At the age of eighteen, Kimberly Dawson was raped by a drunken stranger.

She called the police and, under intense pressure and terror, sent that well-connected man to prison.

But the nightmare left scars far deeper than anyone could see. For years afterward, whenever a man came even a little too close, she would instinctively tremble all over, feel nauseous, and even throw up.

She had believed she would stay like this forever—no longer be able to love anyone or live like a normal person.

Then Marcel Murillo entered her life.

As the heir to the wealthiest family in Albany, he actually pursued her—an ordinary girl burdened with what the world called a "shameful past."

He respected her, cared for her, and pulled her out of the abyss little by little.

On the day he proposed, he knelt on one knee before her and said, "Kim, please give me a chance to take care of you for the rest of my life. I'll do everything I can to heal every wound you carry."

Kimberly believed it. She lowered her guard and let him step into her fractured heart.

Their wedding was lavish, sensational—talk of the entire city. Everyone called Kimberly a lucky dog to have been treasured by a guy like Marcel and climbed the social ladder overnight.

Kimberly believed that too. She thought herself fortunate beyond measure—to have someone lead her out of darkness and into the light.

Then one day, Marcel took Kimberly to a business banquet. She wasn't comfortable in such settings. After staying for a while, she told him she was tired and wanted to go home.

Marcel arranged for someone to drive her back and stayed behind to socialize.

As Kimberly reached the parking lot, she realized she had left her phone in the lounge. She turned back to retrieve it. When she passed a VIP room with its door slightly ajar, she overheard the conversation inside.

"It's been five years, Marc. Isn't it time to wrap up your revenge plan?"

"Yeah." Marcel's voice sounded, calm and deep as always, but utterly indifferent in a way Kimberly had never heard before. "I signed the divorce papers long ago. In a few days, when her love for me peaks, I'll give them to her and then tell her everything."

His friend sighed, "Geez, five years. First, you staged a car accident to break her fingers, stopping her from ever playing her beloved piano again. Then, when she was pregnant and full of hope, you arranged another accident that caused her miscarriage. And the cruelest part? You never slept with her once. You had Pax do it instead. Marc, you really spared no effort to avenge your brother."

"She called the police and sent my brother to prison, and he ended up dying of a heart attack behind bars." Marcel's voice was flat, but every word dripped with venom. "Killing her outright would be too merciful. I'm going to destroy everything she holds dear and drag her into hell at the height of her happiness."

"Then what? After the divorce, are you going to marry Sylvia, the one you've cherished all these years?"

Sylvia Melton?

The elegant, beautiful heiress they occasionally encountered at social gatherings—the woman who always looked at Marcel with quiet, sorrowful devotion?

So she was the one he truly loved...

"Of course." Marcel's answer was short and determined.

"Well, it makes sense. If your brother hadn't died in prison, you'd have tied the knot with Sylvia ages ago. But Pax..." The man turned teasingly to Paxton Hogan, whose sharp features radiated raw aggression. "You've been sleeping with Kimberly for five years in Marc's place. That level of intimacy should count for something. Don't you feel even a little pity watching such a delicate beauty get tortured like this?"

A low, lazy chuckle escaped Paxton, slicing through Kimberly's heart like a blade.

"Pity?" His voice carried its usual contempt. "She's nothing but damaged goods. Why would I pity her? I've just been helping my buddy get even. Otherwise, with all the women throwing themselves at me, why would I waste my time on her?"

Every word struck Kimberly like a blow, leaving her ear ringing. She stumbled backward, barely keeping herself from collapsing to the floor.

She bit down hard on her lower lip, the sharp tang of blood filling her mouth instantly. Her nails dug deep into her palms, yet she felt nothing.

The pain in her chest eclipsed everything—searing, crushing, so intense she could barely breathe or straighten up.

She had never imagined that the man she'd sent to prison was Marcel's brother!

Those five years of tender devotion, passionate love, and salvation had all been lies. A meticulously crafted, cruel revenge!

Her beloved husband was the brother of her rapist.

And he approached her and married her just to destroy her!

He had her fingers broken, robbing her of any chance to play her favorite piano.

He orchestrated her miscarriage, forcing her to endure the agony of losing her own flesh and blood.

And he wouldn't even touch her. For five long years, the man who held her, kissed her, and made love to her in the dark had never been Marcel. It was his best friend, Paxton!

She had been nothing more than a fool tangled in his web of lies—convinced she was the luckiest woman alive!

Nausea, humiliation, and despair surged like the filthiest tide, swallowing her whole in an instant!

Kimberly couldn't bear to listen to another second. She turned around abruptly, stumbled out of the hotel like a madwoman, and fled into the night.

The night wind slashed at her face like a blade, but she felt no cold. Her body blazed hot, her blood seething with rage and agony!

She ran blindly along the road, tears streaming wildly down her face, only to be scattered by the wind.

She had never forgotten what happened when she was eighteen.

That day, in the hotel, a drunk man had dragged her into a room. He was tall, handsome, and dressed in designer clothes, looking every bit the wealthy scion at a glance.

He'd pinned her down on the bed, ignoring her screams and struggles, and forced himself on her.

Afterward, the man had sobered up and apologized to her, claiming he'd been drugged and hadn't meant it.

He'd said he would take responsibility, that he would give her any amount of money she wanted.

But Kimberly hadn't wanted money.

She'd only wanted him to pay for what he'd done.

She'd called the police.

As the man was taken away, his gaze had been complicated, filled with guilt, remorse, and a hint of something she couldn't fathom.

Later, she'd learned he had powerful connections. His family would pull strings and bail him out in no time.

Kimberly had been terrified and heartbroken. Why should a man with wealth and influence ruin a girl's life without facing any consequences? In those days, she'd had nightmares almost every single night, her pillow soaked through with tears.

But not long after, she'd heard the man had suffered a heart attack in prison and died suddenly.

Back then, she'd actually ... felt a wave of relief, thinking it was karma.

Yet the trauma of that rape had been etched deep into her bones.

She'd grown afraid of men, resisted all physical intimacy, and believed she was tainted, unworthy of being loved.

Until she met Marcel.

He would book out entire concert halls just because she said she loved music, and invite the world's top orchestras to perform for her alone.

When she experienced menstrual colic, he would set aside his pride and fumble clumsily to make her hot chocolate. His fingers would turn bright red from the heat, yet he'd brush it off casually and say it didn't hurt.

On every anniversary, he would prepare carefully chosen gifts and romantic surprises, making her feel like she was a cherished treasure beyond compare.

Except ... there were always occasional accidents.

Like the car crash two years ago that damaged the nerves in her fingers, robbing her of the ability to play high-intensity piano pieces and shattering her dream of becoming a professional pianist.

Like falling down the stairs a year ago, right after she'd found her pregnancy and been brimming with joy, costing her the child she'd longed for.

After each accident, Marcel would look more heartbroken than she was, blaming himself more bitterly and caring for her with even greater meticulousness. She couldn't summon a single trace of resentment, only guilt for being careless and worrying him so much.

But it turned out ... every single one of those accidents was a carefully calculated scheme from him!

He had never loved her at all. He was merely carrying out a long, cruel act of revenge!

He found even the thought of sleeping with her repulsive, so he'd gotten another man to do it for him!

What a ridiculous, sickening farce these past five years had been!

Kimberly had no idea how long she had run, not until her strength gave out, her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed onto the side of the road. She hugged her knees to her chest and wept silently.

Her tears dried up eventually, leaving only a raw, stinging tightness and a bone-deep coldness.

No. She couldn't stay here a second longer!

She ran home like mad, burst into Marcel's study, and began ransacking it.

She tore through drawers, cabinets, and bookshelves in a frantic, messy hurry, flinging things aside in her desperation.

Finally, tucked in the bottom drawer of his desk, she found the divorce agreement.

Marcel had already signed it.

The date was three months ago.

In other words, he'd had this all planned out three months ago.

Kimberly stared at the agreement, her tears falling onto the paper and smudging the letters of Marcel's name.

She picked up a pen and signed her own name, her hand shaking uncontrollably.

Every stroke felt like a knife carving into her heart.

Once she finished, she sent a message to her lawyer, Lennon Mann: "Mr. Mann, I'm going to divorce. The signed agreement has been sent to your email. Please handle the formalities for me as soon as possible. The sooner, the better."

Lennon replied promptly: "Got it. Since both parties have signed the agreement, the formalities will take one month to complete once initiated. You will be officially divorced after all procedures are finalized."

After replying "Okay," Kimberly put down her phone and stared blankly out the window at the dark night, her eyes empty.

Over the next few days, Kimberly shut herself up at home like a soulless husk.

She ate, she slept, and she stared into space. She never cried, never made a fuss. She just stayed quiet.

Marcel seemed busy preparing to wrap up his plan and rarely came home. Even when he did, it was always late, the smell of alcohol clinging to him. His gaze on her remained gentle, even softer than before. Probably it was to make the upcoming "surprise" more dramatic.

Kimberly watched his performance, feeling overwhelming disgust and sorrow, yet she had to endure, not daring to show the slightest flaw.

That night, Marcel returned home early for once. He walked into the bedroom and saw Kimberly leaning against the headboard, lost in a daze. He walked over, sat on the bed, and reached out to brush her hair.

Kimberly's body stiffened almost imperceptibly, but she forced herself not to flinch.

"Kim, I've been so busy lately that I've neglected you." Marcel's voice was low and gentle, laced with feigned regret. "A friend's having a birthday party tomorrow. Will you come with me to relax a little?"

Agony twisted in Kimberly's chest, but she only nodded softly, "Okay."

Marcel seemed satisfied with her obedience. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Good night."

The next night, Marcel took the dressed-up Kimberly to a lavish birthday party.

It wasn't until she stepped into the party hall and saw the birthday girl, surrounded by people like a princess in a white dress, that Kimberly fully understood why Marcel had brought her here: to humiliate her.

The birthday girl was Sylvia.

The woman Marcel truly loved.

He had brought his wife to his lover's birthday party.

As Kimberly followed Marcel inside, Sylvia stood on the staircase, her white dress making her look like an elegant white swan.

Spotting them, Sylvia walked over with a smile. "Marc, Kim, you're here."

Marcel nodded and handed her the gift in his hand. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you," Sylvia took it, then naturally linked her arm through Marcel's. "Marcel, will you dance the opening dance with me? Just like we used to?"

Marcel glanced at Kimberly.

Kimberly looked away.

"Sure," Marcel said.

He let go of Kimberly's hand and followed Sylvia to the dance floor.

Music filled the air as they embraced and began to dance. Marcel was tall and striking, Sylvia beautiful and graceful, their movements perfectly in sync. It was as if they were made for each other. The guests around them cast envious or knowing looks.

Kimberly was left standing alone, like an awkward afterthought. She could feel the weight of curious, sympathetic, and even gloating gazes from all directions.

Just then, a glass of champagne was held out to her.

"Why are you standing here alone?"

Paxton had appeared beside her before she noticed it, a cynical smile playing on his lips. He was dressed in a burgundy suit, and his stunning features looked even more striking.

Kimberly took the glass with trembling fingers, then slowly turned to face Paxton.

His face was handsome and deep, a stark contrast to Marcel's cold nobility.

She'd never understood why Marcel, polite and distant by day, seemed like a different person at night: passionate, domineering, and fiercely possessive.

Now she knew.

Because they weren't the same person.

"Don't take it to heart," Paxton said with a laugh. "Marc and Sylvia have been close since childhood. Every year, he dances the opening dance with her on her birthday. You'll get used to it."

Kimberly said nothing.

She looked into Paxton's eyes and suddenly realized his gaze on Sylvia held the same possessiveness and affection as Marcel's.

It turned out that Paxton liked Sylvia, too.

"I'll go upstairs to deliver my gift first," Paxton said. "You should eat something. Don't starve yourself."

He patted Kimberly's shoulder, his movement casual and natural.

But Kimberly flinched away as if burned.

Paxton froze for a moment, then laughed, "What's wrong? Are you so afraid of me?"

Kimberly said nothing.

Paxton didn't care. He turned and walked toward the dance floor.

Kimberly watched Marcel, Sylvia, and Paxton standing together, laughing and chatting, like a perfect picture.

And she was like an outsider who strayed in.

Just then, several women walked toward her.

They were Sylvia's close friends.

Leading them was Shaylee Gentry, Sylvia's best friend, who had always disliked Kimberly.

"Hey, isn't this Mrs. Murillo?" Shaylee looked her up and down. "Why are you standing here alone? Where's Mr. Murillo?"

Kimberly ignored her and turned to leave.

Shaylee stepped in front of her. "Don't go. Let's talk."

"We have nothing to talk about," Kimberly said.

"Why not?" Shaylee sneered. "Let's talk about how you climbed into Mr. Murillo's bed. How you tricked him into marrying you. How exactly did you, a Cinderella, turn your social ladder-climbing dream into reality?"

People around them turned to stare.

Kimberly clenched her fists. "Get out of my way."

"I won't," Shaylee said, stepping forward and shoving her hard. "Who do you think you are? You're not worthy of standing beside Mr. Murillo. Syl and Mr. Murillo are a perfect match. He'll dump you sooner or later!"

Amid the pushing and shoving, someone tripped Kimberly. Already dazed and weak, she stumbled and fell straight to the floor!

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Shaylee said hypocritically. "I didn't mean to."

The other women closed in on her. Some splashed wine at her, some crushed her hand under their heels, and others yanked at her hair.

"Bitch! Don't you have a mirror? Look at yourself. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Mr. Murillo only married you for fun!"

"He'll abandon you and marry Syl sooner or later!"

Excruciating pain shot through her body. Kimberly struggled to stand, but was horrified to find she couldn't summon any strength. Her limbs felt limp, like cotton.

She wondered, "Was it the glass of champagne? Is there something wrong with the drink Paxton handed me? Did he spike it?"

The realization plunged her into an icy abyss in an instant!

She stared at the dance floor, itchy to call Marcel's name.

But Marcel held Sylvia in his arms with soft eyes and a gentle smile, dancing slowly.

He didn't spare her so much as a single glance.

Kimberly's heart turned to stone, cold and lifeless.

She'd forgotten.

The woman he loved was Sylvia.

Every single day, his only thought was how to make her suffer.

Why on earth would he save her?

Seeing no one came to her aid, those women grew bolder, kicking her harder and hurling even filthier insults.

Sharp pain seared across Kimberly's body and face. The drug sapped her strength, leaving her limp and defenseless. She was a rag doll tossed and trampled at their whim.

With a final burst of willpower, she suddenly lashed out, shoving the woman nearest to her away. Then she scrambled to her feet, stumbled, and ran toward the party hall's exit!

The women's furious shouts echoed behind her.

Dizzy and vision blurred, Kimberly stumbled out of the hall and onto the driveway outside the hotel.

The night wind cut through her, and the drug's effects surged stronger than ever. Her legs buckled beneath her; she could barely stay upright.

At that moment, blinding headlights flared to life. A black car came barreling straight toward her.

Kimberly's pupils constricted in terror. She tried to dodge, but her body refused to obey.

With a bang, a crushing force slammed into her. She felt herself lift off the ground like a crumpled leaf, then crash down hard onto the cold, unforgiving pavement!

Agonizing pain tore through her body in an instant. Warm, sticky liquid gushed from her nose, her mouth, every wound on her body, pooling beneath her and staining the ground a sickening crimson.

Her vision blurred, darkness surging in like a tide, swallowing the edges of her sight.

Before she slipped completely into unconsciousness, she faintly made out two figures standing not far away. They were Marcel and Paxton, who had appeared out of nowhere.

They stared coldly at her, at her dying in a pool of blood, their faces completely devoid of emotion. It was as if they were watching a meaningless show that had nothing to do with them.

Then she heard Paxton's voice, lazy and casual as ever. "Who came up with this revenge plan anyway? You had me drug her, set up Shaylee and those brainless girls to rough her up, and even had a car waiting for her if she ran. It's a tight little loop, impressive."

Next came Marcel's voice, cold as ice, yet the words sent a bone-chilling freeze through her blood.

"This will leave a mark she'll never forget. Don't worry, she won't die. I calculated the angle and the impact force precisely. And I've already contacted the hospital."

So he had planned every last detail!

Every single step had been directed by him and Paxton!

They truly stopped at nothing to take revenge on her!

When Kimberly woke up again, she found herself in the hospital.

Her body was swathed in bandages, stitches crisscrossed her forehead, and both her hands were encased in plaster casts.

Kimberly pried her eyes open, staring at the stark white ceiling, the sharp tang of disinfectant clogging her nostrils.

Then she saw Marcel, Paxton, and Sylvia.

Sylvia's eyes were red-rimmed, as if she'd been crying. The second she spotted Kimberly awake, her face crumpled into a mask of guilt and concern, and she rushed to speak first.

"Kimberly, you're finally awake! Thank goodness! I'm so sorry, truly sorry... It's all my fault for not keeping Shay and the others in line... I've already chewed them out thoroughly. They swear they will never treat you like that again! Don't be mad at me, okay? Just focus on getting better..."

Marcel stepped forward too, taking Kimberly's uninjured hand in his, his brows drawn tight with worry. "Kim, how do you feel? Where else hurts? The doctor said you have a fractured left leg, cracked ribs, and multiple soft tissue contusions... It's all my fault. I didn't protect you."

Paxton leaned lazily against the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets. He still kept his usual cocky slouch. But his tone was uncharacteristically serious. "Kim, this was just an accident. Don't worry, we've got the driver who hit you. Drunk driving. He'll get what's coming to him. And Syl has already told those girls' families to discipline them properly."

They talked over each other, their voices brimming with sincerity, their expressions perfectly calibrated. They acted as if they truly cared about her and that they were truly on her side.

But Kimberly looked at them, at the carefully masked pretense behind their concerned eyes, and a bone-deep chill surged from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. She didn't say a word, just pulled her hand out of Marcel's grasp.

Marcel froze for a split second, then brushed it off, going on gently. "Rest up. Don't overthink."

Just then, the ringtones of Marcel's and Paxton's phones blared in unison.

The two men answered, listened for a moment, and their expressions instantly turned grave.

Sylvia spoke up right on cue, her voice oozing with understanding. "Marc, Paxton, if you have urgent matters on business, go handle them. I'll stay here with Kimberly. I'll take good care of her."

Marcel glanced at Kimberly, who'd shut her eyes and fallen silent, then at Sylvia, before finally nodding. "All right, Syl. Please look after Kim. I'll be back as soon as I'm done."

With that, he and Paxton hurried out.

Only Kimberly and Sylvia were left in the ward.

At first, Sylvia did tend to her properly, peeling fruit and tucking in the quilt for Kimberly. She spoke in soft, gentle tones, every bit the poised lady from a well-bred family.

Kimberly kept her eyes shut tight, ignoring Sylvia completely.

After a while, Sylvia stood up.

Kimberly heard the clink of a cup and the rush of running water, then Sylvia's footsteps approaching the bed.

"Kimberly, have some water," Sylvia's voice came from beside her pillow.

"No. I'm not thirsty," Kimberly refused, her throat hoarse.

The gentle smile on Sylvia's face vanished instantly. She glanced at the cup of steaming water, then at Kimberly with a cruel smirk. "But I already poured the water for you. It'll go cold if you don't drink it. What a waste."

As soon as she said that, she flipped her wrist and dumped the entire cup of boiling water straight onto Kimberly's bandaged left hand!

The scalding water seeped through the gauze and into the wound, sending a wave of excruciating, heart-wrenching pain shooting through Kimberly's body. She let out a shrill scream, her body convulsing with agony. Her face drained of all color instantly!

Sylvia held the empty cups, looking down at her with triumphant glee. Her eyes were glinting with unmasked malice and satisfaction.

"Kimberly, do you really think Marc ever loved you? Wake up from your delusion! He and I grew up together. After all these years of shared history, what could you, a nobody who stumbled into his life out of nowhere, possibly compare to that? Sooner or later, he'll cast you aside and come back to me!"

As she spoke, she grabbed the kettle by the bed, clearly intent on dousing Kimberly with the rest of the boiling water!

Kimberly stared at the hissing kettle and the undisguised murderous intent in Sylvia's eyes. Her primal instinct to survive surged, overriding everything!

With her only usable right hand, she lashed out violently, shoving hard against Sylvia's arm that held the kettle!

Sylvia had never expected Kimberly to still have the strength to fight back. She was caught completely off guard. Staggering backward several steps, her feet slipped out from under her, and she crashed heavily to the floor. The kettle flew from her grasp, hitting the ground with a clang. Hot water splattered everywhere!

Sylvia let out a pained cry. Clearly, she had taken a bad fall.

At that exact moment, the ward door was thrown open with a violent bang!

Marcel and Paxton had returned because they'd left something behind. When they saw the scene before them, both froze.

"Syl!" Paxton's expression shifted drastically. He was the first to rush over, helping Sylvia up. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

Marcel also strode over. "What happened here?"

Sylvia leaned into Paxton's arms, tears spilling instantly. She pointed at Kimberly, her voice trembling with anger and grievance. "Marc! Paxton! I was just being kind enough to pour her some water, but she said it was too hot. I told her I'd let it cool down, but she suddenly flew into a rage and pushed me! Look at my hands. They're all scalded red! She shoved me to the floor! My waist... It hurts so bad..."

Sylvia was distorting the truth, framing her!

Kimberly trembled all over with anger, her wounds throbbing so intensely that cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

She wanted to explain, but when she met Marcel's cold, questioning gaze, she knew he would never believe her.

Then she suddenly remembered. Afraid Sylvia might do something to her again, she'd secretly turned on her phone's recording function and placed it beside her pillow, the camera directly facing them.

She gritted her teeth, enduring the pain, and used her trembling right hand to fumble under the pillow for her phone. She found the video she'd just recorded, pressed play, and turned the screen toward Marcel and Paxton.

The video clearly captured every moment: how Sylvia had deliberately splashed her with boiling water, how she'd hurled insults, and how Kimberly had been forced to push her away in self-defense.

After the video was played, Marcel's face darkened completely.

He stared at Sylvia, who was still sniffling in Paxton's arms, his voice icy cold. "Sylvia, explain yourself!"

Sylvia's face paled for a split second when she saw the video, but then she lifted her chin defiantly, admitting without hesitation. "Explain? What is there to explain? Marcel! We clearly liked each other once. Why are you with her now? Shouldn't you be the one giving me an explanation?"

"Explanation?" Marcel sounded as if he'd heard the most absurd joke, his gaze cold as he stared at her. "What explanation do I owe you? Does who I love and who I choose to be with have anything to do with you?"

Sylvia was choked by his ruthless words. Her face turned ashen as she stared at him in disbelief.

Paxton also frowned, his tone tinged with reproach as he looked at Sylvia. "Syl, you really went too far this time. Kimberly is Marc's wife. How could you do something like this?"

Sylvia looked at the two men she'd always thought would stand by her, spoiling and protecting her unconditionally. Yet now they were accusing her for another woman. Tears streamed down her face even harder. She shouted in a mix of anger and grievance in her voice, "Fine! Fine! Marcel, Paxton! You're protecting her now, aren't you? Fine! I'm leaving! I won't bother you anymore!"

With that, she pushed Paxton away and ran out of the ward, sobbing.

Paxton instinctively reached out to chase her, but glanced at Marcel and stopped in his tracks.

Marcel didn't go after Sylvia. Instead, he turned and walked to Kimberly's bed. His eyes fell on her pale face and the scalded bandages on her hand, his brows furrowing as he lowered his voice, his tone laced with apology. "Kim, I'm sorry. I didn't protect you well. Syl... We've spoiled him since he was a child, and that's why he's so willful. But this time, she crossed the line. I'll make her apologize to you."

Paxton also stepped forward, echoing. "Yeah, Kim, don't worry. Syl was just acting on impulse. We'll talk to her later."

Watching them put on this synchronized performance, Kimberly felt a surge of absurdity and sorrow.

She said nothing and just closed her eyes again.

Over the next few days, Marcel stayed in the hospital to take care of Kimberly.

He was meticulous in feeding her, wiping her body, and talking to her softly. Sometimes Kimberly would gaze at him, trying to spot any hint of pretense on his face.

But she found nothing.

He seemed so sincere and gentle, just like he had for the past five years.

At times, Kimberly would zone out, wondering if the conversation she'd heard that day had been nothing more than a nightmare.

But the burning pain in her hand and the ache all over her body reminded her sharply: it wasn't a dream.

It was real.

Today, Marcel had to leave early for work at the company.

Kimberly went for her check-up alone.

As she waited for the elevator in the corridor, a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth from behind.

A pungent odor filled her nostrils.

She blacked out and lost consciousness.

When she woke up again, Kimberly found herself locked in an iron cage.

The cage was large, and she wasn't alone inside. There were over a dozen hounds with her.

They had massive canines, some missing teeth, and drooling heavily. Their eyes glowed feral green as they stared at her like starving wolves.

Kimberly had been terrified of hounds.

Bitten by one as a child, she was left with a deep psychological trauma. All these years, she hadn't dared to get close even to puppies, let alone so many huge, vicious ones.

"Let me out! Help!" She screamed in terror, slamming her hands against the cage bars with all her strength!

But her screams and the clattering of the bars only agitated the hounds more. They lunged at her, then started to bite her!

Kimberly screamed.

Sharp fangs pierced her flesh, sending waves of excruciating pain surging through her body!

Kimberly struggled and kicked, but her strength was negligible against the ravenous hounds. In an instant, several bleeding wounds were torn into her legs and arms, blood gushing out uncontrollably!

Just as she thought she was going to be torn to pieces, her blurred consciousness caught snippets of conversation from outside the cage.

It was Marcel and Paxton!

They ... were out there.

"Marc, is that enough?" Paxton's voice echoed.

"What's the hurry?" Marcel's tone was still icy. "Syl's been crying for days over what happened at the hospital, refusing to eat. If it weren't for this woman, I would've been with Syl long ago. I wouldn't have had to hide the truth from her, making her suffer all these years unnecessarily. All things considered, this is a lenient punishment."

Kimberly realized that it was because of Sylvia!

Because Sylvia had felt "wronged" at the hospital, he'd used this horrific method to punish her to avenge Sylvia.

He even thought ... her existence had kept him from being with Sylvia.

She felt as if her heart was being torn apart by the hounds' sharp teeth. The pain was so intense that she could barely breathe!

Just as she was about to faint from the agony, Marcel finally spoke, "All right. Drag her out and take her to the hospital."

The cage was opened, and someone reached in to drag her out.

But at that moment, Paxton suddenly stopped them. "Wait a minute."

Marcel frowned. "What?"

Paxton's tone was cold and indifferent. "You're right. If it weren't for her, Syl wouldn't have been wronged. I grew up with Syl. Watching her suffer so much, I ought to avenge her too."

Marcel seemed hesitant. "Don't go too far. It'll be hard to cover up."

"What's there to cover up?" Paxton dismissed his concern. "Later, we'll say she was kidnapped and tortured by kidnappers. Her wounds are already from hound bites anyway. One more or less won't matter."

As soon as he finished speaking, Kimberly heard the harsh scrape of metal being dragged across the ground.

Then, she was roughly pulled out of the cage by several men, and a black cloth was tied tightly over her eyes.

She had no idea what Paxton planned to do, and overwhelming fear made her tremble uncontrollably.

Next, she felt herself being lifted and placed onto something cold, hard, and covered with sharp protrusions.

It was ... a bed of nails!

Before she could react, a violent force slammed into her back! She was roughly pushed onto the nail bed, then grabbed and rolled hard across the surface of the sharp nails over and over!

She kept screaming.

Unbearable pain erupted from her back and limbs in an instant. The sharp nails pierced her flesh, leaving deep, bleeding wounds that reached the bone! Every roll was a torture beyond description!

"One, two, three ... ninety-eight, ninety-nine!"

A cold voice counted each time.

Ninety-nine times!

When the last roll ended, Kimberly was nothing but a blood-soaked mess. There was no uninjured skin left on her body at all. Her consciousness shattered completely under the extreme agony, and she fainted.

Kimberly woke up again, only to find herself still in the hospital.

Her injuries were even more horrific than before. Every breath pulled at countless wounds. The pain was so unbearable that she wished she could just die.

Marcel stood beside her bed. The moment he saw her eyes flutter open, a look of deep distress and guilt washed over his face.

"Kim, you're awake? How do you feel?" He took her bandaged hand, his voice low and gentle. "I'm sorry... It's all my fault. I only left for a little while, and I never expected you'd be kidnapped and tortured like this. Don't worry. I've already sent all those kidnappers to prison. They'll rot there for the rest of their lives. From now on, I'll arrange more bodyguards for you, 24-hour protection. This will never happen again!"

Kidnappers? Torture?

Kimberly lay there, listening to his flimsy yet seemingly sincere lies, and felt a sharp, piercing pain in her chest.

She wondered, "How could he ... act as if he didn't do anything wrong?

"How could he put on such an affectionate façade after hurting me so brutally?"

She bit her lip, saying nothing. There was only one thought echoing in her mind: she must get out of here, leave him, and escape from this hell.

After another long stretch in the hospital, Kimberly was finally discharged.

The day of her discharge happened to be her and Marcel's wedding anniversary.

Marcel held a grand party in her honor, inviting numerous celebrities and sparing no expense to make the occasion luxurious.

He walked into the venue holding her hand, accepting everyone's blessings, and played the part of the devoted husband to perfection.

Halfway through the party, images suddenly began to play on the large screen.

It all started with photos of Marcel and Kimberly: their vacation shots, daily snapshots, every single one brimming with sweetness and love.

But before long, the images changed.

They switched to unsightly, humiliating photos.

They were photos of her at eighteen, clothes disheveled, eyes empty and hopeless after the rape!

"That ... that's Mrs. Murillo?"

"Oh my goodness! Are those rumors true? She really..."

"How dare someone show such photos here?"

The party hall erupted instantly. Gasps, murmurs, and contemptuous stares surged toward Kimberly like a tidal wave, swallowing her whole.

Kimberly stood in the center of the stage, staring at the images on the screen. She'd fought desperately to forget those scenes, yet they had haunted her every waking moment. Her face turned deathly pale.

The blood in her veins seemed to freeze in an instant. A crushing wave of shame and despair crashed over her, threatening to shatter her completely.

Marcel's expression also darkened sharply. He rushed onto the stage at once, pulling the trembling, unsteady Kimberly tightly into his arms to shield her face, then he shouted sternly at the staff, "Turn it off! Turn off the screen now! Hurry!"

The staff scrambled to comply, and the screen finally went black.

But it was too late. Everyone had seen it.

Marcel held Kimberly protectively, trying to lead her away from this humiliating scene.

But at that moment, a group of reporters emerged from nowhere. They were like sharks catching the scent of blood, swarming toward them. Their microphones and cameras were practically pressed against Kimberly's face!

"Mrs. Murillo! Are those photos real? Were you really raped back then?"

"Mr. Murillo, did you know about Mrs. Murillo's past? How did you overcome the psychological barrier to accept her?"

"Mrs. Murillo, what did you do to make Mr. Murillo so devoted to you? Can you share your experience?"

"Rumors claim you made Mr. Murillo fall for you through improper means. Are these allegations true?"

She wanted to scream, refute, run, but her throat was clamped shut by an invisible hand. She couldn't make a sound. Her legs felt as heavy as lead, rooted to the spot, impossible to move.

Just then, Kimberly saw Paxton push his way through the crowd of reporters.

He was holding a bottle, which he hurled directly at her.

It was sulfuric acid!

A pungent stench filled the air, followed by the scalding splash of liquid.

Kimberly tried to dodge, but it was too late.

The sulfuric acid poured onto her arm, corroding her skin instantly. The agony was so searing that her vision went black, and she collapsed into unconsciousness.

She didn't know how much time had passed.

Her consciousness felt as if it were floating in cold, viscous black oil, heavy and sluggish. The searing pain in her arm was like countless red-hot blades, piercing and twisting relentlessly.

Vague voices drifted in her ears, intermittent, as if muffled by a thick layer of water.

"You threw too little sulfuric acid today," Marcel's voice came. "And how did you get it on her arm? You should've splashed it on her face, left her disfigured for good."

Then Paxton's lazy, lewd voice followed.

"What's the hurry? I'm gonna sleep with her later. If I mess up her face, how the hell am I supposed to get it up looking at a disfigured woman?"

Marcel fell silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his tone was clearly displeased. "I told you to sleep with her to humiliate her, to get revenge. Are you actually enjoying it?"

"Can't help it, Marc," Paxton's voice dropped a little, laced with vulgar amusement. "She tastes ... really good. Normally, she acts all cold and distant to everyone, but in bed... Well, one of a kind. If you don't believe me, you could always try her yourself..."

"Shut up!" Marcel's voice suddenly turned icy, filled with undisguised disgust and refusal. "I'd never touch her! She's filthy! My heart belongs to no one but Syl!"

Only Syl...

He thought she was filthy...

Kimberly came to realize that to him, she was more than just an enemy or a revenge tool. She was a disgusting creature, so repulsive that even the mere touch of her would sicken him.

Paxton seemed taken aback by Marcel's anger. He let out a dry laugh and changed the topic. "Alright, alright, I get it. You're keeping your virginity for your beloved Syl. But seriously, this is the last round of revenge on her, right? The showdown in three days?"

"Yes," Marcel's voice was cold and indifferent. "The divorce papers have been ready for ages. In three days, I'll tell her the whole truth, along with the divorce settlement. This game should end."

"Fine," Paxton's tone turned a little subtle. "So before that ... can I sleep with her one last time? Think of it as ... a 'reward' for me, the hero who helped you with the revenge? Besides, it's the last time anyway."

"Do whatever you want," Marcel's voice came at last. "Just don't go too far."

"Don't worry, I know my limits," Paxton's voice was laced with obvious glee.

Footsteps echoed, and it sounded like someone had left.

The ward fell silent again.

Kimberly felt that this silence was more suffocating than their earlier conversation.

Every word they'd said was like a poisoned scalpel, stabbing fiercely into her heart.

She stayed in the hospital for two more days. Her arm injury stabilized, and she was finally allowed to be discharged and recover at home.

Marcel came to pick her up personally, taking meticulous care of her along the way before sending her home.

That night, as usual, he coaxed her to take her medicine, watched her lie down, tucked the quilt around her, and said softly, "Just rest. I'm going to take a shower and be right back."

The lights went out, and the door closed gently.

In the darkness, Kimberly kept her eyes wide open. She was not sleepy at all.

The pain in her body was nothing compared to the coldness and vigilance in her heart.

She knew that the "last time" Paxton had mentioned would probably be tonight.

Sure enough, before long, the bedroom door was pushed open again, very gently. A figure slipped in silently and approached the bed.

After the lights were off, Kimberly felt someone climb onto her bed.

Her muscles tensed instantly, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest. But she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, forcing her breathing to stay steady, pretending to be asleep.

The bed sank slightly as a warm body leaned over. One hand wrapped around her waist skillfully, while the other began to roam restlessly. The thin, calloused fingertips brushed across the skin under her pajamas, triggering waves of physiological tremors.

His scorching breath fanned her ear, carrying a faint tobacco scent. It clung to Paxton often, entirely different from Marcel's.

His lips pressed against her neck.

Just as they were about to touch her neck, Kimberly stirred as if disturbed. She shrank back slightly. Her voice was laced with a heavy, weak rasp as she said, "Don't... Marc... I'm... I'm on my period today... I feel unwell..."

The hand wandering over her body froze abruptly.

The person holding her tensed noticeably.

In the darkness, a voice, deliberately lowered to mimic Marcel's gentleness, yet still carrying Paxton's unique magnetism and a faint, undetectable irritation, rang out. "Period? Why didn't you say so earlier?"

He paused, seemingly unwilling to accept it. His arms tightened around her slightly, his lips brushing the top of her hair. "Alright then, good night. We'll wait until you're better."

Wait until she's better?

There would be no "better."

She would never get better.

"Yeah..." She responded softly, her voice thick with exhaustion.

Paxton didn't press further, but he didn't leave either.

He just held her like that, wrapping her entire body in his arms, his grip tight and unyielding.

Warm lips lingered on her forehead, cheeks, and neck. He kissed and licked her with lingering desire, his breathing growing heavier by the second.

His other hand wasn't idle either. Through the thin fabric of her pajamas, he kneaded her gently yet firmly. There was a mix of tenderness and possessiveness in his touch.

Kimberly gritted her teeth, repeating to herself over and over: she couldn't show the slightest flaw. She couldn't let him realize she knew the truth.

Otherwise, she'd never be able to escape.

The next morning, Kimberly felt Paxton get out of bed.

He walked to the window, seemingly lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, then pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Kimberly's on her period. Wait a bit," Paxton said. "Once her period's over, I'll sleep with her one last time, then you tell her the truth."

The person on the other end of the line seemed to say something.

Paxton chuckled. "Come on, Marc, why don't you ... try her yourself? I swear, she's nothing like the cold, wooden doll you usually see... She's so worth it."

"No," On the other end of the line, Marcel's voice rang out sharply. Even with a faint buzz of static, the unbridled coldness and revulsion in it cut right through. "She repels me."

"It's dawn now. Leave quickly. Don't let her find out. I won't go back there these days; I need to stay with Syl. Wait until her period ends in a week. You sleep with her one last time, then let me know. I'll push the door open right then... and wrap everything up."

"Got it," Paxton replied crisply, his tone returning to its usual nonchalant drawl. "Then you enjoy your time with Ms. Melton. Leave this to me."

The call ended. Paxton stood there for a moment. Kimberly could feel his gaze seemed to linger on her for a moment before she heard him grab his coat, open the door, and leave.

It wasn't until his footsteps faded completely downstairs and the villa fell into dead silence that Kimberly suddenly opened her eyes, gasping for air as if she'd just fought her way out of deep water.

Tears surged forth unbidden, soaking the pillow instantly. But she couldn't make a sound. Only her body trembled violently and silently.

Just then, her phone vibrated faintly on the bedside table, and the screen lit up.

Marcel had texted him, "Kim, I'll be on a business trip for a week for an urgent project. You rest at home and remember to take your medicine on time. I've got a surprise for you when I get back. Don't forget to miss me."

Kimberly looked at the text, tears falling even harder, but her heart had gone cold, her resolve now solid.

She mused, "I've got a surprise for you too, a surprise you'd never expect, Marcel."

She wiped her tears with her trembling hand and was about to call her lawyer when her phone rang.

Lennon's name flashed on the screen.

Kimberly's heart skipped a beat. She took a deep breath and answered.

"The cooling-off period for your divorce from Mr. Murillo officially ended at midnight last night. The divorce certificate is ready! I just picked it up from the courthouse. Are you free right now? I can bring it over, or would you prefer to come and get it?"

The divorce certificate was ready.

Finally, it was over.

"I'll come pick it up," Kimberly's voice sounded hoarse, yet oddly calm. "I'll head over right now."

"Alright. I'll be at the office waiting for you."

An hour later, Kimberly walked out of the law firm with the divorce certificate in hand.

"Ms. Dawson," Lennon walked her out, sympathy and a hint of worry on her face. "What are your plans next? And Mr. Murillo..."

"Mr. Mann," Kimberly interrupted him, looking up. Her gaze was oddly calm. "Please do me two more favors."

"Go on."

"Help me renounce my citizenship. I don't want to be 'Kimberly' anymore."

Lennon's eyes widened in shock. "You want to nullify your identity documents? That requires a valid reason, and the process is complicated. It'll take a long time."

"The reason is accidental death." Kimberly's voice held no inflection. "Set today as the date of my death. You have a way, don't you? Money isn't an issue. My personal assets are sufficient to pay for everything, and I'll make sure you're well rewarded for your help."

Lennon looked into her resolute eyes and knew her mind was made up. He nodded heavily. "I understand. What's the other favor?"

Kimberly slowly turned her head, looking in the general direction of the villa. Deep in her eyes, a flame of destruction flickered.

"Help me burn down that villa. Keep the fire contained, but stage it as an accident, with me trapped inside."

Lennon instantly understood her intention!

She wanted to fake her death in that fire, to vanish without a trace, to disappear completely from everyone's lives!

Lennon knew her heart was already cold, her decision final.

"You..." Lennon's voice came out dry, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Have you thought this through? Once this is done, all traces of 'Kimberly Dawson' will be erased, and you'll be recorded as deceased. There will be no coming back."

"She should have died long ago." Kimberly's voice was as light as a sigh. "Her fate was sealed the day she started believing in fairy-tale love."

A long silence fell, the air thick with tension.

At last, Lennon let out a heavy sigh, as if he'd used up all his strength. "Alright. I'll do it. But you have to promise that once you leave, you will never come back to Albany, and never let anyone know your new identity or whereabouts. Kimberly has to stay dead without a trace."

"I promise." Kimberly nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Mann."

"Take care." Lennon shook her hand, his eyes filled with mixed emotions.

After leaving the law firm, Kimberly went straight to the airport and bought a ticket for the earliest departing flight.

With that done, she sat in the bustling airport terminal, watching the planes take off and land outside the glass. Her heart felt a void, yet strangely calm.

Her phone buzzed. It was a message from Lennon, just one simple word: "Done."

It meant everything was set.

She turned off her phone, pulled out the SIM card, snapped it in half gently, and dropped the pieces into the nearby trash can.

Just then, the boarding announcement blared.

Kimberly stood up, went through security, stepped onto the jet bridge, boarded the plane, and found a window seat to sit in.

The plane taxied slowly, accelerated, lifted off, and soared into the clouds.

Beneath her feet, Albany grew smaller and smaller, gradually obscured by clouds.

She mused, "See you—no, farewell, Marcel, Paxton.

"May we never meet again for the rest of our lives.

"May you get exactly what you wish for in your world of schemes, lies, and pain."

Kimberly leaned against the window, watching the moving clouds and the gradually clear starry sky outside. She closed her eyes.

Tears slipped down silently.

But this time, they weren't for loss. They were for ... a new beginning.