“Try wearing my lingerie, girl. Maybe then Larkin will love you a little more.”

Farrah taunted Dionne with a smirk.

“Honestly, I do feel sorry for you. In this family, you’re just my stand-in. And to Larkin?”

She gave a cruel laugh. “You don’t really even count as that. If I were you, I would’ve left a long time ago.”

“Did you know?” She leaned in, as if to share a secret. “Larkin never runs out of energy when he’s with me. But—”

Dionne couldn’t take it anymore. Her hand shot out, knocking the gift box clean from Farrah’s hands.

“That’s enough. Know your place, Farrah. I’m still Larkin’s wife. And if you provoke me again,” she warned, “I’ll take that trash downstairs and show all those guests exactly what kind of woman you are—flirting with your sister’s husband!”

The words had barely left her lips when Farrah suddenly stumbled back, falling to the stairs and dramatically sobbing.

“I’m sorry, Dionne!” she wailed. “I won’t go near Larkin again! If you really hate me that much, I’ll buy a plane ticket right now and leave the states. I’ll never come back and bother you again!”

Footsteps pounded toward them. Larkin arrived first, barely sparing Dionne a glance before dropping to his knees and gathering Farrah into his arms.

Seconds later, Foster burst in. He didn’t ask a single question. The slap came fast and hard.

“Dionne!” he roared. “Farrah is my real daughter! You better remember your place! Touch her again, and I’ll pretend I never adopted you!”

Her ears were ringing from the blow. She turned to look at her father, and with trembling lips, she said, word by word, “She started it. She was the one who—”

“That’s enough,” Larkin interrupted with a frown. “We all know what kind of person Farrah is. She’d never pick a fight with you without a reason. You must’ve done something!”

“I know you’re upset because I didn’t acknowledge you publicly tonight,” he added. “But we agreed to a secret marriage from the start, so why are you making a scene now?”

He shook his head. “You’ve really disappointed me, Dionne.”

“You’re not going home tonight,” he said with finality. “Stay here. Reflect on your actions.”

With that, Larkin left the rooftop, still carrying Farrah in his arms.

Dionne clutched her chest tightly, fighting back tears. She rushed after them, desperate to explain. But just as she reached the door, it was slammed shut with a loud bang.

The edge caught her hand.

A white-hot flash of pain exploded through her body. The force dropped her to her knees.

Blood streamed freely from a deep gash across the back of her hand, pooling fast on the tiled floor. Her entire body trembled, her muscles seizing from the pain.

It was at that moment she realized—when pain reached its peak, a person couldn’t even scream.

She slumped against the wall, tears streaming down her face as she whispered over and over, “Larkin… This time, we’re really… done.”

Seeing the pool of blood, the housekeeper took Dionne to the hospital.

The doctor offered anesthesia before stitching her hand up, but she refused.

She needed to remember this pain—only then would she truly learn her lesson.

It took more than a dozen stitches to close the wound. The doctor warned her to rest or risk permanent scarring.

Since there was already a sign of infection, they advised her to stay overnight for observation.

At 11:55 that night, her phone rang.

It was Brixton.

“Hey, happy birthday.”

At once, her nose stung and her voice went hoarse.

“Thanks. You’re the only one who remembered to greet me.”

“You sound off. Were you crying?” Brixton asked, the concern evident in his tone. “Did someone hurt you? Tell me who.”

Hearing his words warmed Dionne’s heart. He was the only one who cared about her that night.

Forcing her emotions down, she replied, “No, I was just… watching a sad movie. Got emotional.”

There was a short silence on the line, like he didn’t quite believe her, but he didn’t press further.

“Alright. Try not to stay up watching stuff like that. It’s bad for your eyes.”

“I got you a birthday gift,” he added. “I’ll bring it when I come to pick you up.”

“And hey, remember, if someone’s hurting you, you don’t have to endure it. Tell me. I’ll get revenge for you,” he promised.

For a brief moment, she recalled how Larkin used to say the same thing to her.

But that was long forgotten now.

She forced a smile. “Alright. It’s getting late. You should get some rest.”

After the call ended, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

It was as if… the pain wasn’t so unbearable anymore.

The next morning, the first thing she did after waking up… was to find a lawyer to draft the divorce papers.

Dionne brought two documents with her to the company.

Larkin’s gaze dropped to her hand, gripped tight around her bag. His brows drew together.

“What happened to your hand?” He barely waited before letting out a scoff. “You hurt yourself? Just because I said a few words to you last night, you’re using self-harm to go against me?”

‘So he didn’t even know it’s his fault,’ Dionne realized. ‘Of course, it’s not surprising. As long as Farrah’s around, he’ll never pay me attention.’

Dionne didn’t want to explain. “It’s nothing. I just accidentally cut myself,” she said casually.

Larkin wasn’t stupid. How could such a deep wound be just an accident?

Before he could question her further, she pulled out two documents.

“There are two contracts. Please sign them, President Jablonski.”

His frown deepened.

When it was the only two of them, she never called him so formally like “President Jablonski.”

Annoyance flickered in his eyes as he reached for the papers, but before he could even read through the content, his phone lit up. It was Farrah.

He answered, exchanged a few words, then grabbed his coat and stood. “I’ve got something to do. We’ll talk about the contracts later.”

But Dionne wouldn’t let him go. She pressed a pen into his palm, insisting, “These are urgent. They need to be signed now.”

She flipped straight to the last page and laid them out in front of him.

When Farrah’s call came through again, Dionne’s fist clenched slightly. “Sign them, then you can leave.”

Larkin thought that Dionne was being a little unreasonable, but with a frown, he still signed his name. “Happy now?” he said sarcastically.

With both copies now signed by him, Dionne took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes.”

He turned to leave but paused at the doorway, announcing, “Farrah’s coming home for dinner. She’s very picky, so make sure you make a few of her favorite dishes.”

He didn’t look at her as he continued, “I talked to her about last night. She’s kind enough not to hold it against you anymore. Don’t keep dragging things out.”

“You’re the older sister, Dionne,” he reminded her. “Making a meal can count as an apology.”

With that, he walked out of the office without looking back.

Dionne lowered her eyes to her hand wrapped thickly in gauze and let out a self-mocking smile.

‘Even when the damage was staring him in the face,’ she thought, ‘he still expected me to compromise for Farrah’s sake.’

That evening, Larkin came home with Farrah.

As soon as they entered, he smelled something burning and rushed to the backyard, where he found Dionne setting things on fire.

“What are you burning?”

As he got closer, he recognized them—gifts he had given her over the years.

Dionne had treasured those things.

Once, a maid had damaged one by accident during cleaning, and she had thrown a huge fit about it.

Now, she was setting them all on fire.

His composure cracked. He kicked the firepit, his voice cold. “What is the meaning of this?”

Dionne calmly replied, “There’s no space left in the house anymore, so I’m burning a few things.”

“Did you forget?” she continued. “You called earlier, saying Farrah was moving in. You told me to clear out a room.”

All the accusations he was about to hurl got stuck in his throat.

The excuse sounded perfectly reasonable, but Larkin still felt stifled in his chest.

Farrah clung to his arm and said sweetly, “Larkin, I really do have a lot of stuff. It’s just some old clothes anyway. If they’re burned, they’re burned.”

Larkin’s eyes flickered. “Fine. Burned or not, they’re nothing important anyway.”

And with that, he turned and walked back inside the villa.

Dionne looked at the ashes of what used to be her memories and curled her lips into a faint smile.

‘Right. They weren’t anything important. If they’re gone, then they’re gone.’

In the dining room, Larkin frowned again when he saw no food on the table.

“Didn’t I tell you Farrah would be home for dinner? Why didn’t you make anything?”

Dionne met his gaze, then slowly raised her hand wrapped in thick gauze. “I can’t,” she said flatly.

For a brief second, Larkin actually felt a flicker of guilt.

He had forgotten that she was injured.

Before that guilt could settle, Farrah tugged on his arm and suggested, “Larkin, since my sister didn’t make anything, why don’t we eat out instead?”

Dionne didn’t want to see them flaunting their intimacy in front of her any longer; she turned and went upstairs.

After a shower, she got a call from Brixton.

He was planning ahead—finalizing wedding arrangements—and wanted to know what kind of venue she preferred.

After spending three years with Larkin being the wife nobody knew about, she had never dared to even dream of a wedding.

She had always thought she wasn’t worthy of one.

But Brixton so easily gave her the sense of security she’d longed for.

Dionne paused, contemplating. After a moment, she answered, “By the beach. I want a beach wedding.”

Just then, Larkin happened to pass by her door. He barged straight in.

“What wedding?”

Dionne hung up the phone and acted as if nothing had happened.

“A friend’s wedding,” she lied.

Larkin felt she had been acting strangely lately. Narrowing his eyes, he questioned her, “Which friend is getting married? How come I haven’t heard anything about it?”

Dionne met his gaze head-on and raised an eyebrow. “Since when have you ever cared about anything going on in my life?”

For a moment, Larkin was left speechless by her retort.

Seeing him at a loss for words, Dionne sneered inwardly and said calmly, “It’s getting late. You should get some rest now.”

Normally, Larkin would’ve left it at that. But this time, he didn’t go.

Instead, he stepped closer, trapping her by the waist. His tone was unreadable when he said, “Didn’t you always want a child? I’ll make it up to you this time.”

There had been a time when those words would’ve made her heart race because she used to want to tie him down with a child.

But now, all she wanted was to leave him and take nothing that tied her to him.

“Let’s talk about it another time. I’m not in the mood for that tonight.”

Larkin had already lowered himself to say this much for her, and her coldness enraged him even more.

In his eyes, she was just making a fuss.

He let go of her with a scoff. “Suit yourself.”

After he left, Dionne took another shower, scrubbing every spot he had touched.

The next day, she went to the company; there was still a lot of stuff she needed to take care of.

But she hadn’t even stepped into the building when a crowd suddenly swarmed her, throwing eggs and vegetable leaves at her.

“That’s her! Dionne—the adopted daughter who dared to plagiarize the real heiress’s work! She even signed her own name! How shameless!”

“And that’s not all! She’s also a homewrecker! Everyone knows the Jablonski CEO is going to marry Miss Farrah, but this woman keeps clinging to him like a leech! If that’s not seduction, what is?”

“I’ve got a juicy scoop! This morning, I saw her walking out of the Jablonskis’ family villa. She definitely is the other woman! What a slut!”

“You filthy bitch! The Willoughbys took you in, and this is how you repay them? Seducing the real daughter’s fiancé? You deserve to be beaten to death!”

Covered in eggs and filth, Dionne screamed, “I didn’t plagiarize anything! I’m not a homewrecker either!”

Just then, the screen on the building across the street lit up, playing a video of the CEO.

“The artwork in question was indeed plagiarized by Dionne from her sister Farrah. But this is her first offense, so I hope the public can forgive her just this once.”

The words echoed like a death sentence.

In an instant, every word of defense Dionne had tried to utter collapsed into meaningless noise—she had no way to defend her name.

When she went back home, Larkin frowned at the state she was in.

“Why were those people so brutal? What happened to your hand? Did someone splash acid on you?”

For the first time ever, he looked genuinely concerned.

But Dionne just yanked her arm away and sneered, “Isn’t this exactly what you should’ve expected?”

She laughed bitterly. “You’re the one who publicly told the world I plagiarized Farrah.”

“I spent three years painting that piece, Larkin. Three years. The inspiration behind it came from my love for you. And you—” her voice cracked. “Did you feel no guilt at all, standing there on that screen and telling that lie?”

“Larkin.” Her gaze locked on him. “When you called me a plagiarist, did your heart ache even a little?”

Every word struck hard and Larkin’s fists clenched tighter and tighter.

But he tried to console her.

“I know you’ve been wronged, Dionne. But Farrah is the Willoughbys’ rightful daughter. She can’t let a scandal like plagiarism to stain her name.”

“Don’t worry. Just give it time,” he advised, trying to sound reassuring. “The internet will forget about all of this eventually. And with me supporting you, you don’t even need to go to work.”

“Dionne, I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, his voice edged with a condition. “But tonight is Farrah’s award ceremony. It’s the most important moment of her life. I can’t miss it.”

He stepped toward the door then glanced back. “Stay home like a good girl, alright? I’ll come make it up to you later.”

With that, the door closed behind him.

Dionne sank to the floor, laughing and crying at the same time.

That was the man she had loved for so many years?!

With unsteady hands, she dialed Brixton’s number.

“Forget waiting a week,” she said. “I want you to come pick me up right now.”

There wasn’t a moment of hesitation on the other end. “Alright.”

Half an hour later, Dionne placed the divorce papers and resignation letter right on the center of the dining table.

She took nothing but her ID, along with years’ worth of sketches.

Neither Larkin nor Farrah knew that each of her paintings had gone through hundreds of drafts.

Those drafts were enough to crush them both.

With that, she tossed away the keys to the villa and, without glancing back, she stepped outside.

On the runway nearby, the helicopter slowly landed.

Backlit by the sunset, Brixton walked toward her.

“I’m here to take you away, Dionne. Every injustice you’ve suffered… I’ll make sure they’ll pay for it.”