Among the elite families on the north side of the Capital, everyone agreed on one thing: the true heiress the Winfields had newly taken back was an absolute lunatic—arrogant, spoiled, and impossible to tame.

With so many promising young bachelors to choose from, she'd set her sights on her sister's fiancé, the Sanchez family's extraordinary heir.

She'd cried, thrown fits, threatened to kill herself, and clawed her way into that engagement. And after the wedding, she wouldn't let any other woman near Ralph Sanchez.

So when Ralph, saving the fake heiress Jocelyn Winfield, let Sarah Winfield tumble down the stairs and lose her baby, the whole north-side elite waited to see the scene Sarah would surely make once she woke.

But the Sarah who woke seemed like a different person—calm and gentle. She never once mentioned the child, never once mentioned Ralph. She only made a single request of her parents.

"Dad, Mom, I want to divorce Ralph."

Ralph had just stepped into the hospital room when he heard it.

He frowned, his expression tightening, his cold eyes narrowing. "What did you say? Sarah, you want to divorce me?"

Sarah's face stayed calm. "Not allowed?"

"Just because I didn't grab you in time?" Ralph pressed two fingers to his brow, weariness in his voice. "I told you, it was an accident. It was an emergency, and Jocelyn was closest to me."

He took two steps closer, reaching to touch her shoulder as if offering a compromise. "The villa down south or the jewelry from Europe—whatever you want, I've already bought it for you. Sarah, stop sulking."

"As for the child, we'll have others later."

"Are you deaf? I want a divorce." Sarah didn't so much as blink.

Her parents exchanged a glance and sighed. "Sarah, stop making a scene. It was just an accident. After all the years those two go back, were you really going to make Ralph watch Jocelyn die? Ralph still cares about you. Marriage isn't child's play—how can you talk about divorce like it's nothing?"

"That's right, Sarah. Ralph didn't choose not to save you. It's my fault, all my fault. If only it had been me who fell down those stairs."

The girl behind Ralph spoke up meekly, eyes brimming with tears as she looked at Sarah.

The moment she made a sound, her parents, who'd just been crowding around Sarah, hurried over to comfort her.

"Jocelyn, how could this be your fault?"

Even Ralph lowered his voice. "It wasn't your fault. She was the one trying to push you. You don't need to feel guilty."

Sarah laughed coldly to herself. Jocelyn had pushed her on purpose. She'd counted on the fact that no one would blame her—after all, she looked so sweet and fragile in front of everyone.

"But—but Sarah lost the baby because of me..."

Jocelyn bit her lip, then suddenly threw herself down at Sarah's feet, sobbing. "Sarah, if you're still angry, then let my child pay for your child's life!"

Jocelyn was pregnant. The news dropped like a bomb. She was waiting for Sarah to fly into a rage, waiting for her to go mad with revenge the way she always had, and then be despised by everyone.

"Jocelyn! What nonsense are you talking about!"

Ralph watched Sarah warily, folding Jocelyn tightly into his arms.

Everyone braced for Sarah's explosion. What no one expected was that Sarah only smiled faintly. "No need. Since you're pregnant, hurry up and push Ralph to divorce me. I'll clear the spot for you right away. A child can't be without a father, after all."

The words landed, and everyone was stunned. For a moment the hospital room fell dead silent.

Sarah brushed her hair back, unbothered. No one knew that the woman standing here now was the Sarah from five years later.

In her memory, that year, when she'd heard Jocelyn was pregnant, she'd dragged her freshly miscarried body over and slapped Jocelyn across the face, then grabbed her by the hair and shoved her off the third floor.

Jocelyn had crumpled into a pool of blood, lost her baby on the spot, and would never be able to conceive again. When she woke, depression consumed her, and she slit her wrists.

After that, Sarah's whole world changed.

Her parents, grief-stricken and furious, drove her out of the Winfield house, cut off all ties, and declared they no longer had such a vicious daughter.

Ralph came to hate her with a poison that ran deep. He wouldn't divorce her—still kept her as Mrs. Sanchez—yet used every means he had to make her pay.

He gave Sarah no living allowance, forbade any industry from hiring her. She could only live in the dampest basement, eat expired bread, take the most grueling odd jobs. Her body carried countless scars, and every single day she had to fight with everything she had just to stay alive.

For five years Sarah drank the dregs of suffering, sick and aching all over, until at last, unable to bear the weight, she collapsed in a hospital.

When she woke again, it was now.

Heaven had shown her mercy—she could return to the past. This time, she would stay far away from Ralph, far away from the Winfields.

"Sarah, say that again." Ralph snapped back to himself, his face darkening. "You really want to divorce me?"

"What else? Let the baby in her belly be a bastard?" Sarah's tone was cold and remote.

Ralph's long eyes narrowed slightly, as if certain she was still sulking. His manner softened, and he took hold of her shoulders, easing the strain that had drawn taut in the room.

"All right, stop being angry. Don't worry, the place of Mrs. Sanchez will always be yours. Even with Jocelyn pregnant, that won't change. Once you've healed, I'll take you to the Maldives to clear your head."

His palm was dry and warm, gripping hard—the very warmth she'd once craved most.

Sarah didn't pull away. She only looked into Ralph's eyes and found the whole thing a little funny.

Ralph was so sure she'd never actually leave, because the old Sarah had threatened divorce every time, and every time she couldn't bring herself to go through with it.

But the Sarah standing here now was the Sarah who'd been ground down for five years.

She pulled out the IV line and walked out of the room without a backward glance. "Suit yourself. I'll draw up the divorce agreement and send it to your email. Be sure to check for it."

A small string of blood beads came out with the needle. Sarah didn't even glance at it.

Once she'd left the hospital, she opened her chat with her old advisor.

"Professor, that geological survey team—I'd like to sign up."

Her advisor replied quickly.

"Sarah, think this through. This time the team is heading to the Alps. The conditions are brutal, and once you're in, it's three years. Do your husband and parents agree to this?"

Sarah typed out a few words without hesitation.

"Professor, no one can stand in my way."

"All right. You're my most gifted student, and the survey team welcomes you. I'll see you at the airport in seven days."

Sarah shut off her screen. She wouldn't look back again. But before that, she had every score to settle.

Sarah Winfield took a cab back to the home she'd shared with Ralph Sanchez. She walked into the bedroom and, numb, began gathering her things. The season's newest dresses, the priciest necklaces from the auction house, the most fully loaded designer bags from the boutiques. Ralph had given her a great deal.

But once she peeled away that mask wrapped in counterfeit affection, Sarah saw it clearly. The dresses were the lake-blue Jocelyn Winfield favored. The necklaces were the rubies Jocelyn liked. Even the bags were styles Jocelyn preferred.

Back then, drowning in that so-called love, she'd overlooked the contempt and the mockery in Jocelyn's eyes every single time the girl looked at her.

Sarah gave a bitter little laugh. Married this long, and Ralph probably still had no idea what she actually liked.

She crouched on the floor and went through everything piece by piece, until she came to an ice-jade pendant. She turned it over. Engraved on the back, tiny, was the letter "J." It had been custom-made. Given to the wrong woman.

None of it mattered anymore. She didn't cry. She just took photos, then packed away a few old belongings from before.

One simple suitcase, light as though she herself had never existed.

Once she'd packed part of her things, Sarah called Byron Simmons, a divorce lawyer with a considerable reputation in the field.

"Lawyer Simmons, draft me a divorce agreement."

Those five years were like a nightmare, reminding her at every hour that she was nothing but a stray dog everyone had thrown away. She couldn't wait to leave this place.

The moment she had the divorce agreement, Sarah emailed it straight to Ralph. But Ralph didn't respond.

For days on end, Ralph didn't come home, as if he were waiting for Sarah to bow her head. He spent those days at Jocelyn's side.

The entertainment headlines exploded, again and again. One day they caught him down on one knee tying Jocelyn's shoelace. The next, they caught him tenderly shielding Jocelyn on her way into the auction house.

This was his usual move. The old Sarah had swallowed it whole, going to grovel and apologize every single time.

Now, lying on the bed, Sarah felt an unexpected calm. She should have known long ago. She'd been the cuckoo in the wrong nest. Ralph had never wanted the Winfields' true heiress. He only wanted Jocelyn. No matter how hard she'd tried, it had made no difference.

She scrolled through the news screenshots, her finger dragging across them, saving each one, and along with the earlier photos of the jewelry, sent them all to Byron.

"Evidence of the marital gifts is complete. For years Ralph gave gifts under the guise of gifting his wife, when the actual recipient was Jocelyn Winfield. Suspected transfer of marital assets."

"Public intimacy with a third party during the marriage. Chain of evidence supplemented."

If Ralph refused to sign the divorce agreement, she would take this evidence and sue for divorce.

Over those days she'd done a great deal, methodically. Saying goodbye to close friends, settling the sponsorship contracts she had on hand, handing off her work, run off her feet with it all.

By the time she saw Ralph and Jocelyn again, three days had passed. It was at Harry Harris's birthday banquet.

Harry was a man of great standing and respect, one of the few who had shown her any kindness back when she'd just been recognized into the Winfield family.

"Sis, you came."

Jocelyn slipped nimbly through the perfumed, glittering crowd, drifting over like a butterfly, her eyes bright with a smile as they settled on the necklace at Sarah's throat.

"Is it this season's new piece, Sis? What a coincidence, I have one too."

Following Jocelyn's gaze, Sarah took in the necklace hanging at that fair throat. Its ruby was clearly larger than the one on hers.

Her guess had been right. All these years of gifts had been what Ralph wanted to give Jocelyn. Hers were only the scraps.

Ralph stood at Jocelyn's side in the posture of a guardian. A talented man, a beautiful woman, a well-matched pair.

His expression turned uneasy, and just as he was about to explain, Sarah smiled. "Yours is lovely too."

She wouldn't care about these trivial little details anymore. None of it mattered.

Before the banquet began, Jocelyn tugged Sarah away with a smile, saying playfully, "I want a few private words with my sister. Ralph, you're not allowed to follow."

Ralph watched Sarah, uneasy, his eyes full of warning. He leaned in, his voice low and rough. "Nothing can happen to the baby in Jocelyn's belly. Sarah, you know where the line is. Don't make me angry."

Sarah turned her head and glanced at him. The look in her eyes was calm, calm enough that Ralph felt an inexplicable flicker of panic. Then she brushed Jocelyn's hand off and eased back a step. "Say whatever you have to say right here. I don't think we're close enough for private words."

Jocelyn smiled and leaned in close. "It's about your grandmother's keepsake."

Sarah's face changed. Before she was recognized into the Winfield family, she and her grandmother had leaned on each other to survive. Later, when her grandmother died, Judy Winfield had found it all bad luck and thrown out everything her grandmother left behind.

She went with Jocelyn all the same. But before she did, her finger silently pressed the record button inside her pocket.

Jocelyn wanted to set a trap for her. But this time, Sarah would not walk into any trap empty-handed.

Jocelyn's steps halted at a corner on the second floor, out of everyone's sight. She smiled sweetly, her eyes brimming with provocation.

"Sis, if I were to fall from up here, do you think Mom and Dad would throw you out of the Winfield family?"

The words had barely left her mouth when Jocelyn threw herself backward and fell, the enormous crash startling everyone below.

"Crack!"

Watching Jocelyn Winfield crumple onto the floor, Judy Winfield was the first to rush over.

Her hands and feet had gone ice-cold. She struck Sarah Winfield hard across the face, her voice shrill. "Jocelyn already knelt down and apologized to you. What more revenge do you want? How can you be so vicious? How did I ever end up with a daughter like you? Get out of my sight!"

"If anything happens to Jocelyn, I will never let you off!"

A high-pitched ringing filled Sarah's ears, and for a moment she couldn't hear. She cupped her cheek and sank to the floor, as if she'd been thrown back to that hopeless afternoon five years ago.

Everyone's faces twisted as they accused her, screaming curses until their voices broke.

It was the nightmare she would never forget.

"It wasn't me!"

Sarah convulsed slightly, as if from shock. Why, when she'd already swallowed her grievance, would these people still not let her go?

She snapped back to herself, pulling free of the collapse rising inside her, and said coldly, "I didn't push her!"

Sarah pressed the recorder gently. She was waiting for the scene to blow up a little more. She wanted every single person to see Jocelyn Winfield's true face.

The commotion swelled. Judy wouldn't hear a word of it. Eyes red, she clawed at Sarah. "You think Jocelyn's insane? That she'd just throw herself down the stairs?"

"Enough."

A cool, faintly hoarse voice cut through the uproar. Ralph Sanchez stood at the third-floor railing, leaning against it, his expression somber.

"Ralph, you're up there?"

Judy looked up, startled, and every gaze in the room turned to Ralph.

Judy let out a cold laugh. "Sarah won't admit it no matter what. Ralph, you tell us. Did Jocelyn fall on her own, or did Sarah push her? Let's put her to rest for good."

Ralph had been on the second floor. From there he must have seen exactly what happened at the turn of the staircase!

Sarah rose and looked straight at him, her voice soft. "You were on the third floor the whole time. You saw everything, didn't you? I didn't push Jocelyn."

Her eyes were rimmed red, and she looked utterly helpless, yet her other hand pressed the recorder on again.

Ralph steadied her, smoothing her gown, a flicker of tenderness in his eyes. But when he lifted his gaze, he saw Jocelyn lying in Judy's arms.

Her face was terrified and bloodless, as though she might shatter in the next breath. She was, after all, the girl he'd carried in his heart for so many years, and she was carrying a child now. Ralph couldn't help but hesitate.

He gripped Sarah's shoulder, his expression gentle, and told himself that even if the Winfields despised Sarah, she was still their true daughter by blood, and blood could not be changed.

But Jocelyn was only their adopted daughter. If she fell out of their favor, she'd be finished for life.

After a moment's thought, Ralph pressed his lips together and said, one word at a time, "I saw it. Sarah pushed Jocelyn."

What? The color drained from Sarah's face in an instant. She tilted her head up in disbelief, as if she had never known Ralph at all.

So whether it was five years ago or five years later, Ralph's heart would never lean toward her.

She had always thought all the torment and pain of her past life, and Ralph's hatred of her, were because she had pushed Jocelyn.

But only now did she understand. That wasn't it.

"Crack!" Sarah lifted her hand and slapped Ralph across the face.

Sarah defended herself one last time, then silently switched off the recorder in her pocket. That one line was enough.

"Sarah Winfield!"

Rolf Winfield's face was livid. Nothing mattered more to him than his reputation, and to have his own daughter harm his beloved adopted daughter in front of all the elite of the Capital's north side enraged him all the more.

If this wasn't handled properly, wouldn't everyone learn that the Winfield family had no proper upbringing?

Rolf's hand came down across her face.

"What did your sister ever do to you, that you keep bullying her again and again? Come home with me!"

One of the wealthy wives let out a cold sneer. "Raised in the slums. No wonder that wildness can't be scrubbed out of her. She needs a good, hard lesson."

The birthday banquet had been thrown into chaos, yet Old Mr. Harris showed no anger. He only urged Rolf, "Sarah isn't that kind of child."

But Rolf wouldn't listen. He forced Sarah home and brought out the rattan cane.

"There's a Sanchez grandchild in your sister's belly. If anything happens to it, can you bear the consequences?"

Sarah struggled, unwilling to yield. "Dad, have you forgotten? I'm your real daughter! I'll say it one more time. I didn't push her. She threw herself down!"