What can you do to me? Drag me to that living hell? Besides, do you even dare go back?"

Greta narrowed her eyes dangerously.

She had never liked arguing with people. If a knife could solve something, she would never waste words.

Before Cara could react, Greta moved. In a blink, she was right in front of Cara.

A compact, razor-sharp dagger pressed against the artery in Cara's neck.

Seeing her life in Greta's hands, the men behind Cara froze, daring not make a move.

Cara panicked as well.

The arrogance drained from her face. Even her voice began to shake.

"You—what are you doing?" she stammered. "Don't touch me, or—or Ethan will—"

"He'll what?" Greta cut her off, her voice holding no emotion. "He'll kill me? Before he gets the chance, I'll kill you first. When we meet down there, you can explain it to me properly. How does that sound?"

Cara's face went deathly pale.

She knew exactly who Greta used to be. She had simply grown fearless, relying on Ethan's protection.

Raised in comfort, she could never imagine a woman like Greta—someone forged at the edge of a blade, living each day ready to kill or be killed.

Greta had promised Ethan she would no longer kill at will. But she had endured enough.

The one who provoked first deserved what came next.

She had already decided to leave. It was Cara who insisted on provoking her.

With a flick of her wrist, Greta's blade traced a path to a spot that would kill in one precise strike.

"Don't—!!!"

As Cara screamed herself hoarse, the basement door was kicked open with brutal force.

"What are you doing!? Let go of Cara!"

In the split second Greta was distracted, Ethan raised his gun at her.

She thought he would not pull the trigger.

But the muzzle was aimed straight at her. In his eyes, roiling with rage, she saw nothing but killing intent.

A deafening gunshot exploded inside the enclosed basement.

The sound tore through Greta's ears. It also shattered her final hope and every ounce of sincerity she had left.

The bullet struck her right shoulder.

The dagger fell to the floor. Cara was unharmed.

Greta's right arm streamed with blood. It flowed down her fingers, drop by drop.

Ethan yanked Cara out of Greta's grasp. He looked her over again and again, his face full of panic.

Only after confirming she was completely unhurt did he turn back. Rage consumed him as he roared, "Do you really have to force me to kill you myself?!"

Greta pressed her lips together tightly. Blood loss drained the color from her face until it was paper-white.

Yet she did not move. She did not even frown.

"Ethan," she asked quietly, "are you really going to kill me?"

The words left her mouth. And she realized they were not a question at all. They were an undeniable fact.

Ethan's brows knitted, his eyes still roiling with violence.

Then he noticed Greta's trembling right hand. He saw the blood dripping steadily to the floor. Something jolted in his head.

Agony surged through his mind.

Something buried deep in his memory, something sealed away, seemed to be torn open by the sight of that vivid red.

"Greta... " It was the first time he had called her that since losing his memory.

He clutched his head and collapsed into a crouch. Cara rushed to support him at once.

Greta stood like a statue, utterly still.

She looked at him calmly, her voice colder than ice.

"Ethan," she said, "You once took a bullet for me. And now, you've put one into me. We're even now."

No one dared to stop Greta when she walked out of the basement.

Her reputation in the borderlands had long since made its way through Portwick. Everyone knew exactly what kind of monster she had once been.

Ignoring all eyes on her, she returned to the room that had once belonged to her and Ethan.

As she stood there, surrounded by traces of the life they had shared, a sharp, overwhelming pain surged through her all at once.

Whether from the gunshot wound in her shoulder or the one buried deep in her chest, she could no longer tell.

She only knew it hurt, hurt in a way she had never known before, not even during those years when she had wrestled with death itself.

While she stood there, dazed, her phone rang.

A familiar number lit up the screen.

"I heard he hurt you for that woman. Do you want to come stay with me?" the voice said calmly.

Greta refused without hesitation.

She neither wanted nor needed to rely on anyone ever again. All she wanted was to leave this place that had never truly been hers.

But the pain kept spreading, her consciousness slowly slipping.

And somewhere between waking and darkness, she felt herself dragged back to the Red Delta, back to the days before Ethan had come for her.

She was covered in blood then, thrown into an iron cage with starving wolves.

The drug lord told her that if she could survive even this, she would never have to face another trial.

She had been fifteen years old back then. Eighteen pairs of eyes gleamed in the dark, thick with hunger.

She could not defeat them barehanded. All she could do was run, dodge, and keep moving, until her strength failed her completely and she closed her eyes in despair, waiting for death.

But the agony she expected never came. Instead, the scent of meat drew all eighteen wolves to the far side of the cage.

A boy with mismatched eyes stood there, tossing chunks of flesh to the wolves, then casually throwing a knife toward her.

Taking her chance, Greta struck, blade flashing, killing each wolf while they fed.

The boy looked back at her with an innocent face and a brilliant smile.

"Call me Andy," he said lightly. "Stick with me, and I'll make sure you don't die."

Greta laughed, then, as the laughter faded, closed her eyes again in despair.

Somewhere in the haze, she felt someone sit beside her bed.

A hand took hers, fingers interlacing tightly.

Half-conscious, she murmured, "Andy?"

The man stiffened. In the next instant, he flung her hand away.

Rage exploded without warning as he grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her upright.

When Greta opened her eyes again, the smiling boy was gone.

All that remained were eyes bloodshot with fury, burning red.

"Greta," the man demanded coldly. "Look carefully. Who do you think I am?"

It was Ethan.

He smelled of alcohol, a chill drunkenness clinging to him.

Only then did Greta realize she was in a hospital.

Had Ethan brought her here?

Probably not.

Otherwise, he would not have dragged her so roughly, tearing open the wound in her shoulder.

The freshly stitched flesh was splitting apart once more.

Greta moved with difficulty.

Ignoring the blood flowing freely again, she forced herself to turn over, presenting her back to him, unwilling to meet those cold, hate-filled eyes again.

Yet she still heard him ask through clenched teeth, "I never knew you had someone else in your heart."

He paused. "You're filthy."

Greta's body stiffened violently, trembling as if struck by lightning.

The bullet had pierced her shoulder, yet it felt as though someone had fired straight through her heart, the pain so intense she could barely breathe.

Who was it that claimed her past didn't matter?

And who had ever said that someone could rise from the muck and still be considered pure?

Yet now, he called her filthy.

She heard Ethan give orders outside the door. "Watch her. Don't let her leave the room."

After a brief pause, he added, "And don't let anyone visit her."

"Boss," someone hesitated, "the anniversary of Mr. Kirk is coming up. We'll all be attending. Who's going to keep an eye on her?"

"Find a couple of subordinates," Ethan replied coldly. "I've been remembering some things lately. Once the memorial is over, I'll talk to her properly."

"But I saw her packing earlier," the man continued. "If she really wants to leave, even the subordinates might not dare stop her—"

"Except for the Red Delta, she has nowhere to go. She won't dare leave me," Ethan cut in.

Footsteps faded. Ethan was gone.

Greta slowly turned back, her eyes fixed on the closed door.

Blood still seeped from her shoulder, but she felt nothing anymore.

Her heart was the same.

Ethan had underestimated Greta.

Having been raised in hell, being thrown back into it by him could change nothing.

He had bet she wouldn't leave. She, in turn, bet that he would regret it.