Perhaps Westley had long forgotten, but Yara remembered it vividly.

Back then, she was the star of Hudson University’s law program, while Westley was a poor student from the neighboring economics department.

Even his tuition had been funded by Yara’s mother.

There were always plenty of boys vying for Yara’s attention—some wrote her songs, others brought her flowers.

But none of them were like Westley, who waited outside the women’s dormitory every day.

In the summer, he brought her cold drinks; in the winter, warm tea, all for the chance to give her a ride to the library on his bicycle.

Yara never paid him any attention.

Her dormmates often mocked him, laughing and saying, "Look at him—thinking he can land a princess! Guess fairy tales really are just fairy tales."

That day, everyone burst into laughter.

Everyone except Yara. She stopped, walked up to Westley, and said, "I’ve never ridden on a bicycle before. Teach me."

Before long, news of Yara and Westley dating spread across Hudson University.

Several upperclassmen joked that they were already heartbroken before they even had a chance to ask her out.

The school forum buzzed with posts predicting how long their relationship would last.

After all, the gap between them was too great.

Westley was average in every way, while Yara stood out in looks, grades, and family background.

What no one expected was that the two would get married right after graduation.

When Yara accepted his proposal, she looked into his eyes and said, "Westley, you’ve been so good to me... so good that it almost makes me feel guilty.

“It feels like saying no to you would be letting you down. Will you keep treating me like this forever?"

Westley didn’t hesitate to give her his answer.

He held Yara tightly in his arms as if he wished he could rip his heart out and show it to her.

"Yara, you’ve given me a new life. You’ve made me feel like a real person. I’ll spend the rest of my life being good to you, and only you."

Looking back now, it was nothing short of ironic.

They had only been married for five short years, but to Yara, it felt like a lifetime ago.

There was no such thing as "forever."

A man’s promises, once spoken, were destined to be broken.

By the third year of their marriage, her father, Robert Cullen, brought Elena back into the family.

From that day on, Yara felt as though she was gradually losing both her father and her husband.

Robert, a man of few words, would spend hours patiently comforting Elena after she lost a case.

And Westley, who couldn’t even name her favorite hobbies, would stay up all night to watch soap operas with Elena.

The Crestwood Estate case a year ago was the final turning point, a line that forever divided Yara’s life from Elena’s.

…

Yara lay awake until the early hours of the morning and didn’t wake up until midday.

As she descended the stairs, she heard the sound of laughter echoing from the living room.

Elena, Robert, and Westley were talking and laughing together.

Whatever Elena said must have been hilarious, because Robert’s face was creased with delighted wrinkles.

Westley was also smiling warmly, and with a playful gesture, he tapped the tip of Elena’s nose.

The cheerful, harmonious atmosphere came to an abrupt halt the moment Yara appeared.

It was as if she were an intruder trespassing on someone else’s territory.

But this was her home.

Even the villa itself was part of the inheritance her mother had left her.

Elena leaned against Westley’s arm. “Yara, you’re so lazy. We’ve already had lunch.”

Robert responded casually, “Have the kitchen make her some pasta.”

Elena let out a theatrical sigh. “The cook said she had personal matters and took the afternoon off. No one’s here to make pasta for her.”

Without even glancing up, Robert said, “Then order takeout. Young people love takeout these days.”

As he spoke, he turned to Elena with a warm smile, every wrinkle on his face radiating affection.

“Elena, don’t think I don’t know you’re always secretly ordering takeout. It’s not good for your health. Don’t do it again, alright?”

Elena playfully stuck out her tongue.

Yara remained expressionless, averting her gaze without a word, and turned to head for the door.

Suddenly, Westley stood up. “I’ll make her pasta.”

“Westley!”

Elena’s displeasure was obvious, but Westley was already walking toward the kitchen.

She shot Yara a cold glare, rolling her eyes dramatically.

At that moment, a housekeeper walked in, holding a cardboard box. “Miss Yara, a package has arrived for you.”

Yara stopped in her tracks. “For me?”

The housekeeper set the box on the table. “Yes, the recipient’s name is yours.”

Yara frowned slightly, confused. She had just returned and hadn’t ordered anything online.

Elena’s eyes darted mischievously as she grabbed the box from the table.

“Let me see what my dear sister has been shopping for.”

She began opening the package while sneering sarcastically. “Yara, you just got back and you’re already shopping online? You must be in quite a good mood.”

Before the words were even out of her mouth, a sharp scream suddenly filled the room.

The box flew three meters across the room, landing with a thud.

A bloody, mangled mess tumbled out, leaving a crimson streak on the carpet.

The housekeeper, trembling, stammered in horror, "A dead rat... how could it be a dead rat..."

At that moment, Westley walked out of the kitchen, holding a plate of pasta.

He froze at the sight, dropping the plate immediately, and rushed toward Elena.

“Elena, are you alright?”

He knelt in front of her, gently holding her hands, his expression as tender as if he were handling the most precious treasure.

Elena offered a sweet, coquettish smile. “I’m fine, Westley.”

Glancing toward Yara, she suddenly pouted, her face full of grievance. “But Yara... she bought that dead rat on purpose to scare me. It nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Westley frowned and turned to Yara. “What’s wrong with you? Did prison twist your mind?”

Robert’s voice cut through sharply. “How could you be so cruel? Apologize to Elena immediately!”

Yara lifted her head, her expression numb. “What makes you so sure I bought the dead rat?”

Elena’s voice rose, shrill and indignant. “Who else could it be? Your name was on the box!”

Yara’s voice remained calm as she countered, “Have you never received a package from someone else? Just because my name is on it doesn’t mean I ordered it.”

Elena hesitated, her expression faltering before twisting into disdain.

“Are you saying someone sent it to you? Please, you just got out of prison. Who would bother sending you anything?”

Yara let out a sarcastic laugh. “Maybe you can answer that. Without your little stunt, would someone have sent me a dead rat?”

Elena’s face flushed crimson. “You’re saying someone else sent it? I say you bought it yourself! Prove it wasn’t you!”

“And why should I prove anything?”

Yara tilted her chin slightly, her gaze steady.

“Under the principle of presumption of innocence, if you think I’m guilty, it’s your job to prove it, not mine to prove my innocence.

“Elena Cullen, you’re a lawyer, aren’t you? Don’t you even understand this basic principle?”

Standing in the morning light, her figure seemed to glow with an almost sacred aura, exuding a quiet yet commanding dignity.

Westley watched her, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as if he were seeing the Yara of the past—the undefeated lawyer.

Sharp in her words, clear in her logic, armed with evidence and reason.

Every time she spoke, she left her opponents with no room to fight back.

Robert stood up, slamming the newspaper onto the coffee table with a loud thud.

“Is this a courtroom or a home? Your law license has been revoked! What’s with the act, pretending to be some hotshot attorney?”

Yara’s straightened back suddenly sagged, and a faint ache spread through her chest as she stared at her father, whose bias knew no bounds.

He was right—she could never be a lawyer again.

But wasn’t it because of them that she’d lost everything?

The housekeeper nervously pointed to the box. “There’s a note inside… it looks like someone wrote something on it.”

Westley strode over and picked it up. His expression shifted, a trace of unease flickering across his face.

Elena pressed eagerly, “Westley, what does it say? Read it out loud!”

His jaw tightened as he read the note aloud. “Disgraced lawyer Yara Cullen, you’re nothing more than a rat scurrying through the streets. You’ll end up just like this one.”

He set the note down and glanced toward Yara, who stood not far away.

Her head was bowed, her face as pale as a sheet of paper.

Her frail figure looked like it could dissolve into the light at any moment.

Something inside Westley twisted sharply.

Robert let out a cold snort. “I told you long ago not to become a lawyer. If you’d listened, none of this would’ve happened.”

Elena chimed in, “Exactly! This is all your fault! You scared everyone half to death.”

Without a word, Yara turned and headed upstairs, her shoulders slumped, her back hunched slightly.

Westley’s feet moved on their own. “I’ll go check on her.”

“Westley!” Elena pouted, her tone full of grievance. “I was the one who was scared just now…”

But her words did nothing to stop him. He disappeared around the corner without looking back.

Elena’s gaze darkened. Picking up a throw pillow, she hurled it to the floor in frustration.

Yara sat quietly in her room.

The door opened behind her, and Westley stepped inside. “About today… we were wrong to blame you.”

Yara didn’t respond.

It was as though she hadn’t heard him, or maybe she just didn’t care.

She didn’t care about the three of them, so she didn’t care about being wronged or about his apology.

Westley felt a hollow ache in his chest. “Yara…”

But she remained turned away from him. “Westley, where’s my mattress?”

He froze.

Yara’s mattress had been a custom-made piece that cost a significant amount.

As a lawyer, she spent long hours sitting and reviewing case files, often for stretches that lasted hours on end.

Her back injury was severe—so much so that she’d sometimes wake up in pain.

On her doctor’s recommendation, she’d had the mattress specially designed to provide corrective support.

Westley said nothing.

Yara wasn’t surprised.

“Elena took it, didn’t she?”

Her voice was so calm, like a stagnant pool or an empty well, devoid of life.

Westley felt like his chest was stuffed with cotton, suffocating him. “Yara…”

The truth was that Yara had already noticed the missing mattress on her first night back from prison.

That evening, she’d casually asked Westley, “Why does the mattress feel different than before?”

He hadn’t answered, and she hadn’t pressed.

The next morning, as she passed by Elena’s room, she overheard voices from inside.

“Elena, give your sister her mattress back. She has noticed.”

“So what if she has?” Elena’s voice was light, almost mocking. “She’s spent a year in prison. They sleep on wooden boards there. Does she really deserve a luxury mattress like that?”

Westley said nothing more after that.

Yara knew his silence meant agreement.

Because she had been to prison, even sleeping on a decent mattress was deemed too much for her.

Yara knew for a long time that her time in prison would become an indelible stain on her life.

What she hadn’t expected was for it to become a blade wielded by those closest to her, stabbing directly into her heart.

Not content with just the initial wound, they twisted it, over and over, until her heart was left raw and bleeding.

…

Half a month after Yara’s release from prison, it was Elena’s birthday.

Early in the morning, the house was bustling with activity as the servants prepared for the evening’s grand celebration.

Yara glanced at the commotion downstairs before turning away with a bitter smile.

The third day after her release had been her own birthday.

While she was still in prison, she often imagined finally celebrating her birthday at home, surrounded by her family.

But when the day arrived, not a single person remembered.

She ended up cooking herself a plate of spaghetti, buying the smallest cake she could find, and singing “Happy Birthday” to herself in the dark.

“Happy birthday, Yara…”

The dim candlelight reflected her face, and she forced a fragile smile.

When she blew out the candle, tears streamed down her cheeks.

However, Elena’s birthday tonight was a completely different story.

The guests had already arrived, even before the official start of the banquet.

Elena, dressed in a pastel pink gown with a diamond tiara perched on her head, stood at the center of attention, basking in the adoration of the crowd.

Everyone competed to praise her—Robert’s younger daughter, the dazzling rising star of the legal world.

Yara stood in a forgotten corner, invisible to them all.

Midway through the banquet, a young woman approached Yara with a friendly smile.

"I just met Elena recently. Are you one of her friends? May I ask your name?"

"I'm Yara Cullen."

As soon as the words left her mouth, the girl’s smile vanished without a trace.

Rolling her eyes, she turned on her heel and muttered, "So it’s you. Why didn’t you just say so earlier..."

Around her, judgmental stares pierced through the crowd like arrows.

Suddenly, a man Yara didn’t recognize stepped in front of her. Without a word, he grabbed a glass of red wine from a waiter’s tray.

With a quick flick of his wrist, the crimson liquid poured down over her head, soaking her completely.