The butler escorted Yasmine to the venue where the Romero family's press conference was being held.

At the center of the stage, Joaquin sat beside Annie, his expression sharp with warning. The moment Yasmine stepped into view, every light in the room turned toward her.

"I'm here today," she began calmly, "to publicly apologize to Dr. Schultz. For the misunderstanding I caused her, I sincerely apologize."

Annie descended from the stage, a faint, gracious smile curving her lips as she grabbed Yasmine's arm.

"Since you've apologized, let's put the past behind us."

Her voice was sweet, but her grip was cruelly tight—Yasmine tried to pull away, only to realize she couldn't.

"I need to use the restroom, come with me," Annie said with a smile.

"Then let Joaquin accompany you," Yasmine flatly replied.

Annie shook her head. "Joaquin still has work to do. I'll be fine as long as Yasmine takes care of me."

Dozens of eyes were watching. Under that pressure, Yasmine could only comply.

She waited outside the restroom on the second floor, arms crossed, when a masked man suddenly rushed toward her—a glinting knife in his hand.

Her breath hitched in terror. She spun toward the staircase to flee—only to find another man waiting there, a jagged scar slashing across his cheek.

The scarred man swung a baseball bat—

Crack!

Pain exploded across her forehead.

Yasmine staggered, clutching her head, her knees buckling.

Before she could rise, another blow landed brutally on her shoulder and abdomen.

"Someone... help... me..." Her voice trembled, fading to a whisper. Through her blurring vision, she thought she saw someone rushing up the stairs.

"What are you doing?!"

The shouting grew distant, muffled, until the world went completely dark.

"Yasmine! Yasmine, wake up! Don't be scared—I'm taking you to the hospital!"

When she opened her eyes again, the world was washed in sterile blue. Curtains, walls, light—everything blurred together. Pain rippled through every nerve.

"Yasmine... you're awake."

Joaquin's voice came faintly. He barely glanced at her before focusing on his phone, brows drawn tight.

"Yasmine, you went to the restroom with Annie. Where is she now?"

His tone was sharp, interrogative. Yasmine froze. So that was why he'd been waiting for her to wake up—not out of worry, but to ask about Annie.

"I don't know," she said coldly.

He frowned. "You're not lying to me, are you?"

Yasmine let out a hollow laugh. Seven years of marriage, and there wasn't a shred of trust left between them.

"Joaquin, I only found out today that you held the press conference here. I'm the one who got attacked. Are you sure the people who ambushed me weren't sent by Annie?"

His eyes widened, disbelief flooding his face. "Yasmine! Don't project your own malice onto everyone else!"

"The attackers were targeting you. But now she's the one missing—and you still have the nerve to suspect her? Have you no conscience at all?"

His voice broke into anger, trembling with outrage—not for Yasmine, but for Annie.

Yasmine's lips curved into a bitter smile. Of course. Annie would always be his pure, untouchable "first love." And she—Yasmine—was nothing more than a discarded rag doll, always to blame, never believed.

She'd already grown used to disappointment. So this time, she didn't bother explaining.

After a long silence, his voice softened. "Yasmine, I know you've been unhappy lately. Once her medication research is approved and hits the market, I'll take you and Janna abroad for a break, alright?"

Her gaze remained steady, empty.

He said the same thing every year. And every year, he broke his promise.

Now their daughter was seven—and she no longer believed a word he said.

At the door, Joaquin's fingers tapped furiously on his phone. His brows knitted tighter by the second. Then, suddenly, a message popped up on the screen—whatever it said made his face darken instantly.

"Yasmine! You still dare say you didn't lie to me?!" Joaquin's furious roar filled the hospital room as he hurled his phone toward the woman on the bed.

The phone struck the metal railing with a sharp clang, the sound echoing in her ears until everything buzzed.

"Look at it clearly!" he shouted. "See for yourself what this is!"

On the screen played a video sent by his assistant—A woman wearing Yasmine's limited-edition coat was handing a thick envelope of cash to the scarred man who had beaten her unconscious.

"Yasmine, have I not treated you well enough? Do you really need Annie dead before you can feel satisfied?!"

He jabbed a finger toward the screen, voice trembling with rage.

"This coat—this exact coat—is the one I bought you for your birthday last year in France. And you wore it... to do this! To hire thugs?"

Joaquin's hand shot out, seizing Yasmine's chin so tightly his fingers dug into her skin. Hatred blazed in his eyes, dark and suffocating.

Yes, the coat was hers.

But half a year ago, when she brought Janna to the hospital, she'd been attacked and robbed. Her clothes, her bag, even her identification were all gone.

"The woman in that video isn't me," she said through clenched teeth.

"You're still denying it?!" His grip tightened, his nails slicing into her cheek until beads of blood welled up.

"If it's not you, then who else could it be? Annie is kind and innocent—you're the one who can't stand her!"

Yasmine's face was pale, her expression cold and lifeless. "Joaquin, I said—it's not me."

But he didn't listen.

He dragged her out of the hospital, shoving her into the car, and drove her to an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city.

The moment they arrived, he grabbed an iron rod and slammed it against a concrete pillar with a deafening clang!

"Mom!" Yasmine screamed when she saw her mother bound and trembling nearby.

"Joaquin! Don't touch my mother! Don't you dare!"

Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded, voice breaking. "I didn't do anything! I don't know why Annie disappeared—please, I really don't know!"

Her nails dug into her palms until blood pooled in her fists. She couldn't believe this man—the one she'd loved and trusted for over a decade—could look at her with such hatred.

"Ten seconds," Joaquin said coldly. "If you don't tell me where Annie is, I'll strike once. Your mother has a weak heart—how many blows do you think she can survive?"

"Tell me where she is, and I'll let your mother go."

Yasmine stumbled forward, only for him to grab her arm and twist it violently.

Crack!

Her shoulder dislocated, and he flung her to the ground like trash.

"I said—where is she!" he roared.

Enduring the pain, Yasmine gasped, "Joaquin, we've known each other for more than ten years—I've never lied to you! My mother has nothing to do with this! Her company is gone. She's lost everything—please, just let her go!"

She trembled, clutching her injured arm, kneeling at his feet as she begged.

But ten seconds passed.

And Joaquin raised the iron rod.

"No!"

Yasmine broke free from his grip, throwing herself over her mother's frail body.

The iron rod came crashing down—

Bang!

A sickening sound tore through the air.

Yasmine's body convulsed, her head snapping back as cold sweat drenched her forehead. The strength drained from her arms, but she still shielded her mother with her body.

Thud.

Her lips turned ashen, pain shooting through her back, crawling up her spine until every breath burned.

It hurt so much.

Blood spread across the back of her white blouse, the crimson soaking through the fabric, vivid and horrifying.

"Yasmine! Are you okay?"

Joaquin's voice trembled as he knelt and lifted her into his arms. Just then, his phone rang—it was his assistant.

"Sir, Miss Annie has been found," came the voice on the other end. "But she's seriously injured and still unconscious at the hospital."

Joaquin froze, eyes darting to the photo on his screen—Annie's head wrapped in gauze. His expression shifted from fear to shock, then to guilt.

He carefully laid Yasmine back on the ground and called for an ambulance.

"Yasmine," he said quietly, "wait here. I've already called an ambulance for you."

He stood up, voice low, trembling slightly.

"When you're discharged... I'll come pick you up."

Yasmine and her mother were rushed to the hospital.

Just as the nurses wheeled her mother toward the operating room, an impatient voice cut through the hallway—

"Go call the doctor out!"

"Annie says she's not feeling well—what's your doctor doing?"

"Mr. Romero," the head nurse tried to explain, flustered, "two of our surgeons are currently on training assignments. The only available doctor right now... is the one performing surgery on your wife's mother."

On the bench nearby, Yasmine sat pale and trembling, clutching her bleeding back as she stared at Joaquin.

Her mother had suffered another heart attack and a shattered collarbone.

Annie was merely "feeling unwell." And yet Joaquin couldn't decide whom to save.

Yasmine lowered her head in despair. Warm blood continued to soak through her gown, her breathing growing shallow until her body finally gave way. She collapsed onto the cold, sterile floor.

"Joaquin, my head hurts..."

Annie emerged from the ward, clutching his arm weakly. "I can't see clearly... please help me. If I go blind, I won't be able to do anything. I don't want to live like that..."

Joaquin's fists tightened. His gaze flickered briefly toward the woman lying on the floor—then hardened his resolve.

This was her fault, he told himself. Yasmine had brought this upon herself. Everything that had happened was all her own doing.

Annie, on the other hand, was kind and pure. She had been slandered, falsely accused, nearly killed because of Yasmine's jealousy. Whatever she suffered now was only what she deserved.

"Call the surgeon out. Check on Annie first," Joaquin ordered.

Yasmine pressed her trembling hand to the floor, trying to push herself up.

"Yasmine, this is your retribution. Stay where you are and accept it." His voice was like frost—cold, cutting, merciless.

Retribution. What a fitting word.

Yasmine laughed bitterly, though no sound escaped her lips. She knew that no matter what she said, Joaquin wouldn't believe her.

As her consciousness faded, the last thing she heard was the doctor shouting for a stretcher.

When she opened her eyes again, she was back in a hospital room.

Standing before her was Estella, Joaquin's mother.

"Yasmine," the older woman said flatly, placing a passport, a ticket, and a stack of cash on the bedside table.

"Here. Take them. I don't want to see you come back."

Yasmine met her gaze, voice hoarse but steady. "Don't worry. I'll never come back."

She longed to disappear—to leave this cursed place forever.

Estella seemed about to say more when the door suddenly opened. Joaquin stepped in, his expression unreadable.

She pressed her lips together, murmured a few words to him, and quietly left the room.

"Where do you think you're going?" Joaquin asked sharply, his brow furrowed. He reached for the medical chart at her bedside, scanning it.

"It says you'll need a hundred days to recover. Don't think about anything else. Just stay put and behave."

He set the papers down, a faint softness creeping into his tone.

"You should be grateful Annie is fine. No fractures—just some superficial injuries. If anything had happened to her, not even your death could make up for it."

Yasmine let out a soft, humorless laugh.

Fractures? Superficial injuries?

That was all—and yet he said she'd owe her life for it?

Her fingers clenched tightly around the bedsheet, eyes flashing like shards of glass.

"I don't want to see you."

Joaquin froze, disbelief flashing across his face. "What did you just say?"

She met his gaze, her voice was icy and sharp. "Are you deaf? I said get out!"

With a snarl, he kicked over the chair beside him, fury radiating from every pore. "You're the one who made this mess! I'm helping you! Do you even understand that?"

"If something had happened to Annie, do you think you'd still be breathing right now?"

"You've committed a crime, Yasmine! Damn it—maybe I really was blind all these years!"

He slammed the door so hard the walls shook.

Yasmine didn't flinch. Her expression was calm—almost detached—as if looking at a stranger.

After a long silence, she reached into her bag and pulled out a hospital information slip—room assignments for her mother and for Janna.

She left her ward, climbing from the second to the third floor.

When she opened Janna's room door, her blood ran cold.

Annie stood by the child's bed in a hospital gown.

"Get away from her!"

Yasmine shoved her aside, sending the pills in Annie's palm scattering across the floor.

The monitors around Janna were silent—all the tubes and sensors had been removed. The little girl's face was pale, her small body trembling as she choked and convulsed.

"Haven't you done enough?! Janna already has severe pneumonia—do you want her dead?"

Annie's lips curled into a chilling smile.

"Of course I do. As long as she's alive, Joaquin will always think of you. Only when your daughter dies will he finally forget you and belong to me. And once she's gone, the rumors about my research will disappear too."

She leaned close, her voice low and venomous.

"No one will ever believe you. Why don't you just die quietly with your daughter? That would save Joaquin the trouble of dirtying his hands."

The truth hit like a bucket of ice over Yasmine's head.

So Joaquin knew—he had allowed this.

He'd let Annie touch their daughter.

Rage ignited in her chest. Yasmine grabbed Annie by the hair and slammed her head against the wall.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Ah! Yasmine—you dare hit me?!"

Yasmine's fury only grew as she stared at that smug, twisted face. She raised her hand again—but before she could strike, someone seized her wrist.

It was Joaquin.

His face was clouded with rage. "Yasmine, you lunatic!"

He shoved her to the floor. Yasmine coughed, clutching the bed frame, laughing bitterly.

"A lunatic? Do you even know what Annie just tried to do? She was killing Janna—for you!"

Joaquin frowned, turning toward Annie.

Annie shook her head, feigning innocence as she opened her hand to reveal the pills.

"I didn't do anything, Joaquin. These are for my experiment. I just needed Janna's final data sample. You promised you'd help me finish it."

She covered her forehead with one hand, tears falling like rain.

"If I've done something wrong, I'll apologize to Yasmine. Please, just let me finish this last test. She can hit me, scold me—I won't complain..."

Her trembling voice broke off in sobs.

Joaquin's anger exploded.

"Yasmine! When did you learn to twist the truth like this? Annie's research will save lives—she's doing something good for the world! Not everyone is as cruel as you!"

He pulled Annie into his arms and turned to Yasmine with disgust. "Kneel. Apologize to Annie."

Kneel?

Yasmine's nails dug so deep into her palms she nearly drew blood.

He believed everything Annie said. Every. Single. Word.

"I won't apologize. She's lying," she intoned coldly. "Or what—are you going to strangle me next, just to please her?"

For a moment, something flickered in Joaquin's eyes—hesitation, perhaps—but it vanished as quickly as it came.

Annie shook her head softly, pretending to be kind.

"Forget it, Joaquin. Forcing her won't help. If she hates me so much, I'll apply to study abroad. I'll stay out of your lives from now on."

She limped toward the door, and Joaquin instantly swept her into his arms.

"You're not going anywhere. She's the one who's wrong. Tell me how you want me to deal with her."

A faint smile tugged at Annie's lips, though it vanished just as quickly.

"Yasmine lived too comfortably. Maybe she needs to learn some compassion. Let her volunteer at the Third Hospital—taking care of sick, abandoned elders."

Joaquin nodded without hesitation.

"That's a good idea."

Yasmine clung to the bed, refusing to leave her daughter's side—until Joaquin struck her across the head.

The world went black.