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Marco clapped, slowly and deliberately. The sound echoed, sharp and hollow. His men silently retracted their weapons.
Then, without another word, he pulled something from his pocket and tossed it at my feet.
A jade pendant.
Familiar, timeworn, and engraved with his name–my handwriting. The first birthday gift I had ever given him. He used to treat it like a treasure, polishing it daily, saying it made him feel like I was always by his side.
Now, he’d cast it away.
He wasn’t wearing it anymore. Didn’t want it. Marco had let go of me.
His expression shifted back into that cynical ease he wore like armor. The pain vanished from his eyes, replaced by casual indifference.
“I think Mr. Weber misunderstood,” he said lazily. “I came today to offer my congratulations. After all, my sister is getting married- wouldn’t miss it for the world. You don’t mind if I stay, do you?“>
Andrew sneered. “Not at all. Just stay out of the way.”
Marco gave a relaxed shrug and pulled Ellen toward a table, acting as if nothing had happened.
But the air had changed.
Two explosive scenes had fractured the event, and the whether to sit or flee.§
atmosphere was now unbearably tense. Guests whispered nervously, unsure of
Qiane had calmed down, finally. Andrew carried her to a reception room, and the ceremony was suspended. But outside those walls, chaos erupted.
The media swarmed.
Gossip spread like wildfire.
“The Elliot Family Heir Goes Mad for Love–But She Still Chooses the Scumbag?“}
“Weber Family Shows Magnanimity–Accepts Mentally III Woman With Open Arms!“}
“Tragic Triangle: One Woman, Two Men, and a Wedding on Fire!“}
My name climbed the trending searches like wildfire. I was scorned, ridiculed, turned into a joke. The Weber Family made sure no photos of Diane’s mental breakdown saw daylight. But mine? Every last one surfaced. Some were even doctored–my face pasted onto lewd photos.
Andrew never spoke up. Never once defended me. He never did. I was used to it by now.
During the break, I tried to find Leander. I spotted him leaving from a distance and instinctively followed. But just as I turned the corner, someone blocked my path.
Wendell.”
He looked at me with mocking disdain. “I knew Diane’s little episode was your doing. Turns out you’ve got a brain after all. You’re not the naive girl you used to be.”
He leaned in, voice low and cold. “But you won’t last long. Once the operation’s over and your eyes are gone, you’ll be nothing but a helpless dog. We’ll be free to do whatever we want to you.”
I stared at him, emotionless. I used to treat him like family. I raised this wolf myself.}
“But why wait until after the surgery?” he hissed. “I’ll teach you a lesson now. For Diane!“}
His fist came flying toward me.
I moved.
His punch missed, and I countered with a back kick that sent him flying three meters down the hall. He slammed into the ground, coughed, and spat blood.!
I didn’t hold back.
I learned this in Room 00 of the mental hospital–the hell room. The man there beat me daily without mercy. I learned to fight back. To survive. Over time, my body hardened, my instincts sharpened. Every strike I delivered now carried the weight of survival.
Wendell clutched his ribs, wide–eyed with disbelief. “You… you know how to fight? You were pretending?“}
I said nothing.
He rushed me again, this time pulling a dagger from his coat. The blade glinted under the corridor lights as it slashed toward my throat.
I sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, twisted it. He screamed. The knife clattered to the floor. I kicked him again in the same spot, and he dropped to his knees, gasping.
I stepped closer, gripped his throat, and lifted him halfway off the floor–just as he had once done to me in that filthy doghouse. Now the fear was in his eyes.
Now he was the one dangling helplessly.
He thrashed, face turning red, and finally started to beg. “Geneva… I was wrong. I didn’t think you’d come back. Please–just this once-” “I’ll be loyal again,” he gasped. “Just like before-”
His cowardice made me sick.>
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“I’ll be loyal again,” he gasped. “Just like before-”
His cowardice made me sick.
I tightened my grip. “Did you forget what you said to me in the doghouse?“}
He went still. Remembered.}
He began to struggle wildly. But I didn’t give him the chance.
Three seconds later, he collapsed onto the floor, unconscious.
I reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag. Smoke curled around me as I looked at my reflection in the hallway mirror.
I didn’t recognize the woman staring back.
The girl I used to be–kind, warm, full of hope–was long gone.
My thoughts drifted, somewhere far from this broken world.”
I didn’t notice the footsteps behind me until a voice interrupted the silence.
“You’re really something else.”}
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