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.

A low gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by murmurs and stifled laughter.

The man threw the wine glass to the ground, the shattering sound sharp and piercing.

"Yara Cullen, because of you, all of us lawyers have been dragged through the mud. You’re a disgrace to the profession—a rotten apple spoiling the whole barrel!"

The commotion caught the attention of Westley and Elena, who hurried over, both momentarily stunned by the scene.

Amid the chaos, a hand emerged from the crowd and gave Yara a hard shove from behind.

She stumbled and fell to the ground, her gaze meeting the mocking stares around her, her eyes clouded with confusion and hurt.

Elena’s voice dripped with mock sympathy. "Yara, how did you manage to get wine all over yourself? And then you tripped. That’s so clumsy of you.

“Honestly, you’re always so careless. No wonder you caused such a disaster with the Crestwood Estate case."

Westley cleared his throat, feigning a mild reprimand. "Elena, we’re in public. At least show your sister some respect."

Elena pouted, feigning innocence. "But Westley, I’m just being honest. Sometimes I can’t help speaking my mind."

His gaze softened, overflowing with indulgence. "That’s just your honest nature."

Watching the pair, Yara no longer felt the pain she once did.

Only a boundless numbness remained, swallowing her whole like a rising tide.

Just as despair threatened to consume her completely, a hand suddenly appeared in front of her.

A rich, low voice sounded above her. "Give me your hand. I’ll help you up."

Yara looked up, dazed.

Through the blur of tears and humiliation, she saw a face impossible to forget—chiseled features, sharp and cold, exuding an air of quiet strength.

Herman Lloyd.

The name surfaced in her mind like a sudden jolt.

Herman was her senior in Hudson University’s law program. He was a living legend.

In just two years, he completed the coursework for a four-year degree.

While everyone expected him to become a lawyer, Herman surprised them all by switching paths to business and transferring to the business school.

After graduation, he took over the family empire.

As a businessman, Herman was equally gifted.

In just a few short years, he had elevated the Lloyd Group to an entirely new level of success.

Fortune Magazine described him as a "next-generation business leader."

A low murmur rippled through the crowd:

"Herman Lloyd... it’s really him."

"He rarely makes public appearances. I can’t believe he’s attending Elena Cullen’s birthday party..."

Yara’s eyelashes fluttered slightly at those words.

Herman knelt down in front of her, gently taking her wrist to help her up from the floor.

From the pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out a handkerchief and lifted his hand, intending to wipe the wine from her hair.

Yara turned her head away, avoiding him. “I can do it myself.”

His hand froze for a moment, but he didn’t insist. “Alright, you do it yourself.”

Elena approached Herman, her face glowing with astonishment and delight. “Mr. Lloyd, it’s such an honor to have you here!”

In truth, she had no idea why Herman came to her party.

Her law firm had collaborated with the Lloyd Group before, and she had dressed to the nines for the meetings, hoping to impress.

But she hadn’t even caught a glimpse of him.

Rumors painted Herman as cold and detached, someone who rarely interacted with others.

Elena thought those rumors were true.

So tonight, seeing Herman at her birthday party was something Elena wouldn’t have dared to dream of.

Herman cast her only a fleeting glance before shifting his gaze to Westley by her side.

The icy look in Herman’s eyes unsettled Westley, who awkwardly greeted him, “Mr. Lloyd.”

Herman didn’t respond, not even a word.

At that moment, his assistant approached, handing him a phone. “Mr. Lloyd, you have an important call.”

Herman glanced at Yara once more before turning and walking away.

The crowd, sensing the tension dissipate, began to disperse.

Westley lowered his head and asked Yara, “Yara, are you alright?”

She didn’t respond. Without a word, she turned and walked away.

Westley instinctively wanted to follow her, but Elena clung to his arm. “Westley, where are you going? Everyone’s waiting for us to open the dance floor.”

He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Alright, I’ll stay with you.”

Elena beamed with satisfaction, her smile radiating smug contentment.

Yara returned to her room, took a shower, and didn’t go back downstairs.

The noise from below gradually faded—it seemed the banquet had come to an end.

Just as she was getting ready to sleep, her phone buzzed with a message from Elena.

“Yara, come to my room. I have a gift for you.”

Yara left her room and approached Elena’s door, but before she could knock, she heard hushed voices from inside.

"Elena, don’t do this. Your sister is right next door."

"She’s asleep. What are you afraid of? Ever since she came back, you haven’t touched me. Westley, I’ve missed you."

"Elena, it wouldn’t be good if your sister overheard."

"Westley, are you really that scared of her?"

It sounded like Elena was crying now, her voice thick with emotion.

"Westley, tell me the truth. Since she came back, have you been sleeping with her again? You promised me I was the only one..."

"I haven’t touched her," Westley said, his voice a mix of helplessness and tenderness.

"Elena, don’t cry. You’ve seen the scar on her forehead. Do you really think I could feel anything for her now?"

Elena let out a soft laugh.

"I knew it. You always treat me the best. You’re so good to me, I have to repay you. Westley, stay still. Let me take care of you."

"Elena, you’re willing to do this? I don’t want you to feel wronged..."

"I don’t mind. Westley, you’re a man, and men have needs. I’m happy to do this for you."

Inside the room, the sound of whispered, intimate voices continued.

"Westley, tell me—who’s prettier? Me or my sister?"

"You."

"Who makes you feel better? Me or her?"

"You."

"Then who do you love more? Me or her?"

"Of course, it’s you, Elena. Faster..."

Yara felt a loud buzzing in her ears, drowning out everything else.

Her entire body stiffened, as though even her blood had stopped flowing.

Stumbling, Yara made her way back to her room. She sat by the window, staring blankly into the pitch-black night for what felt like an eternity.

She thought that no matter how despicable Westley might be, he would at least hold onto some semblance of decency.

But she overestimated him.

In the early hours of the morning, just as Yara had finally closed her eyes, the buzzing of her phone jolted her awake.

The messages were from Elena:

"Yara, you heard it all, didn’t you? Your mattress and your husband—they’re both mine now."

"Let me tell you the truth. While you were rotting in prison, Westley and I spent almost every night together."

"Oh, my dear sister, it seems you couldn’t satisfy your husband. Otherwise, why would he act like a starving wolf in my bed?"

"Your career, your father, your husband—they’re all mine now, Yara. I’ll make sure everyone knows that the only thing separating us was that you had a rich mother. You’ve never been better than me!"

Yara’s hands trembled uncontrollably, and she almost lost it, ready to throw her phone across the room.

It took her a long while to steady her breathing, and her thoughts gradually became clearer.

Elena wasn’t wrong—Yara had a wealthy mother.

But what Elena failed to understand was that the comfortable life she now enjoyed wasn’t thanks to their idle father.

It was entirely due to the inheritance Yara’s mother left behind.

Her mother had been forward-thinking, foreseeing the possibility of her daughter being wronged. She included a special clause in her will, ensuring Yara’s protection.

And now, that clause had been activated.

Yara opened her contacts and called Michael Baker, the family lawyer.

The phone rang only twice before Michael answered, his tone exceptionally respectful.

"Miss Cullen, how can I assist you?"

"Mr. Baker, it’s time to enforce the supplementary clause in my mother’s will.”

"Are you certain, Miss Cullen?"

"I’m certain."

With those two words, Yara ended the call.