Chapter 1

Ever since she was two, Elara Vane became her twin sister's personal blood bank after the girl was diagnosed with a rare genetic defect.

Doctors predicted her sister wouldn't live past eighteen, so her parents and brother doted on her, putting her first in everything.

They even blamed Elara, accusing her of "stealing" her sister's nutrients in the womb, claiming it made her sickly.

In her past life, no one in the family loved her.

Only her fiancé, Dante, truly stayed by her side.

But Elara never expected Dante's love had its own agenda.

Until her sister accidentally fell off a cliff and needed a full blood transfusion.

Dante signed the consent form without hesitation, sending her to the operating table to be the donor.

As her blood drained and her consciousness faded, Elara swore that in another life, she would never be her sister's blood bag again!

The next time she opened her eyes, she was back to the day after her engagement to Dante...

Chapter 1

The first thing Elara Vane did after her rebirth was buy a one-way ticket out, costing a cool hundred mil.

"Deal's done."

Watching the green figures flicker on the encrypted screen, Elara Vane felt a jolt she hadn't felt in years.

This was the payoff for three years in the underground black market, slaving as a ghost artist, fueled by countless sleepless nights and paint she could never scrub off.

In her last life, she’d died with that money still burning a hole in her pocket.

This time, it wasn't just numbers; it was her escape card.

A pop-up blinked in the corner of the screen:

"Destination: Private Island 'Sanctuary'.

Owner: Julian Thorne.

Confirm one-way ticket?"

Julian Thorne.

The name was whispered in the New York underworld, a curse uttered in hushed tones.

The Godfather who held the East Coast shipping lanes in his fist, a tyrant with zero mercy.

But to Elara, he was her lifeline.

She’d saved his life once, a chance encounter, and in return, he’d offered her sanctuary, no questions asked, anytime.

Back then, she’d thought she was happy, never needing to cash that favor in.

Now, she took a deep breath, staring into the mirror.

Pale, gaunt, with shadows under her eyes that wouldn't fade, like a porcelain doll on the verge of shattering.

But she knew.

Beneath this frail shell was a rage that could burn the world down.

This time, she wasn't Elara Vane anymore.

Not the ghost haunting the Vane family, less than a servant.

Not the walking blood bag, existing only to serve their precious Serena.

This damn life? She was finished.

"CRASH!"

The heavy oak studio door splintered inward with brutal force, the lock groaning.

Dante Rossi stormed in.

He wore an expensive, custom-made suit, tie askew, smelling of whiskey and that sickly sweet perfume Serena always wore.

He didn't spare a glance at Elara's finished painting.

He just blurted, "Serena collapsed at the party.Now.You're coming with me, immediately."

No greeting, no explanation, not even a polite "please."

Just orders, as if she were livestock he owned, ready for slaughter.

"I'm not going," she said, snapping her laptop shut.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard one last time, scrubbing her browsing history clean.

She turned, her composure unnerving.

Dante froze for a beat, as if he hadn't registered her words.

Then he strode over, his hand clamping down on her wrist with a grip that threatened to crush her bones.

"Elara, what are you doing?! You know how frail she is.Doctors say it's acute anemia.She could die!"

"She could always die if I don't give her blood," Elara spat, nausea churning as she looked at his handsome face contorted with rage.

"What is it this time? Covering for you at the bar, or putting on a show for those spoiled brats?"

A flicker of pain crossed Dante's eyes, quickly masked by resolve.

"Just come.Now!" He yanked her wrist, ignoring her protests, dragging her from the room.

Her ankle slammed into the doorframe with a sickening thud, but he didn't even glance back.

Half an hour later, the VIP room of the sterile, alcohol-scented private clinic.

Before Elara could even steady herself, her mother, hovering by the bedside, slapped her hard across the face.

"You damn girl! Didn't I tell you to protect your sister at all times? What kind of sister are you?"

Her father stood beside her mother, his eyes radiating disappointment.

"Elara, I thought you were a good girl.Dante told me on the way here your sister was in danger, and you refused to help.I don't have a cold-hearted daughter like you!"

Her brother, Leo, was busy coddling his beloved Serena, not sparing Elara a single glance.

"Why are you wasting breath on her? Just draw the blood! I don't want anything happening to Serena!"

As soon as he spoke, a thick needle plunged mercilessly into Elara's vein.

The nurse had to stab her twice because her veins were so thin.

Crimson liquid flowed through the clear tube, making its way to the girl on the other bed.

Serena, meanwhile, looked flushed, hardly like someone who'd just collapsed.

But Dante sat by her bedside, holding her hand tightly, whispering softly in her ear, "Don't worry, the blood'll be in you soon.You'll be okay, my angel."

His gaze was a study in tenderness, as if she were fragile crystal.

Elara, on the other hand, didn't even get a glass of warm water.

It was a dark joke.

She and Serena were born minutes apart.

Because she arrived first, she bore the burden of being the older sister.

Then, at two years old, Serena was diagnosed with a rare genetic defect.

This family blood disorder meant that even a minor injury required transfusions from direct relatives.

From then on, she became her sister's walking blood bag.

Her father, mother, and brother even blamed her for hoarding her sister's nutrients in the womb, making Serena so frail.

In her last life, no one in her family loved her.

Only her fiancé, Dante, had stuck by her.

But she later discovered Dante and Serena had been having an affair all along.

He'd only been close to her for Serena's sake.

Elara let out a bitter laugh.

This time, she wouldn't chase love that would never be hers.

As the blood drained, her fingertips began to numb.

A chill seeped into her bones.

Her gaze drifted to her left ring finger.

A massive pink diamond ring, the symbol of the Rossi matriarch.

It was a promise she'd clung to, even during blood donations.

How ironic.

In her last life, that ring had been a chain, binding her for ten years.

But now, she wanted no part of it.

The moment she pulled the needle out, Elara felt a dizzying wave, but she bit back a gasp, gripping the bed frame, standing steady.

Slowly, she slipped the ring off.

The cool metal slid over her knuckles.

"What are you doing?" the nurse yelped.

Dante turned, frowning, impatience and frustration clouding his features.

"Elara, quiet.Serena just fell asleep; she needs absolute quiet."

Elara ignored him.

She walked directly to the medical waste bin marked with the yellow biohazard symbol.

Inside lay wads of cotton and gauze stained with her blood, emitting a faint, sickly sweet smell.

She let go.

Clink.

The priceless pink diamond ring traced an arc through the air, landing in the pile of refuse, blending perfectly.

She turned and walked towards the door, her back ramrod straight.

"Elara! What do you think you're doing? Pick up the ring!" Dante warned in a low voice behind her, disbelief etched on his face.

"Don't think I'll tolerate this forever.That's a position a lot of women would kill for!"

She turned back and gave him a look he'd never seen before, chillingly cold.

"Leave it for the trash, Dante.

It belongs there, just like your love."

She pushed the door open, leaving everything behind.

The hallway was empty.

Dante didn't follow.

He was too confident in his assumptions.

He thought she was still the same woman, that a flick of his wrist or a bit of sweetness would have her wagging her tail, begging for his forgiveness.

But he didn't know.

This was a final goodbye.

Chapter 2

Three days later, the air in Vane Manor's sprawling dining room was thick enough to choke on.

Elara sat at the far end of the long, opulent table – the place for the unwanted.

Her face was still paper-white, the tell-tale sign of anemia from all that blood loss, her lips drained of color.

She and Serena were discharged from the hospital just this morning.

The rest of the family piled into the waiting car and sped off, leaving Elara with nothing but a shared bike.

If Dante hadn't sensed something was off and doubled back for her, she might not even be here for dinner.

Yet, when they got home, her mother scolded her for not bringing Serena a recovery gift from the hospital.

Never mind that she was the one who'd had her blood drained for three days.

Elara’s heart finally turned to ash.

She wanted to explain, but the family just carried on, seating themselves and starting the meal, completely ignoring her.

Her father, at the head of the table, sliced into his medium-rare steak with silver cutlery.

He barked, his voice cold, "Why the long face? We're headed to the Hamptons for a month, a spot packed with A-listers. Don't bring down the Vane name with your sour act."

"She's just jealous Serena's bouncing back so well and gets to go to the yacht party," her brother Leo said, gently pouring Serena a glass of fresh juice.

"Serena's an angel sent by God. Some people are just meant to be leftovers. Haven't you found your place yet?"

Serena, in a white lace dress, looked fragile and pathetic.

She leaned weakly against Dante's shoulder, her voice a mere whisper, "Brother Leo, don't talk about her like that... It's my fault for being so sick all the time, for holding everyone back. It’s normal for Elara to be resentful."

Dante turned, trying to smooth things over for Elara.

"Alright, your sister's just tired." He then looked at Elara, his brow furrowed slightly. "How are you doing? Still dizzy?"

In her last life, a gesture like that would have meant the world to her.

But now, she just calmly pressed her lips together, saying nothing.

At that moment, Dante snapped his fingers.

"To celebrate Serena's recovery, I've prepared a surprise. Hope you like it!"

The next second, servants filed in, bringing out trays of exquisite, expensive dishes.

Suddenly, the dining room filled with the strong scent of seafood.

Lobster, king crab, oysters, sea urchin.

All top-tier deep-sea delicacies.

Elara stared at the mountain of plates before her. Her stomach churned violently, her throat tightening.

She was severely allergic to seafood – the kind that could trigger throat swelling, suffocation, and shock.

This wasn't a secret in this family. She'd nearly died once from accidentally eating some, and the housekeeper had to rush her to the hospital.

But all her family members acted as if they didn't notice, fussing over Serena.

Her father and mother kept piling seafood onto Serena's plate, the kind he liked. Her brother meticulously peeled lobster for Serena.

Then, a piece of peeled shrimp suddenly appeared on Elara's plate.

Elara glanced at Dante beside her. He smiled, nodding for her to eat.

She remained silent.

In her past life, it was this fake warmth that had kept her from letting go.

But if Dante truly loved her, how could he not know about her seafood allergy?

"What is it?" her mother asked impatiently, swirling the red wine in her glass.

"This is top-tier seafood Dante had flown in from Boston to celebrate Serena's recovery. Do you know what this meal costs? Don't be ungrateful."

Elara looked up, meeting Dante’s eyes, searching for a flicker of guilt.

"I'm allergic," she said calmly.

Dante nonchalantly peeled a shrimp, dipped it in sauce, and fed it to Serena, not looking back.

"Just pick around it. There's asparagus on the plate too. Don't be so picky, Elara. Serena just came back from the brink; her body needs protein. Everyone's making allowances for her, so you should be more considerate. Don't just think about yourself."

Pick around it?

Even vegetables brushed with seafood juice could be fatal. Did he truly not know, or did he just not care if she lived or died?

"Back then, I would have thought you were trying to kill me."

Elara put down her knife and fork, the metal clinking against the porcelain.

Her voice was terrifyingly calm. "But now I know you just don't care. In your eyes, I'm probably not even worth a single strand of Serena's hair."

The atmosphere at the table froze instantly.

Serena's eyes welled up, tears falling like broken strings of pearls.

She pushed Dante's hand away, crying dramatically, "It's all my fault… Dante, if Elara's this unhappy, if she hates us this much because of this meal, then I won't go to your wedding. I don't want Elara to hate you forever because of me."

This tactic – advancing by retreating – she'd used it countless times, and it always worked.

Dante's expression darkened instantly. He slammed the table hard, glaring fiercely at Elara.

"Elara! Look at what you've done to your sister! Apologize to Serena right now! You're not leaving this table!"

In her past life, Elara would have panicked, tried to explain, begged for forgiveness, maybe even choked down the poisoned asparagus just to appease him.

But now?

She calmly picked up her napkin, wiped her mouth, and stood up. The chair scraped loudly against the floor.

"No need."

Everyone watched her, seemingly waiting for her apology.

Elara looked directly into Dante's eyes, enunciating each word clearly as she declared, "You can cancel the wedding too. I don't care."

Dante froze. The anger in his eyes hadn't faded, but a never-before-seen bewilderment crept in.

It was as if, for the first time, he realized the fiancée who had always been meek and submissive was a stranger.

Serena clearly hadn't expected Elara to say that either. She bit her lip and asked weakly, "Sister… you don't mean that, right? This is the Rossi family engagement. Didn't you always dream of marrying Dante?"

Elara looked down at them, like watching a troupe of clumsy clowns performing a crude play.

"Yes, I was blind before. But now, I'm not interested."

Chapter 3

The wedding was postponed. Again. Thanks to that whole circus.

Everyone had plenty of free time now. The next day, they were gone. Vacation.

Her father, mother, and brother took Serena. Serena, in turn, got Dante to come along. No one thought to tell Elara.

By the time she woke up, the long line of black cars was already heading to the Hamptons.

They even took half the staff – maids, cooks, bodyguards – to dote on "fragile" Serena. Like a single rough moment on vacation would shatter her.

Vane Manor felt like a vast, silent tomb. Elara was completely alone.

Outside, a storm was brewing. Inside, Elara's heart was a tempest.

Elara scrolled through Instagram.

Serena had just posted. A family photo.

The whole family crammed into the frame, all smiles. Dante had his arm around Serena’s waist, their gazes locked under the seaside sunset.

The caption: "So blessed to have my favorite people. Thank God."

"Favorite people." Huh.

Elara let out a cold laugh. The empty mansion echoed it.

She shut her phone off. Ignored the bait.

She turned and went into the studio, packing up her things.

Her expensive paints, custom brushes, and a few of her best works, tucked away, unsigned, never shown to anyone.

These were the only things that were truly hers. Her capital to build something in Sanctuary.

Just a little longer. Then she’d be free.

As she sealed the last box, a smash of glass from downstairs.

Faint, but in the dead quiet, it was deafening.

Crash—

Someone was in the house.

Elara’s muscles went rigid.

She remembered this time in her last life. A break-in. Priceless heirlooms gone. Her artwork, destroyed.

Lights out. She fired off an emergency text, grabbed the pepper spray and a utility knife from the table, and went barefoot for the stairs.

Two shadows were rummaging in the living room, flashlight beams cutting through the dark.

"Nice place. Vase looks old."

"Upstairs. Bet the Vanes have a safe. They're all gone, right? Easy pickings."

Not pros. Just junkies looking to score while the owners were out.

But desperate men are the most dangerous.

They were coming up. Heavy, clumsy footsteps.

Elara held her breath, backing into the safe room at the end of the hall.

Built for gang wars. Usually just storage.

She locked the heavy steel door.

Then, the doorknob spun wildly, followed by heavy thuds against the metal.

"Damn it, locked! There’s gotta be something good in there!"

"Kick it down!"

Bang! Bang! The door shuddered. Dust rained down.

Through it all, Elara didn't scream. She stood by the door, calm.

The lock finally broke. The man charged in.

Elara aimed for his eyes, pressing down hard on the pepper spray.

"Ah! My eyes!" A piercing scream ripped through the mansion.

In the chaos, the other man lunged, slashing Elara’s arm.

Blood gushed. The pain cleared her head.

She grabbed the heavy easel and swung it hard, right on his head.

Thud! He swayed, then went limp.

Half an hour later, the police were there. Flashing lights, and the intruders were caught.

Elara, injured, was taken to the hospital. She got a quick bandage from the paramedics and headed home.

When her family got the call from the police and rushed back, all they saw was the mess.

Her mother shrieked, running to the shattered Qing vase.

"My God! My vase! Worth millions! Elara, what did you do?! Can't you watch anything?!"

Leo looked at the easel. He casually kicked at the bloodstain.

"Bad omen. This junk wood held up, though. We'll need a cleaning crew for the carpets."

No one asked if she was hurt. No one cared about the blood seeping through the bandage.

Elara gave a bitter laugh. In her last life, left alone in the house that night, with no staff, she’d been badly hurt by these guys. Hospitalized for six months, a permanent limp. She’d called her family, desperate. No answer. She found out later they were all out on a yacht with Serena, celebrating.

This time, though, she expected nothing.

Dante entered last. His eyes found Elara, then her wound. His brow furrowed. But his first words froze Elara.

"Serena posts yesterday. The house gets hit today? And you? You're barely scratched?"

He moved closer, his voice low, intense.

"Elara. This whole thing… it seems too convenient. A story for attention?"

Elara looked at the man she had loved for ten years.

She said softly:

"If you have to think that, then let's just say that's what happened."

Dante, seeing that Elara was clearly not herself, wanted to say more.

At that moment, Leo walked out from the staircase, carrying the suitcase Elara had packed last night.

"Where do you think you're going with our family's belongings, Elara?"

Chapter 4

Dante’s eyes locked onto the packed suitcase, and his gut twisted.

He spoke, his voice a low rumble.

"Elara. Where do you think you're going?"

"Sketching."

Elara lied, her face a mask, meeting Leo's suspicious gaze head-on.

"Professor recommended Newport upstate for a sketching trip. Course requirement. I need these supplies."

"Absolutely not!"

Her father, reclined on the sofa, shot the idea down without a second thought.

"Put your things back. Serena's changing seasons, easily allergic. She could need a transfusion any minute. You're not going anywhere. You'll stay home, on standby."

Her mother chimed in, snatching Elara's backpack. It hit the coffee table with a loud thud, spilling her passport.

"I'll keep your passport safe. If you leave, what about your sister? Who gives her blood? You're trying to hurt your sister!"

Dante stood by, straightening his cuffs. His tone was deceptively mild, his words steel.

"Elara, be sensible. This is family duty. Once Serena is stable, I'll take you to Paris. Shop all you want. Hermes, Chanel,whatever you pick, it’s yours."

Family duty.

The words were chains, binding Elara for two lifetimes, choking her.

She watched her mother lock the passport in the safe. A Swiss bank-grade vault. She couldn't get it open.

But a cold laugh echoed in her mind.

Did they think a passport could trap her?

Julian Thorne's private jet didn't need one.

In that man's world, he made the rules.

It was a pass for privilege, a black card to freedom.

"Okay." Elara lowered her head, feigning compliance, the mockery hidden deep in her eyes. "I'm not going."

Just survive this week.

In three days, it would be her and Serena's twentieth birthday.

On the calendar, the date was circled in red, filled with hearts, labeled "Serena's Princess Day."

Not a single mark for Elara. As if it were just her sister's celebration.

Since she could remember, this was the norm.

Serena was the princess in the spotlight. Elara, the shadow in the corner.

Her birthday was a feast. Elara's was a service day.

But this year would be different.

Elara counted down silently in her head.

Three days.

Three more days, and she’d be free.

At dinner, the family buzzed, discussing party details.

"I want that custom pink Valentino gown! It's from this season's limited run!"

Serena's cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling. "Dante, what do you think?"

"You look stunning in anything, my princess of New York." Dante stroked her head, his gaze soft enough to melt.

"Oh, and the champagne tower needs seven tiers. Seven's Serena's lucky number. And we need a band," her mother added.

Elara ate in silence, a ghost at the table.

Suddenly, Serena turned to Elara, a mischievous glint in her eyes, as if it just occurred to her.

"Sister, what are you wearing that day? How about my old blue dress? It's two seasons out of style, and a little loose, but we can alter it. You're the older sister; you can't look too shabby and embarrass the Vane name."

Bare naked humiliation.

But Elara offered a faint smile, setting down her cutlery.

"No need. I have plans."

No one pressed her about her plans.

They didn't care.

They didn't even remember it was her birthday, too.

To them, she was just background noise for the party, or a blood bag on standby.

But Elara knew. That day would be her rebirth, and the Vane family's nightmare would begin.

Chapter 5

The Vane estate was lit up like day on the night of the birthday party.

Every A-lister, politician, and business magnate from New York was here.

The air hung thick with the scent of expensive champagne, flowers, and money.

Everywhere, Serena's favorite pink snowball roses were piled high, a vast pink ocean at first glance.

Elara stood in a shadowy corner, dressed in a simple black gown with no jewelry. She watched Serena, a princess accepting everyone’s blessings, laughing delightedly.

"This is my gift to you, Serena."

Dante stood center stage, microphone in hand, his voice full of deep affection.

Two attendants carefully brought out a huge oil painting, covered by a red velvet cloth.

When the cloth was pulled back, a collective gasp swept through the room.

The girl in the painting stood barefoot by the sea, facing the rising sun, full of vibrant life and hope.

"The light and shadow work is masterful!"

"So beautiful! Young Master Dante is so thoughtful!"

Onlookers marveled.

Elara’s blood ran cold.

That was her painting.

It was the work she’d spent three full months on, pouring all her heart into it during countless late nights.

It depicted the freedom she yearned for but could never have.

Yet now, her fiancé, Dante, announced to everyone:

"This painting was Serena's inspiration while she was ill. Though her wrists are weak, this painting represents her tenacious spirit, proof that she doesn't give up on art even in her suffering!"

His voice was filled with immense pride, and the applause that followed was thunderous.

"God, Miss Vane is truly a genius!"

"So touching, an artist with unwavering strength despite disability!"

"This is simply the most outstanding work of this generation!"

Elara looked at Serena. She covered her mouth, a look of surprise and shyness on her face, even a hint of tears in her eyes, as if it were truly her own creation.

At that moment, Elara felt not just rage, but a churning nausea in her gut.

Clutching her wine glass, she weaved through the crowd and walked onto the stage.

Dante saw her, frowned, and warned in a low voice, "Elara, get down. Don't make a scene now and ruin Serena's moment."

"The painting is good," Elara said, her voice not loud, but amplified by the microphone, audible to several rows around them. "Too bad the signature is wrong."

Serena’s face changed instantly. She grabbed Elara’s arm, her nails digging into her flesh, but a sweet smile on her face.

"Sister, you've had too much to drink. I know you like painting too, but don't joke around at a time like this. Let's go upstairs and rest."

"You said you liked my necklace, right? I'll give it to you."

She tried to drag Elara away.

Elara hesitated. That necklace was a gift she bought for herself with a scholarship when she turned eighteen, but Serena had taken it because she liked it.

Just then, Dante hurried over, his eyes pleading.

"Elara, it’s Serena’s birthday tonight. Just give me face, okay? Don't make trouble."

Whispers had already started in the crowd.

Looking at her fiancé and her sister, Elara understood everything.

She let out a cold laugh:

"Let go of my arm. I can walk myself."

Soon, they reached the staircase on the second floor.

It was a carefully chosen blind spot for the surveillance cameras.

Serena’s panicked expression suddenly twisted into something ferocious. She smiled. "Sister, you're still so stupid."

"Want the necklace? Let me tell you the truth. Your blood is mine, your man is mine, and now, your talent is mine too. You're just a spare part. Why aren't you dead yet?"

She didn't push Elara.

Instead, she leaned back herself, pretending to stumble, then shrieked and grabbed Elara’s skirt.

With the immense momentum.

Elara lost her balance.

The last thing Elara saw was Serena’s bizarre, triumphant smile at the top of the stairs.

Then she screamed, falling down, "Sister, don't push me!"

The world spun.

Agony struck, like all her bones were being torn apart.

Darkness swallowed everything.

…

When she woke again, it was to the sharp smell of disinfectant and the rhythmic beeping of machines.

"The patient is hemorrhaging, internal organs damaged. We need family to sign immediately for a transfusion! She has the rare Rh-null blood type, there's no stock in the blood bank!" The doctor's voice was frantic.

"No!" Her mother's sharp voice echoed from the hallway.

"The last remaining Rh-null plasma in the blood bank is reserved for Serena! Serena was startled just now, what if she has an episode? That's her life-saving blood! Elara is tough, she won't die!"

"But she..."

"Shut up! I'm the guardian! Go check on Serena first, her finger is scraped, and she's still crying!"

Her father's voice followed, filled with utter disregard for Elara.

Elara lay on the cold operating table, listening to it all.

No tears.

Her heart had died long ago. Even pain had become numb.

Just as her consciousness was fading, and death beckoned, a deep, magnetic voice, filled with unquestionable authority, rang out.

"Give her mine."

It was a gospel from hell.

"Sir, you are? This is a sterile area..."

"Julian Thorne. Rh-null, the golden blood. My blood, enough to buy this hospital, enough to save her, right?"

Julian.

Elara’s ally, her devil, her god.

As warm fluid flowed into her body, Elara knew. Her ties to the Vane family, to Dante Rossi, were severed, along with the infusion of this blood.

In the hallway, a commotion suddenly erupted.

"Dante! This woman is insane! She pushed me! She wanted to kill me!" Serena's aggrieved voice rang out from the doorway.

Bang!

The hospital room door was kicked open, and Dante rushed in.

Serena saw Elara was still alive and showed a hint of disappointment.

Dante's face, however, was etched with rage. He stormed over, ignoring Elara's IV drip, and pushed her shoulder hard, his voice a raw accusation.

"You heartless woman! How could you have the heart to harm your sister! You should have died on that staircase!"

Chapter 6

The intense pain made Elara gasp, but she didn't cry out, not even a flinch.

She just looked at Dante quietly.

This man who once promised to protect her from any harm, who vowed to shield her from all storms, was now roughly handling her, his anger so palpable it felt like he wished he could choke the life out of her, all for another woman's lie.

"Get out."

A tall male nurse, assigned by Julian, stepped in front of Elara like a wall.

His face was grim, muscles tense. He spoke to Dante, "This is the ICU, sir. Please show some respect. Otherwise, I'll call security to have you thrown out."

Dante froze for a moment, seemingly surprised that an outsider would dare to stop him.

He pointed at Elara, his finger trembling.

"Elara, she's your own sister! How could you be so cruel, capable of even pushing her down the stairs!"

"She fell on her own," Elara's voice was hoarse, defending herself.

She knew it was useless to explain. It always had been.

"Still lying! You're a liar!" Dante shoved his phone into Elara's face.

On the screen was a photo of Serena in her luxury hospital room, tears streaming down her face, a tiny bandage on her forehead.

The caption read: 'My heart aches from the betrayal of someone I trusted most. Why does family become a weapon?'

Elara let out a mocking laugh. "She typed a few lines, and you believed it?"

She knew explanations were futile, yet she hadn't expected him to be so biased.

Dante looked at Elara's disappointed expression, his mouth opening as if to speak.

Could this really be something more to it?

But then, his phone rang.

It was a special alert tone, Serena's personalized ringtone.

Dante glanced at it, his face instantly changing.

"Serena's having heart palpitations... Damn it."

He turned and left in a hurry, not sparing Elara another glance, not asking "Does your wound hurt?" or inquiring about who gave her the blood transfusion.

He didn't even know the blood bag that saved her wasn't from the hospital, let alone a donation from the Vane family.

He didn't know Elara had Rh-null blood.

He never cared. All he knew was her blood could save Serena, but he never thought about who would save her.

Only after his back disappeared down the corridor did Elara expressionlessly pull out the IV needle from her arm.

Blood welled up, dripping onto the white sheets like plum blossoms in the snow.

But she felt no pain.

"Miss Vane, you can't move! You just had surgery!" the nurse exclaimed, shocked.

"I want to be discharged," Elara said, pressing her wound, her gaze as firm as rock. "Help me contact the police. I need to file a report."

"A report?"

"Apply for a restraining order," Elara said coldly, a glint of ice in her eyes.

An hour later, Elara walked out of the police station.

Her phone vibrated.

It was a text from Dante.

'Stop acting out. Serena is terrified. Take a taxi home. And Elara, you owe Serena an apology. You need to make amends, or... I can't guarantee I'll be able to shield you from Father's anger. He's furious.'

Elara looked at the message, a mocking smile curling her lips.

Shield me?

He would soon find out who really needed shielding.

Chapter 7

The call from the police station reached home before Elara did.

As she pushed open the heavy, carved oak doors of the Vane estate, she wasn't met with warm lights, but by her father's whip cracking across her face.

"Crack!"

The expensive crocodile leather belt lashed viciously across Elara's shoulder.

Blood instantly stained the bandages, soaking through the thin shirt.

"You dared to call the police?!"

"You want the whole world to laugh at the Vane family? And apply for restraining orders against Leo and me? You must be tired of living!"

Her mother sat on the leather sofa, tea in hand, watching with cold eyes.

"She's an ungrateful wretch. We should never have given birth to her!"

Serena huddled in her mother's arms, seemingly trembling, but a hint of subtle satisfaction and mockery played on her lips.

Another lash, cutting through the air.

Elara didn't dodge, didn't cry, not even a whimper.

She stood there, straight as a corpse devoid of pain, letting the belt fall.

"Speak! Admit you're wrong! Just admit it, and I'll stop!"

Her father roared, Elara's silence fueling his rage further.

"I'm not wrong."

Elara looked into his eyes. Even seeing her battered and bleeding, there wasn't a trace of fatherly love.

"You abused me, imprisoned me, exploited me, and stole my work. These are facts."

"You! Still playing tough!"

Her father’s veins bulged with anger, raising his hand to strike again.

"Enough!"

Dante finally came down from upstairs.

He rushed over, grabbing his father's wrist.

"Uncle, please, stop. You'll kill her if you keep hitting."

He turned, his gaze sweeping over the blood-soaked, swaying Elara. A heavy sigh escaped him, laden with a weariness for the situation and a flicker of pain for the girl he once knew.

"Elara, look at yourself. Just apologize, back down a little, and this can all be resolved. Why are you being so stubborn? You weren't like this before." His tone was laced with a subtle sorrow, as if remembering a gentler past.

"Apologize?" Elara looked at Dante, her eyes hollow like two black holes.

The hatred accumulated over two lifetimes reached its peak at this moment.

With her love gone, only endless disgust remained.

"Dante, you disgust me."

Dante's expression froze.

He had never heard Elara speak to him like this.

Her father seized the opportunity, broke free, and raised the belt high, this time aiming for Elara's face.

"You want to die? Ruin your face and see if you're still so stubborn! I'll grant your wish!"

Elara didn't flinch, staring directly at the belt about to fall.

"Kill me then. If you break the blood bag, Serena will die too."

The belt stopped abruptly in mid-air.

Her father's hand trembled. He was scared.

Not of Elara dying, but of losing the blood supply for his precious Serena.

Chapter 8

The punishment didn't last.

At the crucial moment, Serena suddenly "fainted" right on cue.

The whole family's attention instantly shifted. Doctors, nurses – it was chaos.

Elara, enduring the sharp pain, retreated to her room.

She pulled out her phone. There was an unread message from an encrypted number, a set of coordinates.

"Three days from now, midnight. The last boat at Pier 24. Bring your people, the rest is on me. – J"

Three more days.

Three days, and she'd be free.

The next day, Dante arrived.

He held a gold-embossed invitation.

"Elara, good news."

He sat by the bed, reaching out to touch her hair. She turned her head, avoiding his hand.

He awkwardly withdrew his hand, holding up the card.

"The All-American Young Painters' Gold Award. The committee just notified you."

It was the highest honor in the art world, a dream for countless young artists.

In her past life, Elara had been locked up at home, "sick," missing the award ceremony. Dante had pulled strings, and the award had been passed to Serena, bringing her fame and fortune.

This time, he was telling her?

Elara’s eyes widened in disbelief as she took the invitation.

"I know you've always wanted this recognition," Dante's tone softened, like coaxing a spoiled child. "This is your chance to finally get the recognition you deserve, but you'll need to be smart about it. Just accept the award obediently, and then publicly thank Serena for her constant inspiration. Say she gave you the motivation to create. If you do that, I can guarantee you'll be safe from Uncle's anger, and I'll make sure this whole mess gets dropped. This will be our fresh start."

So that's it.

She was still meant to be a stepping stone. Just this time, from behind the scenes to the front, a public stepping stone, to gild Serena's name.

"Fine," Elara said softly, her gaze fixed on the window, her voice flat.

Dante breathed a sigh of relief, a satisfied smile spreading across his face, thinking she'd caved.

"I knew you were sensible. Darling, I love you." He stood up, straightening his suit. "After the award ceremony, we'll get married, okay? I've already picked out the date, next month."

Elara didn't reply. She turned her head, gazing at the clear blue sky outside, watching seagulls soar.

"Dante."

"Yeah?"

"Do you know what color the sea is?"

"Blue, why? What's this about?"

'No,' Elara thought.

It's the color of freedom. And she would never marry him.

"It's nothing," she closed her eyes. "I need to rest now. Please leave."

Chapter 9

The award ceremony. Finally, it was time for the announcement.

"Next, we present this year's most prestigious award – the All-American Young Painters' Gold Award!"

The host excitedly opened the envelope, spotlights sweeping across the hall.

The Vane couple and Serena sat in the front, basking in the flashbulbs.

Dante gripped Elara's hand, his voice a low whisper in her ear:

"Remember, thank Serena when you go up. Did you memorize the speech?"

But when the winner was announced, everyone froze.

The host's reading voice faltered, his brow furrowed in confusion, but he quickly regained his professional smile.

"Serena Vane! Has won this year's award for her piece, 'First Light'!"

Applause thundered, cheers erupted.

Amidst the cheers, there were also some discordant murmurs:

"Who's Serena? Some newcomer in the industry?"

"No, wasn't the artist's name different this time?"

Dante stared at Elara, his eyes wide with shock and a flicker of confusion.

"What's going on? I clearly arranged for your name... I had everything set up..." His voice was strained.

Elara looked at her parents in the front row. They were proudly pushing Serena onto the stage, their faces showing no surprise.

So, her parents would go this far for Serena.

They would even erase Elara's name from the winner's list and replace it with Serena's.

Serena walked onto the stage, accepting the heavy trophy, tears welling in her eyes.

"Thank you... This painting was created while I was fighting illness... Every stroke is my love for life..."

Dante turned to look at Elara, his eyes panicked, his words jumbled. A hint of something akin to hurt warred with his confusion.

"Elara, there must be a misunderstanding. I'll investigate, and I'll give you an explanation..."

"No need to investigate."

Elara yanked her hand free, a sharp, decisive movement.

"What are you doing?" Dante felt a bad omen prickle his skin, his heart pounding against his ribs.

Elara ignored him and walked straight onto the stage.

The crowd below erupted in murmurs.

Serena saw Elara, her face turned ashen, her hand holding the trophy trembling.

"S-sister, are you here to congratulate me?"

Elara walked towards the display area.

The painting that rightfully belonged to her was displayed under a spotlight, breathtakingly beautiful.

She grabbed a glass of high-proof vodka from a passing waiter's tray and poured it onto the canvas without hesitation.

"You're crazy!" Serena shrieked, her voice cracking.

Elara took out a lighter she had prepared in her handbag.

Click.

A blue flame shot up, reflecting her ice-cold face.

Whoosh!

The canvas, soaked in alcohol, was instantly engulfed in flames. The oil paint crackled and popped under the intense heat.

Screams echoed through the hall.

Elara stood before the raging fire, microphone in hand.

Below her was everything she couldn't let go of in her past life: her biased parents, her fiancé who only spoke of love.

A laugh escaped her.

She grabbed the long lock of hair she had kept, Dante's favorite, and with the scissors hidden in her palm, she cut it ruthlessly.

That lock of hair, along with the shackles the Vane family had placed on her, was thrown into the inferno, turning to ash.

Finally, she looked at Serena beside her:

"These pieces of trash, they're all yours."

"Dad, Mom, brother, fiancé. I don't want any of them anymore."

Amidst the chaos, Elara kicked off her high heels, turned, and jumped off the stage barefoot, disappearing into the dark side door, running towards her freedom.