The moment Mira was thrown into the sea, freezing water rushed into her nose and mouth, and the salt, the suffocating pressure, and the pain exploding in her lungs gradually dragged her into unconsciousness.

Mira stopped struggling and let her body sink.

That night, Julian Cross was patrolling by boat when he saw someone fall into the water not far away, while another vessel sped off.

He rushed over and pulled her out.

When Mira was taken to the hospital, the doctor shook his head and said, "The nerve damage is too severe, she may never be able to walk again."

Three full years later, a miracle happened and Mira woke up, but she could only spend more than a thousand days and nights confined to a hospital bed.

After countless surgeries and endless rehabilitation, she finally regained the ability to walk, but her body had already been completely ruined.

What was even worse were the psychological effects, as darkness, enclosed spaces, and even the smell of seawater could trigger intense panic.

She developed severe PTSD and claustrophobia.

At night, Mira often dreamed of sinking into the deep sea, while Lucien stood at the bow, watching her descend with cold indifference.

From the moment she sank into the sea to her recovery, Mira spent a full five years.

After being discharged, Mira worked as a consultant at a top-tier art auction house in Northhaven.

Mira deliberately chose this job to stay away from the harbor, away from the underworld, and away from anything connected to Lucien.

She even moved to Eastborough, trying to seal that past away forever with a new job, a new identity, and a new life.

A few days later, she attended a private gallery opening on behalf of her company.

Mira wore a sharply tailored dark green silk gown, with flawless makeup and a composed, confident demeanor.

But the moment she turned and caught sight of the man standing before the painting Sea of Night out of the corner of her eye, her entire body went rigid.

It was Lucien.

He wore a custom black suit, his figure more imposing than five years ago, his profile sharp as if carved, and when his gaze swept across the crowd, the air around him seemed to freeze.

But when his eyes landed on Mira, his pupils shrank sharply, and the glass in his hand was nearly crushed.

Time seemed to stand still.

He walked toward her, each step feeling as if it landed directly on her heart.

He stopped in front of her, his gaze darkening, and said in a low voice, "Mira."

Mira's fingers trembled as she tried to step back, but her heels felt rooted to the ground.

Her throat tightened, and she could only manage to whisper, "Lucien…"

"You disappeared without a trace, not even leaving a single explanation." He stepped closer, his presence burning yet cold, and said, "And now you're back, do you think I'll just let you go?"

Mira shook her head desperately, her eyes stinging, and said, "I didn't mean to disappear like that..."

"Oh really?" He sneered and grabbed her wrist, his grip so tight it hurt to the bone, and said, "Don't tell me you didn't betray me. You didn't treat me like something you could throw away whenever you wanted."

Curious glances from the surrounding guests turned toward them.

Mira felt those stares like needles pricking her back, a ringing slowly building in her ears. She tried to pull free, but his grip was like iron, completely unyielding.

At that moment, a waiter pushed past with a cart, the crowd shifting and forcing her into a curtained display alcove in the corner. Heavy velvet curtains dropped, enclosing the space on all sides as the lights dimmed abruptly.

The moment darkness swallowed her vision, her world collapsed.

The sharp, salty scent of seawater seemed to flood her nose again, while the pain of chains dragging at her ankles flared through her nerves.

"No… don't… let me out…"

She curled up on the ground, trembling all over as tears slipped down silently, like a trapped animal stripped of all defenses.

The curtain was pulled open.

Lucien stood in the light, looking down at her as she fell apart. His chest tightened sharply, and for a moment he almost bent down to help her.

But the next second, anger overwhelmed any sympathy, remembering how she had fled five years ago. And now she was putting on this pitiful act, for who to see?

"Have you finished your act?" His voice turned cold, yet he still grabbed Mira's wrist and pulled her out of the alcove.

Mira lifted her face, and through her blurred, tear-filled vision, she saw nothing but the hatred surging in his eyes.

She simply shook her head over and over, as if trying to cast out all the grievance, fear, love, and hatred of the past five years.

Lucien looked at her despairing eyes and pained expression, feeling as if something inside his chest had been torn open.

But he couldn't allow himself to soften.

She had been the one who walked away first.

She had no right to regret it.

Lucien stared at her despair, a dull ache spreading through his chest, yet he still said coldly, "From today on, you're not going anywhere, anyone who betrays me will pay the price."

Mira fled the gallery halfway through, stumbling back to her apartment and immediately booking a flight to Frosthaven.

She couldn't stay here any longer, not even for a second.

But the moment she stepped out of the elevator with her suitcase, two black SUVs pulled up in front of her.

The doors opened, and bodyguards stepped out, respectful yet firm, "Ms. Winslow, Mr. Yates requests that you return to the estate."

She struggled, "I'm not going, let me go!"

"Sorry," the man said calmly, "Mr. Yates said that this time, you won't be given another chance to run."

Mira was brought back to Lucien, and the heavy oak doors of the estate shut behind her with a dull, echoing thud.

She didn't dare lift her head and could only stare at the intricate dark-gold patterns on the carpet, like a vast net dragging her back into the abyss of five years ago.

Lucien stood by the window, his suit jacket casually draped over a chair, his sleeves rolled to his forearms, revealing veins faintly raised along his wrists.

He said nothing, but the silence was more suffocating than any outburst.

He finally spoke, "Why did you run?"

Mira twisted the fabric of her dress, her knuckles blanching. "I didn't…"

Lucien's gaze turned cold as he said, "Where were you when Conrad died? I gave you a chance to make things right, as long as you confessed, I wouldn't kill you, but you ran, Mira, and you disappointed me."

Mira's breath caught.

Conrad's death had nothing to do with her.

But her throat felt sealed shut, and she couldn't force out a single word, as the aftermath of her trauma left her unable to speak.

Lucien stepped closer, his shadow falling over her as he said, "Did you think changing your name and moving to a new city would erase what you'd done?"

Mira stepped back until her spine pressed against the cold wall.

The enclosed space, the crushing pressure, and Lucien's presence all triggered her at once.

The scene before her began to distort.

It was no longer a luxurious room, but dark seawater.

It was no longer Lucien's face, but Selena's twisted smile.

The air no longer carried the scent of cedar, but the sharp, salty smell of the sea.

"No…"

She broke into uncontrollable cold sweats, digging her nails into her arm in an attempt to snap herself back with pain. But her body trembled uncontrollably, cold sweat soaking through her back.

Lucien frowned and said, "Who are you pretending for? When you jumped into the sea five years ago, you weren't afraid then, were you?"

Those words were like a key, unlocking the gates of hell in an instant.

Mira's pupils shrank as she let out a broken, animal-like whimper.

She slid to the ground, curling into herself and clutching her head as if that alone could keep the terror at bay.

Lucien froze. He had never seen Mira like this, fragile and shattered.

The Mira he knew had once been radiant and bold, like a beautiful Persian cat.

But in the next second, anger surged. She was acting, she had to be acting.

"Get up!" He yanked her up by the wrist with a force that nearly crushed bone and said, "Someone who betrayed me has no right to act crazy in front of me."

Mira was thrown onto the bed and struggled instinctively, not against Lucien, but against the nightmare of drowning.

But in Lucien's eyes, her struggle became rejection.

"So now you won't even let me touch you?" he sneered as he pinned her wrists down and pressed his knee against her legs, "Is it because you found someone new, or because you think I'm beneath a Winslow daughter like you?"

Mira shook her head desperately as tears poured down.

She tried to speak, but the PTSD episode left her only able to produce broken, incoherent sobs.

Lucien watched her cry, a dull ache tightening in his chest, yet his hatred only deepened.

Conrad, who had watched Lucien grow up, had died because of a woman like her.

"Since you won't speak," he said hoarsely as he grabbed the fabric at her shoulder and tore it down, "then remember it with your body, you belong to me, and you'll never escape."

The sound of tearing fabric echoed in the room.

The moment the fabric slipped from her shoulder, Mira let out a sharp, piercing scream as her body arched.

Lucien froze mid-motion.

Moonlight filtered through the curtains and fell across her bare shoulder and neck, revealing a network of pink scars crossing over one another.

Scars like these covered Mira's entire body, some from surgical stitches, others from self-inflicted wounds, leaving her looking like a rag doll torn apart and barely pieced back together.

His pupils contracted violently.

Before he could take it in, Mira suddenly stopped struggling. She lay on her back, her hollow eyes fixed on the ceiling as tears slid silently down, one drop, then another, soaking into the pillow.

She no longer cried or struggled, leaving behind only a stillness that felt like something inside her had completely died.

Lucien's hand froze midair.

At that moment, he suddenly remembered eight years ago in the hospital, when the first thing she said after waking up was, "Why did you save me?"

Back then, her gaze had been stubborn, yet beautiful.

But now, there was nothing left in those eyes, only a hollow emptiness that unsettled him.

He abruptly let go and stood up as if he had been burned. It felt as if something had been torn open in his chest, the pain so sharp he could barely breathe.

"Useless." He gritted his teeth, unsure whether he was cursing her or himself.

He turned and strode toward the door, but paused with his hand on the handle. His back stiffened as he said in a voice barely audible, "Don't even think about running again. If I catch you next time, I will kill you."

The door slammed shut.

Mira collapsed onto the bed, curling into herself and burying her face in her knees as her shoulders trembled silently.

After an unknown amount of time, footsteps and voices sounded outside the door.

"Lucien, don't be angry anymore," Selena said, "she isn't worth it. If I hadn't discovered it in time five years ago, the entire family would have been destroyed."

Lucien remained silent.

Selena let out a soft laugh and said, "That night, you were drunk and held me, saying 'thank God I have you,' from that moment on, I knew there was a place for me in your heart."

Lucien still said nothing, but he didn't deny it either.

"Stop thinking about her," Selena said in a coaxing tone, "come with me tomorrow to try on dresses, I've already booked the church in Silvera."

"Mm." Lucien finally responded, his voice tired yet gentle.

In the darkness, Mira's eyes widened.

Five years ago.

He had been drunk… holding Selena and saying, "thank God I have you"…

So he had already found someone new.

So when he said, "when you come back, we'll go to Silvera," it had never been meant for Mira.

So she had truly been nothing more than a tool to strike at the Winslow family.

Her tears stopped falling.

Her heart stopped hurting.

When pain reached its limit, only numbness remained.

The next day, the church in Silvera hosted the mafia's annual gala, which also happened to be Selena's birthday.

Lucien used this occasion to connect with business partners from around the world and expand his empire's reach.

He stood beside the fountain, with Selena leaning against him.

This birthday celebration had been carefully planned by her, ostensibly a party, but in truth a declaration to the four great families that she was Lucien's future wife.

"Lucien, the bishop will be blessing us later." Selena said softly as her fingers brushed lightly against his cufflink.

Lucien didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the distant blue sea, yet it felt as though something inside him had been hollowed out.

For three days, Mira had remained silent in the estate, like a lifeless porcelain doll.

Late at night, he stood outside her door, hearing only her suppressed sobs.

One of his men rushed through the crowd and said in a low voice, "Mr. Yates, a man has broken into the estate and is in Ms. Winslow's room."

Lucien's pupils shrank.

The next second, he slammed his champagne glass onto the table, the sharp sound echoing as the amber liquid spilled across the surface.

Amid the guests' startled cries, he strode toward the helipad.

Selena's face turned ashen as her nails dug into her palm.

Mira again.

The helicopter landed on the estate lawn, and Lucien rushed into the main building, heading straight for the third-floor bedroom.

The door was ajar, and he kicked it open.

Julian stood by the bed, speaking softly to Mira curled in the corner, "Come with me, I'll take you out of here."

Mira looked up, and the moment she saw Lucien, her face turned deathly ashen.

She instinctively moved behind Julian, clutching tightly at the hem of his clothes.

Lucien's gaze darkened, like a predator locking onto its prey.

"Julian." He said in a low voice, "Trespassing on private property, even if I execute you right now, it would still be justified."

Julian turned slowly, not backing down, "I'm a police investigator with a warrant. You are illegally detaining Mira. This is a crime. Release her immediately."