On the day of my twenty-first birthday, I posted online: [I want a lollipop.]

My childhood rival, who was overseas, dropped everything there and flew back. He showered and showed up at my doorstep.

I vowed to savor lollipops more carefully from then on—they were simply too sweet.

From that moment, even after I was exposed as a fake heiress, everyone in high society knew: Jonathan Chase wanted to marry me.

When the Sterling family carried out their harsh punishment, the hundred lashes meant for me were almost entirely taken by him—ninety-nine of them, borne by his own body.

When they locked me in the basement, with darkness closing in from all sides, his shouts each day became my only light.

"Chloe, don't be afraid. I'll get you out," he promised.

And he did. He really saved me.

He also made me witness, with my own eyes, his magnificent wedding to the true heiress.

The man who once couldn't bear to make me wait had, "for my sake", told me to wait three times.

The first time was on his wedding day. Pain was etched into every line of his face.

"Chloe, if I don't marry Eleanor, they'll never let you go. Wait for me for three years. Three years from now, I'll marry you."

The second time was three years later. He looked at Eleanor's rounded belly, hesitation written all over his face.

"Chloe… she's carrying my child. You'll have to wait a little longer."

The third time was just yesterday. I was just a step away from his kid. He pushed me violently to the floor, his face tight with warning.

"Chloe, can't you just wait? Why do you have to take it out on a kid?"

Sunlight fell across the face that once loved me, now stripped of all its former warmth.

"If that's how it is… then maybe it's time for me to leave too." I said inwardly.

"Grandpa, I've made up my mind. I'm leaving Jonathan."

On the other end of the line, my grandfather simply sighed. "Chloe, if you've truly thought this through, that's best. I'll make sure everything is arranged."

The call ended. Weak and unsteady, I walked downstairs, hoping to find something to eat in the kitchen.

That's when I saw Jonathan Chase holding his three-month-old second child, lifting the baby high with pure adoration.

Eleanor's voice was soft, teasing him to be careful, and both of them wore expressions of complete, unguarded happiness.

Time had passed so fast. He seemed completely immersed in the roles of husband and father.

When he caught sight of me from the corner of his eye, he quickly set the baby down, a faint awkwardness crossing his face.

"Chloe… you've suffered a lot this past year."

He knew. He really knew I had suffered.

Locked in that basement, denied even a sliver of sunlight, surviving only on the water and food they sent down… With no way to bathe, I could only save my drinking water to wipe myself down, ensuring I stayed clean and didn't decay throughout the year.

And yet, the moment they opened the basement door and saw me—dirty, ragged, unkempt—even the harshest light couldn't hide the look of disgust in Jonathan's eyes. And in that instant, my heart died completely.

He stepped closer, a flicker of concern in his gaze.

"Your complexion is awful… are you feeling unwell?"

He reached out, as if to brush the tangled strands of hair from my forehead. But I stepped back, keeping my distance.

His hand hung in the air for a beat. He frowned, then explained, "Chloe, back then… if I had stopped them from locking you in the basement, they would have torn up the agreement…

"I know you have claustrophobia, but my decision back then… was supposed to secure the rest of our lives. I did it for our future."

Such casual words—for our future. But he never once thought about what I endured in that year, trapped in a space that devoured every ounce of hope…

I had endured it all, just to make sure I didn't lose my mind.

I lowered my head and forced a bitter smile.

"I waited three years. Then I was locked away for another year. Can you take me away now?"

My question left Jonathan visibly unsettled. From the way his gaze flickered and avoided mine, I saw his hesitation. I already knew the answer.

Instead, it was Eleanor—cradling the infant only a few months old—who stepped forward.

"Chloe, these were all Mom and Dad's decisions. Don't blame Jonathan.

"And to help the two of you be together, I was willing to play along with the act.

"It was only one year in confinement. I really don't get what you're so dissatisfied with?"

One of them said it was for our future. The other said she willingly cooperated.

So that made it acceptable for them to have two children in three years, all while claiming it was for my own good.

I nodded.

"I understand."

That final struggle was nothing more than self‑inflicted humiliation.

Just as I turned to leave, Eleanor suddenly staggered backward. Before I could react, she had already fallen to the floor, still holding the baby.

The infant's heart‑rending cries filled the room.

The next second, someone grabbed my clothes and yanked me violently backward. The force sent my entire body crashing into the glass coffee table.

Shattered glass pierced my back. Warm blood immediately soaked through my clothes.

"Chloe, how can you be so vicious? You won't even spare a few-month-old baby?"

When Jonathan looked at me, his eyes were poisoned with hatred.

He clearly saw me lying in a pool of blood. He clearly knew that if the glass had pierced an organ, I could have died.

And yet, he still scooped up the baby and rushed out without once looking back.

I knew then—there was no way back for us. And there would never be a future again.

…

When I woke up again, I was lying face down on a hospital bed.

The housekeeper who brought me meals said that if the glass had gone half a centimeter deeper, it would have pierced my heart. She was the one who found me lying in the blood and rushed me to the hospital.

I couldn't tell whether that was luck or misfortune.

During the entire week I was hospitalized, no one came to see me except her.

But on the very day I was finally able to get out of bed, not only did Jonathan arrive, but Eleanor came as well, along with her parents.

They stormed in with imposing expressions, not a trace of concern for me. All that followed was a barrage of accusations.

"Chloe, because you pushed Eleanor, the baby was injured and frightened and has had a persistent fever. You weren't just trying to destroy my daughter's marriage—you were trying to harm my precious grandson. You're exactly like your vicious mother."

That was right. They were not my biological parents.

They hated my birth mother for swapping their real daughter away. And they hated me even more—for replacing their daughter, for growing up in the Sterling family, basking in their affection.

But what did I ever do wrong?

I stared at their venomous expressions, my nails digging into my palms, yet I felt no pain at all. More than twenty years of love and understanding meant nothing compared to a single baseless accusation from their biological daughter.

Seeing that I remained unmoved, Eleanor suddenly dragged me down from the hospital bed.

"Chloe, I know you resent me—for taking Mom and Dad, for taking Jonathan. But you can't take it out on our child. He's still so little, only three months old.

"I'm begging you, Chloe. If you have any anger, direct it at me. Please spare the two children Jonathan and I share."

She repeated it again and again—the children she and Jonathan shared—as if afraid I might miss even a single word.

Eleanor sobbed in anguish, so overwhelmed with emotion that she nearly dropped to her knees in front of me.

My father yanked Eleanor back and shielded her behind him.

"Don't beg her. She's the one who owes you. She should be the one asking for your forgiveness. Chloe, if you have even a shred of conscience left, you should apologize to Eleanor."

My parents' deep‑seated hatred for me—their open favoritism toward their biological daughter—was something I had long grown used to.

But Jonathan… the man who once claimed to love me, who said every decision he made was for our future, now stood on the opposite side. He said nothing. His eyes were filled only with disappointment.

We had grown up together. We had known each other since our youth. He knew exactly what kind of person I was.

Yet in the face of Eleanor's flimsy, contradiction‑ridden accusations, he didn't even bother to check the house surveillance. Because from the very beginning, he believed I was wrong.

The realization sent a sharp pain ripping through my chest.

"I didn't do anything," I said. "I won't apologize."

My father slammed his hand down on the table in fury. Then he called in two bodyguards from outside and had me forced to the floor.

I struggled and screamed. The wound on my back tore open with every movement, pain ripping through me like a blade. The sutures burst. Blood streamed down my arms and pooled on the ground.

My gaze swept past Jonathan's face. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight.

As my head was forced down for the first time, my thoughts blurred, drifting back to the day the Sterling family officially brought Eleanor home.

Snow had been falling heavily. The air was bitterly cold. Wearing only thin clothes, I had been thrown out of the house by my parents.

It was Jonathan who took off his coat and wrapped it around me. It was Jonathan who carried my devastated body back to his home.

And it was Jonathan who said to me, "Chloe, even if the whole world abandons you, as long as you still have me, that's enough. I will never abandon you."

My head was forced down for the second time. The pain left my consciousness wavering.

I seemed to see the day he defied his parents for me—kneeling in the courtyard under the scorching sun, shouting, "The only woman I will ever marry is Chloe. I want no one else."

In the end, he collapsed from heatstroke and was rushed to the hospital. Looking at Jonathan, his skin darkened and peeling from the sun, I laughed—then cried.

When my head was forced down for the third time, my body finally gave out and collapsed to the ground.

Echoing in my ears were the words he had once said countless times, "Chloe, wait for me three years. Just three years, and we can be together forever."

But Jonathan… the reckless devotion you once showed in loving me has now become the very reason you hurt me. So this time, I'm not going to wait for you anymore.

…

While I was unconscious, the wound on my back was stitched and bandaged again.

But when I woke up, the hospital mercilessly kicked me out. The reason was simple: the Sterling family refused to pay the medical and hospitalization fees.

I didn't argue. Dragging my broken body through the streets, I suddenly realized that I no longer had a home.

I had even left my phone behind at the Sterling residence, leaving me no way to contact my grandfather, who lived at the old estate.

I wanted to leave as soon as possible—to escape this place that had torn me apart piece by piece.

If Jonathan hadn't found me, I might have died in some forgotten corner.

"Chloe, I checked the surveillance. Eleanor really did frame you.

"Don't blame me. I lost my head in anger. After all, that was my child.

"Your parents only wanted you to apologize to Eleanor, but you insisted on resisting. You need to learn to read the situation—and think about our future."

Yes. Of course, he would protect his child. That was the flesh and blood he shared with Eleanor.