Six years ago, my father and all six of my uncles died on the same day.

Cornered in a dark alley by a group of men, I was nearly violated to death.

My bodyguard, Anthony, fought like a man possessed. He sacrificed his leg to secure my position as head of the family.

For six years, I scoured the world for the best doctors, lost a child, and forfeited my own chance at motherhood—all so he could walk again.

Then a girl named Allison arrived with a stack of intimate photos, begging me to give them both a place in this world.

Anthony held her close and exposed my darkest secrets to everyone.

Something in me shattered. The last ember of feeling died. I faked my own death, escaped, and married Nathan of Northgate.

And Anthony went mad.

…

The day Allison came to see me, I was reviewing the quarterly financials for Southport’s new port.

She wore a faded cotton dress, her hair long and unstyled, her face bare. Her eyes were wide and frightened, like a startled fawn.

“Miss… Miss Melissa.” Her voice trembled. “My name is Allison. I… I’m carrying Anthony’s child.”

My finger paused over a line item in the red. I didn’t look up.

“Which Anthony?”

“An… Anthony.” She bit her lip, summoning what seemed like a lifetime’s courage. From a canvas bag, she pulled out a thick stack of photos and slid them toward me. “We’ve been together a long time. He said he would explain it to you.”

The photos spilled across the desk.

They showed a cozy little apartment, the window framing the city’s most garish neon lights.

There was Anthony—an Anthony I hadn’t seen in six years, standing tall. Wearing a simple white t-shirt, his expression soft, he held Allison, kissing her forehead, her lips.

Other images showed him cooking for her, carrying her on his back along a beach, and… more. Far more intimate, tangled scenes.

Each one was like a red-hot needle driven straight into my eyes.

Six years.

After my father and uncles died on the same day, plunging my family into chaos, it was Anthony—then just my most trusted bodyguard—who purged every opponent with ruthless efficiency. He paid for it with his leg.

For six years, I crushed every obstacle in my path, becoming the undisputed head of the family in Southport.

I searched the world for the best doctors for him, tested experimental treatments on myself, even lost our unborn twins. I gave up my own chance to ever be a mother.

I made him my life. My faith.

And all of it was a lie—a carefully constructed deception.

His leg had been fine all along.

“Miss Melissa,” Allison spoke again, a sob creeping into her voice as I remained silent. “I’m not here to ruin things. I just want a name for my child. Anthony said he loves me, that what he feels for you is just… gratitude.”

“Are you finished?” I finally looked up, my gaze steady.

My calm seemed to frighten her. She took an unconscious step back.

I picked up one photo. In it, Anthony held her from behind, his hand resting on her slightly rounded belly, a look of pure contentment on his face.

A happiness I had never seen on him—unshadowed, complete.

“Benjamin,” I called out.

The family steward, Benjamin, well past fifty, entered immediately, hands folded respectfully. “Miss.”

“Take these photos,” I tossed the one in my hand back onto the desk, my fingertips cold, “to The Nightingale Auction House. Rush order. Auction them tonight. Every single one.”

Allison’s face drained of all color. “No! Miss Melissa, you can’t! Anthony will kill me!”

I smiled. Standing, I walked over to her. I was half a head taller and looked down at her pure, innocent face.

“Whether he kills you or not, I don’t know.” Leaning close, I dropped my voice to a whisper only she could hear. “But I do know that starting tonight, all of Southport will get to admire your lovely body. You should be honored.”

Benjamin stepped forward, his face impassive, and gestured for her to leave.

The girl collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

I stepped around her and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the city I had conquered.

Anthony, this fire you started… let’s see who it burns in the end.

The news infected Southport’s upper circles like a virus.

For years, Melissa, the family’s head, had kept a “cripple”—a man not only fully capable, but one who had also been maintaining a sweet, unassuming little mistress on the side. Now exposed, Melissa was so furious she planned to auction the woman’s private photos across the entire city.

Undeniably, the year’s juiciest scandal.

Several family elders called, their words sharp, accusing me of having no sense of propriety, of dragging our name through the mud.

“Melissa! Have you lost your mind? Anthony was a great asset to this family, no matter what! For some tramp, you’d make such a spectacle? Do you want the whole city laughing at us?” It was my uncle on the line—the one who’d always coveted my position.

I cut him off coldly. “Uncle, you’d do well to remember who’s in charge. I haven’t forgotten Anthony’s contributions, and I’ll settle his debts myself. As for the family’s reputation—I built it. I’ll decide how to handle it.”

After hanging up, I changed into a black silk gown and stood before the mirror, painting my lips a fiery red.

In the reflection, the woman was flawlessly beautiful, her eyes cold as ice.

The Nightingale Auction House, Southport’s largest underground den of extravagance, belonged to me.

By the time I arrived, the place was packed.

Guests wore masks of every design, yet their gazes, fixed on me, brimmed with naked curiosity and thrill.

I took my seat in the second-floor private booth, the one-way glass separating me from the clamor below.

The auction proceeded smoothly—antiques, jewelry, rare medicinal herbs—the atmosphere growing steadily hotter.

Finally, the host announced in a tone both mysterious and suggestive, “Next, tonight’s final lot. A piece of… ‘exclusive memory’ from a certain prominent figure.”

Allison’s tear-streaked face flashed onto the large screen.

Then, a series of photos began to scroll.

A wave of stifled gasps and whistles rose from below.

At that moment, the booth door crashed open.

Anthony stormed in.

He wore a black trench coat, posture straight, steps steady—not a trace of the cripple remained.

The face I’d looked at for six years, etched into my bones, was now twisted with towering rage and… something else I couldn’t quite place. Panic, perhaps.

“Melissa!” He rushed forward, planting his hands on the arms of my chair, caging me against the sofa. “Do you have to do this?”

I lifted my gaze, meeting his eyes calmly. “Do what?”

“You know what I mean!” he nearly snarled. “Stop the auction. Destroy the photos!”

“On what grounds?” I let out a soft, mirthless laugh. “Mr. Anthony, what authority are you using to order me around? As my bodyguard? That ended six years ago. As my man?” I paused, letting the words hang. “You don’t deserve that title.”

*Don’t deserve.* The phrase struck him like two sharp slaps.

His face paled instantly. The fire in his eyes dimmed, churning with something complicated.

“Melissa…” His voice softened, edged with pleading. “Don’t do this. Whatever’s between us, leave her out of it. Allison… she’s not like us. She’s just an ordinary girl. She can’t handle this.”

In that moment, my heart turned to dust.

*Not like us.*

Yes, she was different.

Pure, innocent—a delicate flower needing protection.

And me? I, Melissa, had clawed my way out of hell. My hands were stained with blood, my heart brimming with hate. No ordinary girl.

So was I just supposed to accept the betrayal? Deserve the hurt?

“Anthony.” I looked at him, enunciating every word. “Listen carefully. Anyone in this world could say that to me. Anyone but you.”

He seemed to flinch from the chill in my gaze, retreating a step.

Downstairs, the bidding had already begun, numbers climbing rapidly.

“Melissa, I’m begging you.”

He looked at me—this man who would rather have his leg broken than bow his head, the man I once believed was the proudest in the world. For that girl, Allison, he slowly, deliberately, lowered himself to one knee before me.

“Let her go.”

Something inside me shattered completely then.

Looking at him kneeling there, I was suddenly washed over by a wave of bitter, hollow amusement.

Slowly, I rose, stepped around him, and walked to the glass. Lifting the intercom from the table, I spoke coolly to the host below.

“The photos are boring.”

“Let’s try something new.”

“Bring Allison herself up here.”

The auction house plunged into deathly silence, everyone stunned speechless by my insane actions.

Anthony whirled around, his eyes filled with utter disbelief and horror. “Melissa, how dare you!”

Over the walkie-talkie, my voice was flat, devoid of all emotion. “Clean her up. Dress her in the sailor uniform from the photos. Then place her in the golden display case prepared for tonight’s ‘surprise.’”

Minutes later, in the center of the main hall below, a massive bulletproof glass case slowly rose from the floor.

Curled up inside like a broken doll was Allison. The ill-fitting student uniform made her look both pitiful and ridiculous. She was trembling, tear tracks staining her face, her eyes fixed in my direction, brimming with terror.

“And now,” my amplified voice echoed through the entire venue, “we begin the auction. One night’s ownership of Miss Allison. Starting bid: one dollar.”

The crowd exploded.

This was humiliation—ultimate, merciless humiliation.

“Melissa! You’re insane!” Anthony roared, lunging toward me like a provoked, cornered beast.

My bodyguards were already blocking his path.

I turned, my gaze icy. “Anthony. Six years ago, you took knives and bullets for me. Six years later, you turn your blade on me for another woman. Tell me, which one of us is truly insane?”

He stared back, eyes bloodshot.

Downstairs, the bidding had reached a fever pitch, numbers climbing at a terrifying speed. The air thickened with naked desire and malice.

Inside the glass case, Allison wept desperately, pounding on the walls—all of it futile.

“Fifty thousand!”

“One hundred thousand!”

“Three hundred thousand!”

Anthony’s body shook violently. He looked at the girl being treated as merchandise below, then back at me. The hatred in his eyes was almost enough to devour me whole.

Suddenly, Allison seemed to remember something. She stopped crying, lifted her head, and fixed a venomous glare on my private box. With every ounce of her strength, she screamed:

“What right do you have to treat me like this! I’m ten thousand times cleaner than Melissa! Do you know? She’s just used goods! When she was a teenager, her own uncles took turns with her! She’s a monster—a monster even her own father found disgusting! Anthony never loved her! He just pitied her!”

Her words fell like a thunderclap, shocking the entire hall into utter silence.

Every eye turned toward my private box.

Time seemed to freeze.

Those memories I had buried in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind—rotten, foul—were ripped open, raw and bleeding, exposed in the harsh light of day.

My mind went blank. A sharp ringing filled my ears; everything before me began to twist and spin. Those men’s faces, their filthy hands, the nauseating smell… it all crashed over me like a tidal wave.

PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder.

I thought I was healed. But it had only been lying dormant inside me, waiting for a trigger.

My blood turned to ice. I couldn’t draw a full breath.

Instinctively, I looked at Anthony. I hoped he would do as he had countless times before, when nightmares woke me—hold me tight and whisper, *Don’t be afraid, I’m here.*

He did move.

But not toward me.

Shoving past the bodyguards, he rushed downstairs toward the glass case and began pounding on the door with all his might. To the girl who had just held me up for public shame, he roared:

“Allison! Stop! Don’t be afraid! I’ll get you out of here!”

He had made his choice. Between my scar and her grievance, he had chosen her—without hesitation.

I watched his back, the back that had once sheltered me from the storm. Now it was the blade that finally eviscerated me.

Slowly, very slowly, I reached into my handbag and withdrew a small, silver pistol.

I raised the gun. Not at Anthony. Not at Allison.

But to my own temple.

“Anthony.” My voice sounded alien even to me, terrifyingly hollow. “You want to save her, right?”

“Now, you have two choices.”

“One, I die.”

“Two, you watch me ruin her with my own hands.”

I clicked off the safety.