"You're here?" Stanley glanced at me, set down the dainty fruit plate, and picked up the plastic container beside it to hand to me. "Saved these for you."

　　I gave it a careless glance. Inside were nothing but scattered, irregular chunks of pulp, obviously the scraps left over from carving his rabbit-shaped apple slices.

　　I still remembered how, after Stanley first stumbled across one of those videos, he'd thrown himself into trying it, nicking his fingers three times before he finally produced a single perfect little apple rabbit.

　　Back then I'd teased him, laughing, "You're getting this good at it. Which little sweetheart are you trying to win over?"

　　He'd pulled me close, doting all over me, flicked the tip of my nose, and said, "Who else would I bother for, except my own little tyrant? I'll never make these for anyone else as long as I live. If I do, may I get hit by a car the second I step out the door."

　　Pity. Promises only hold while love does.

　　I didn't know exactly when Stanley's heart had turned, but I'd traced it back: Samantha first appeared on his radar two years ago.

　　Seeing that I didn't take the container, Stanley frowned.

　　On the hospital bed, Samantha lay pale and fragile, her voice soft and pitiful. "Miss Stephens, do you find dear Stanley beneath you? He didn't make you a rabbit, sure, but he set some aside just for you."

　　"If you throw his kindness back at him like this, you'll break his heart. And then that child's ashes, I'm afraid, might just..."

　　I didn't miss the malice glittering at the bottom of her eyes.

　　She was provoking me on purpose. Threatening me.

　　Stanley set the things down hard. "Sam, watch what you say."

　　He looked at me, his gaze calm, as though looking at a stranger passing on the street.

　　"Since you came to apologize, don't just stand there."

　　I clenched my fists so tight my nails bit into my palms, and I didn't even feel it.

　　No physical pain could touch even a fraction of what my heart was going through.

　　Watching Stanley flaunt his favoritism so openly, my chest twisted in agony.

　　"So as long as I apologize sincerely enough, you'll give me my child's ashes?"

　　I couldn't be sure my father would actually get those ashes, and I didn't dare gamble on either side's conscience.

　　Stanley's face darkened, displeased. "What are you questioning? You think I'd lie to you? Sam is kind and generous. All she's asking is an apology."

　　"Fine." I nodded.

　　I bowed ninety degrees toward Samantha and said, every word landing hard, "I'm sorry, Samantha. I shouldn't have pushed you, and I shouldn't have refused to repent and apologize."

　　I held the bow for a full three minutes before I straightened up and asked Stanley, "Is that enough?"

　　Stanley's expression shifted slightly. He stopped putting on airs. "I'll have the ashes sent back this afternoon."

　　Even with his word, I still couldn't rest easy, and pressed him. "Stanley. Remember what you said."

　　Stanley waved an impatient hand. "I won't forget."

　　After leaving the hospital, I went back to the villa and picked up where I'd left off, clearing things out. Over the years I'd bought plenty of furniture, decorations, and the like.

　　I packed all of it up to sell.

　　Every piece had been paid for with my own money, back before I got pregnant.

　　Later, after the baby came, Stanley couldn't bear to see me keep working, and since the child needed someone there, he talked it over with me. "Stay home and raise our son. I'll go out and earn the money to take care of you both."

　　He called it talking it over, but the truth was Stanley never left me any room to maneuver.

　　Once I'd dealt with everything and was about to lie down on the bed for a moment, Stanley barged in, bodyguards trailing behind him.

　　Before I could get a word out, Stanley spoke first. "Cindy Stephens, I actually thought you'd truly repented. I never imagined you'd be vicious enough to want Sam dead!"

　　Another crime pinned on me. Made up out of thin air.

　　I didn't even have the strength left to argue.

　　No matter what I said, Stanley wouldn't hear a word of it.

　　A conversation I'd overheard in the stairwell a few days ago came back to me all at once. Stanley had said, "I trust her."

　　That "her" was, without question, Samantha.

　　So even if I hadn't pushed her, Stanley would still believe Samantha over me.

　　My heart sank, inch by inch, and the look I gave Stanley grew calmer and calmer.

　　Stanley caught my gaze, and something jolted in his chest. For one instant, a flash of panic told him the two of us were drifting further and further apart.

　　He came back to himself, his face grim as he stared at me. "Do you admit it or not?"

　　I curled my lip and said, with a sneer, "Whether I admit it or not, you've already passed your verdict, haven't you?"

　　"You—!" He was clearly furious.

　　Fair enough. This was the first time I'd ever talked back to him. No wonder he was this angry.

　　Before I found out Stanley had cheated, before I lost Sammy, I'd done everything he asked. Whatever he said, I obeyed.

　　"You won't repent even to the grave." His voice went cold. "Take her to the cold-storage room. Let her cool off and think hard about what she's done wrong."

　　I didn't resist. I let them lead me away.

　　The moment I stepped into the cold-storage room, I knew something was wrong.

　　A pair of green eyes glowed in the dark, fixed on me.

　　My heart stopped. Why was there an attack dog in here?!

　　It charged. I pounded on the door with everything I had, begging, "Help! Open the door! There's an attack dog in here!"

　　"You locked an attack dog in with me! Stanley, let me out! Somebody help!"

　　Its teeth clamped down on my calf and I sucked in a sharp breath at the pain. The cold storage was freezing. They'd put this dog in here on purpose. They wanted me dead, right here.

　　No.

　　I couldn't die here!

　　I hadn't gotten Sammy's ashes back yet!

　　I hadn't broken free of the Vance family for good!

　　I lifted my arm and swung at the dog's head, wild and clumsy, the arc shrinking with every blow as my body stiffened in the cold.

　　The dog let go, looking for a fresh spot to tear into.

　　Out of the corner of my eye I spotted an icicle frozen along the doorframe. No time to think. I grabbed it and drove it into the dog.

　　It bit into my arm first, but I felt nothing. I just kept stabbing with the icicle, again and again, blood spraying everywhere. I didn't care.

　　Not until the dog went completely still. And the door opened, right then.

　　I saw the worried look on Stanley's face.

　　The strain of it all and the body I'd run into the ground sent me crashing into the dark.

　　When I woke again, Stanley was sitting by the bed, eyes shut, feigning sleep, dark circles bruising under them.

　　I was just about to get up and pour myself some water when he startled awake first. Seeing me awake, his voice carried a note of reproach. "You're up. Why didn't you call me? Didn't you always order me around when you were sick before?"

　　He poured me a glass of water. I didn't refuse it.

　　Once my throat felt a little better, I spoke. "Where are Sammy's ashes?"

　　His eyes flickered. He set the glass down and explained, "That dog the other day was one I'd just bought. The help wasn't watching it for a second, and it got loose into the cold storage."

　　"But don't worry, I've already dealt with the beast. I only meant to lock you in for a few minutes. Are you feeling any discomfort right now?"

　　Watching him fuss like this, anxious and on edge, I felt almost like I was back in the early days, when Stanley and I were head over heels for each other.

　　Because of my parents, I'd grown up starved for love, drowning in low self-worth. It was Stanley who appeared and lit up my gray little life.

　　That day, I'd just gotten out of class and was heading off to eat when a basketball came flying at me. In the split second before it hit, Stanley threw himself forward, shielding me with his body.

　　He turned and asked, full of concern, "Hey, you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

　　That was the first time I'd ever tasted what it felt like to be cared for and respected.

　　After that, I fell for Stanley, hopelessly, unstoppably.

　　Under my relentless pursuit, Stanley agreed to be with me. Only later did I learn that he'd been about to come ask for my number that day. He just happened to see the ball coming at me, and so, as naturally as anything, we met.

　　Once we were together, Stanley took such good care of me. He even bought that basketball, swaggering as he said, "This is Cupid's Orb. It's what brought the two of us together. We've got to put it on a pedestal."

　　Back then I laughed at how childish he was, but inside, I felt warm all over.

　　The instant my thoughts came back to the present, I heard the words that dropped me straight into an ice pit.

　　"Since you're fine now, go write a ten-thousand-word apology letter. Take a picture, post it online, and say sorry to Sammy."

　　At his words, the blood in my veins froze solid, a bitterness rising in my throat. "Stanley, I want Sammy's ashes."

　　Stanley reached up and ruffled my hair, his voice softening. "I'll give you the ashes the day after tomorrow. That's your father's birthday. He said he wanted to see them first. After he's done, I'll give them to you. Is that all right?"

　　So my father had stepped in.

　　And in two more days, I could finally leave this hellhole.

　　I let out a breath. "Fine."

　　Stanley's brow smoothed, as if pleased that I was being so reasonable.

　　"Be a good girl. There's a lot of controversy online about Sam being the other woman. You'd better clean it up. Don't let it affect her becoming my money tree."

　　"My money is your money too, Cindy. You should put some effort into this."

　　I gripped the edge of the blanket and forced out a smile. "Why don't I just hold a press conference at my father's birthday banquet the day after tomorrow and clear things up in person?"

　　I paused, then went on. "Instead of some crumpled written statement, wouldn't it be more convincing if I, a living person, admitted it with my own mouth? What do you think?"

　　The corner of Stanley's mouth curved up. "Cindy, it's wonderful that you can see it this way."

　　"We're in the same boat. We rise together, we fall together."

　　Stanley had meant to stay and keep me company a little longer, but before long, he took a call and left.

　　Soon the door to the hospital room opened, and Samantha sauntered in with a lazy stride.

　　"Well, Cindy. How does it feel to be wronged? Comfortable?"

　　I ignored her snide little jabs.

　　Samantha pinched my jaw, forcing me to meet her eyes. Hers were brimming with venom and hatred.

　　"Quit acting so high and mighty. An old woman like you can't beat me. Especially not now, when Stanley's so devoted to me."

　　"Oh, right. The baby in my belly survived. Stanley's so attentive about it. Imagine if he found out you killed his child with your own hands. What do you think he'd do to you?"

　　My hand, hidden beneath the blanket, quietly tapped the screen to start recording. Then I looked at her, my face perfectly composed. "Why did you kill my child? He was only five. Aren't you afraid heaven will punish you for what you did?"

　　Samantha flung my chin aside, contempt in her eyes. "He was just a bastard, getting in my way. I said a few things, and Stanley believed every word. Then he joined hands with me and got rid of him. Doesn't that make you furious?"

　　Of course it did.

　　Sammy was only five. He was born premature, and I'd nurtured him with such care all those years before he turned five. I never imagined that the very first time he went to school, something like this would happen.

　　Countless times afterward, I regretted it. Regretted sending Sammy to school. If only I'd hired a tutor, maybe Sammy would still be alive.

　　Samantha let out two soft laughs, then said with brazen arrogance, "It's time you handed over your place as Mrs. Vance."

　　"This isn't about the position. You're targeting me. Did I do something to you before?" I caught the flash of hatred at the bottom of her eyes.

　　Samantha scoffed. "All I did was borrow a little from your thesis, and you dragged me to court, ruined my reputation completely. You tell me, shouldn't I hate you?"

　　I had no memory of Samantha at all.

　　She seemed to have anticipated exactly that. She pulled out a photo and held it up before my eyes. "Remember now?"

　　I saw that familiar face. The girl who'd plagiarized my thesis and even won herself a slew of awards with it.

　　Back then, when I found out, I hadn't wanted to bother with it. But Stanley couldn't stand anyone laying a finger on what was mine, so he moved against her with ruthless force and made her pay the price.

　　"You had plastic surgery?" I studied the photo. Two completely different faces. Even the name and age didn't match.

　　Samantha didn't deny it. "For revenge, to get close to Stanley, of course I had to pay a price."

　　"And now I'm here to collect what you owe. Just you wait, Cindy. I'll make sure you die without even a grave to be buried in."