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.

Perhaps he had forgotten that when he had just married her, he once swore solemnly to me that he wouldn't share any real marital intimacy with Eleanor.

By now, their second child was already three months old.

I lowered my head weakly, my body at its absolute limit.

He knew exactly how badly I had been hurt, yet there wasn't a single word of concern from him. What seemed like gentle advice was, from start to finish, nothing but accusation.

Even Eleanor's deliberate frame-up was reduced to five light words. "Eleanor really did frame you."

How ironic.

Or maybe he simply hadn't realized—he had already, completely, aligned with Eleanor, just like my parents.

"There's nothing left to consider. I can let you have this," I said. "You already have two children. I'm sure you wouldn't want them to grow up without a father."

Jonathan's expression faltered for a moment. Then, almost instantly, anger flared across his face.

He roared at me like a madman.

"Chloe! I've done so much for you, sacrificed so much! And now you want to let me go to another woman?"

Sacrifice? There had been some.

In the first half year after Eleanor was officially recognized by the Sterling family, he truly tried for our future.

But once he married her, he changed into someone who spoke endlessly about our future while constantly hurting me.

"Chloe, stop this. The one I've always loved has always been you. I've persuaded Eleanor—she agreed to take you in. We'll be leaving soon."

Take you in. Those words sank into my heart like a thousand steel needles.

I had already spent over four years living as someone dependent, unwanted, trapped.

They didn't love me. They tormented me. And yet, they refused to let me go.

It was true—I could leave soon. Just not with Jonathan. I would leave on my own.

My phone was still at the Sterling house. I would get it back, one way or another. And before I left, I wanted to say goodbye—to him, and to the past we had shared.

"I can't walk anymore. Will you carry me?"

On that icy, snowy night years ago, Jonathan had never hesitated. He took off his coat, wrapped me in it, and carried me step by step through the snow back to his home.

Four years later, though, in his eyes, I saw hesitation and avoidance.

"The other day, my baby's full-month celebration was covered by quite a few media outlets," he said. "If I carry you back now, and someone photographs it…"

I closed my eyes, heart deadened.

"Just say whatever you want. I can walk on my own."

Love, or the lack of it—it was really that clear.

I struggled back to the Sterling house and went straight to my room. The first thing I did was call my grandfather.

"Grandpa, can you send someone to pick me up tomorrow? I really want to leave as soon as possible."

He was silent for a moment.

"Chloe… I already sent people to check. We just received confirmation—you are the true bloodline of the Sterling family. Whatever wrongs you've endured, I will be there tomorrow to make them right."

My heart lurched.

So I hadn't been switched at all. So a stranger, with a forged report, could just erase over twenty years of history with my parents. How bitterly ironic.

I didn't even know when the call ended.

When I looked up, Eleanor was standing in the doorway.

She stepped forward with fake concern and took my hands.

"Chloe… it's my fault. That day, I accidentally fell, and I was so afraid the baby would get hurt, I thought you pushed me. I sincerely apologize… can you forgive me this time?"

Eleanor would never be this kind, this eager to apologize of her own accord.