For ten years, she had been his most cherished treasure. No matter how indifferent he seemed, the ache buried in his heart ran deeper than he’d ever admit.

When Weston caught the redness in Brittany’s eyes, frustration surged through him.

He wanted to reach out, to say something, anything. Still, before he could move, Theresa clutched his sleeve, shaking her head in silent warning.

But the hurt in Brittany’s expression was like a dagger twisting in his chest. This time, Weston didn’t let Theresa stop him.

He followed Brittany upstairs, only to be met with a locked attic door.

Just as he raised his hand to knock, he froze.

Her voice carried through the wooden barrier, soft, trembling, raw.

She had loved him in secret for years. The only person she had ever given her heart to.

Yet, time and time again, he had been the one to hurt her the most.

Lying on her bed, curled up in quiet anguish, she flipped through her diary, pages filled with memories of him. Of them. Every fleeting moment, every small kindness, every stolen glance.

A love was unspoken. A wound never healed.

And now, all he could do was stand on the other side of the door.

Tear stains, unnoticed and forgotten, bled into the ink, smudging the words she once held so dearly.

She was hurt. And then, she laughed.

A quiet, breathless sound, as if the weight of it all had finally crushed her.

“Don’t worry, brother. I won’t cling to you anymore. I won’t like you anymore.”

Her whispered vow slipped past the door, landing straight in Weston’s ears like a dagger.

He should have felt relieved.

This was what he had wanted, to make her let go.

For as long as he could remember, she had been the most precious thing in his life. His little sister. His responsibility. But the moment she confessed she loved him, something inside him recoiled.

It was wrong. Impossible. Unthinkable.

She was eight years younger than him. How could he ever see her that way?

He refused to lead her down a path she could never take. And more than anything—he simply didn’t love her like that.

But now, standing outside her door, listening to the raw, broken pieces of her heart spill into the silence, he felt no relief at all.

It would pass.

She would grow up.

One day, she would understand that everything he had done was for her own good.

So why did it feel like he had just lost something he could never get back?

The charity gala was a spectacle of wealth and prestige, shimmering under the glow of crystal chandeliers. For Brittany, it was her first time stepping into a world so grand, where every smile hid a secret, and every handshake sealed a deal.

Weston’s company had only recently secured its place among the elite. A few years ago, they wouldn’t have even made the guest list. Now, he was an honored figure among them.

The red carpet gleamed beneath the dazzling lights. Weston stood tall in a tailored black suit, his presence commanding, his sharp features unreadable. Beside him, Theresa, draped in a striking red gown, looked every bit the perfect match.

Like a bride beside her groom.

Brittany trailed behind them, her gaze fixed on Weston’s back, committing it to memory, one of the last chances she’d have to do so.

A reporter’s voice cut through the hum of conversation. “Mr. Beverleigh, we’ve heard wonderful news about you and Miss Walker. When’s the wedding?”

Weston’s reply was steady. “We’re already making preparations.”

Theresa smiled, lifting her hand to display the diamond ring on her finger. The crowd erupted in cheers, cameras flashing like a sky full of stars.

“Miss Walker, you left a high-paying career as a psychologist to pursue songwriting, and your music has touched so many. Everyone’s curious: what’s the story behind your romance?”

For the first time that evening, Weston’s movements faltered.

Almost instinctively, his gaze swept through the sea of elegantly dressed guests, searching for Brittany.

But she was gone.

"Mr. Beverleigh? Mr. Beverleigh?"

The reporter’s repeated calls snapped him back to the present.

He exhaled lightly, forcing a small smile. "It's nothing special. For Theresa and me, it was love at first sight."

For the first time in a long while, the man known for his cold indifference softened. A rare warmth flickered in his gaze as he looked at Theresa, his expression almost tender.

"That song belongs to the past now. Because I love her, I would never let her endure a one-sided love alone. From now on, I’ll be the one taking the lead. I will make sure Theresa becomes the happiest woman in the world."

Screams erupted one after another. Theresa stood frozen, her eyes rimmed with red.

She murmured, "Weston..."

"I heard that the renowned overseas American multinational investor, Mr. Lennox, and his wife will also be attending your wedding..."

Behind a stone pillar outside the auction hall, Brittany stood motionless.

From that moment on, everything else faded into silence.

Her thoughts stalled at Weston’s words.

If he loved her, he would never have let her suffer through a one-sided crush.

He had erased her love. Denied the song he had once written.

Brittany curled her lips into a smirk, too drained to even cry.

During those endless days in the psychiatric hospital…

She had shed enough tears.

Supporting herself on her knees, she bent over, trying to steady her breath. Just as she pushed herself up, a bright, crisp voice suddenly rang above her head.

"So you're... Brittany?"

The face before her struck a chord of familiarity as if she had seen it somewhere before.

A high nose bridge, sharp brows, deep-set eyes, his features were undeniably striking. Yet, the dark circles beneath them hinted at excess, as if indulgence had long replaced rest.

At that moment, those piercing eyes narrowed slightly, scanning Brittany the way one might evaluate a new acquisition.

"I am Brittany. May I ask who you are?"

The man blinked, snapping out of his initial surprise. His expression turned oddly amused.

"You don’t recognize me?" He let out a low chuckle. "I'm Russell Quinn. Strange… Theresa said you were making a scene, insisting on marrying me."

Theresa. Russell.

Brittany let out a bitter laugh.

"You must be mistaken. I don’t even know you. Why would I insist on marrying you?"

Suppressing the discomfort coursing through her, she turned to leave.

But before she could step, a firm grip closed around her wrist. Without warning, she was yanked forcefully into a secluded corner.

A strange scent clung to the air, dulling her senses. Just as Brittany parted her lips to call for help, a firm hand gripped her chin, tilting her face upward.

Russell's gaze swept over her, slow and assessing, before his lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

"Drop the act. Your brother already made a deal with my mother. Once Theresa and your brother are married, you’ll be marrying me. At first, I figured any woman desperate enough to chase after me would be an unbearable nuisance. Still, looking at you now… you’re not half bad. Still, let’s get one thing straight: our marriage is nothing more than a business transaction. Don’t even think about meddling with the women I bring home."

His indifferent tone sent a tremor of rage through Brittany.

Even in the suffocating days at St. Darius Psychiatric Hospital, she had never endured such humiliation.

The family she came from valued intellect and refinement. Her parents had raised her on classical literature and etiquette, instilling grace in her every step. When she grew older, Weston shielded her from the world, crafting an isolated paradise where every person she met, from high school to university, was personally vetted by him.

Now, she stood before a man who treated her like a bargaining chip, his words dripping with contempt.

"Have some respect. Since we clearly despise each other, there’s no reason for us to speak any further."

Brittany gritted her teeth, forcing the words out as a wave of dizziness crashed over her. Something was wrong. The air felt thick and cloying, seeping into her lungs like a silent toxin.

She struggled, but her limbs felt weak, utterly powerless against his grip.

"Oh, don’t tell me you think you’re too good for me?" His lips twisted into a smirk. "Everyone knows you spent time in a psychiatric hospital. And let’s not forget, you’re not even Weston’s real sister. Just an orphan. Who else would take you? Be a good girl after we’re married, and I’ll ensure you don’t starve."

His breath, thick with the scent of alcohol and arrogance, fanned against her forehead, sending a shudder of revulsion through her.

"I know you like Weston. But let me give you some free advice: you have no idea who’s backing Theresa. Forget you. Even Weston wouldn’t dare cross them. Keep pushing, and you might just find yourself right back in that psychiatric hospital."

How did he know these secrets?

Her brother had sworn that no one else would ever find out.

Russell’s voice dipped, his breath fanning against her skin as he leaned in.

Panic flared in Brittany’s chest. Her fingers twitched, brushing against the small self-defense knife in her pocket, an old habit from her time in the psychiatric hospital.

Her pulse pounded as she fought against his grip, her fingers fumbling for the handle. Then, in a desperate surge, she drove the blade straight into his palm.

A sharp cry tore from Russell’s throat. The scent of blood, hot and metallic, cut through the cloying air.

"You, Brittany! Are you insane?!"

His grip slackened, but before he could fully recoil, she struck. A brutal slap cracked across his face, forcing him back.

Blood smeared her palm from the struggle, branding his cheek with a deep, crimson print.

The sight was jarring, shocking.

Like a cornered beast, Brittany lashed out, raw instinct taking over. Fear and fury melded into one, a desperate retaliation against the looming threat of being overpowered again.

Brittany swung her bag wildly, striking wherever she could, her knife clenched in a white-knuckled grip. She lashed out with reckless desperation, kicking, thrashing, unleashing every ounce of humiliation and fury bottled up inside her.

The uproar drew a crowd.

And when Weston pushed through the sea of onlookers, this was the sight that greeted him,

His delicately sheltered younger sister, hands smeared with blood, a knife in her grasp, forcing a man nearly a head taller than her into a panicked retreat.

"Brittany! Have you lost your mind?!"

At the sound of his voice, she lifted her head.

Her eyes, hollow, distant, didn’t even register him. Instead, her gaze drifted past him, locking onto Theresa.

Theresa paled instantly. Without hesitation, she shrank behind Weston.

Again.

Brittany’s grip tightened around the knife.

Russell’s sudden appearance wasn’t random. It wasn’t a coincidence. Every piece of this moment had been orchestrated, leading her straight into their trap.

A cruel realization settled over her like a suffocating weight.

She was just an orphan. How was she supposed to fight Theresa? To fight the Quinn family?

But as the thought coiled around her mind, something even darker slithered in.

What if… all of this wasn’t just Theresa’s doing?

What if Weston had arranged it, too?

Brittany stepped forward, slow and unsteady, her gaze dull, exhausted. She didn’t want a fight, just an explanation.

But the moment she reached out, another hand caught her mid-air.

Weston.

His grip was firm, his expression thunderous. Did he think she was going to strike Theresa?

As if she would dare lay a hand on his beloved while he stood guard.

"Brittany! Haven’t you caused enough trouble? Don’t you owe me an explanation?!"

So, it was true.

The slap echoed like a gunshot.

“This is my explanation.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Theresa stiffened, eyes widening in disbelief.

A vivid red handprint bloomed across Weston’s cheek, tinged with the faint scent of blood.

His first instinct was to check her hand. Was she hurt?

But she yanked it back before he could touch her, stepping away as if even his presence sickened her.

Then, realization dawned. The blood wasn’t hers.

Weston’s expression darkened.

"Brittany. Have you lost your mind?"

She lifted her gaze, cold and steady.

"Brother," she murmured, each word deliberate, cutting. "Have you forgotten? You were the one who sent me to the psychiatric hospital."

Russell’s parents arrived late, only to find their son trembling like a beaten dog, his face pale with fear. Their hearts clenched at the sight.

"Oh my! What happened?! My poor boy!"

"I just wanted to introduce myself to Brittany, and out of nowhere, she pulled a knife and stabbed me! Dad! Mom! I told you we shouldn't marry a lunatic who came from a psychiatric hospital! Even Theresa couldn’t fix her! She’s completely insane!"

"And disgusting enough to harbor a secret crush on her foster brother!"

The flash of cameras erupted like a ruthless thunderstorm, capturing Brittany in her moment of disgrace, perhaps the greatest humiliation of her life.