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My mom always told me being pretty would get me played. So I hid my face for ten years — and married a man who played me anyway. For over a decade, I buried myself behind heavy bangs, thick-rimmed glasses, and drugstore foundation two shades too dark. Then I married Marcus Sterling, heir to the Sterling empire. He said it was love at first sight. I believed him. I thought he was the one man who saw past the surface and loved me for who I really was. Then came the car crash. Marcus threw himself over me, took the hit, and ended up in the ICU. Bruised and dizzy, I stumbled down the hospital corridor to his room — then froze at the door. His mother's voice was pouring through the crack. "Marcus! Marrying that hideous woman already turned us into the laughingstock of the city, and now you're throwing your life away for her? How much longer are you gonna keep this ridiculous act going?" My hand locked on the doorknob. Silence stretched on the other side. Then Marcus spoke. Flat. Dead calm. Nothing like the warm man I'd married. "Mom. You know what I want." "I knew it! I knew you were still doing all of this for Daphne!" Mrs. Sterling's voice shook with rage. "Listen to me. You are the future of this family. Daphne will never set foot in our home! I don't care how much you love her. Using Elara to back us into a corner isn't going to work!" The blood drained from my face. What were they talking about? For Daphne? Who the hell was Daphne? Something cold clamped down on my chest. I couldn't breathe. I stumbled back, the hospital wall scraping my shoulder, until I made it to my own room. My hands shook so hard I could barely unlock my phone. I pulled up a chat with a private investigator I knew. "Look into Marcus Sterling and a woman named Daphne. Everything. Spare no detail." Every second of waiting felt like bleeding out. My ears were ringing. Mrs. Sterling's shrill voice — the laughingstock, for Daphne — and Marcus's ice-cold tone played on a loop in my skull. Every word tore through the life we'd built. Shredded the heart I'd finally let him win. My screen lit up. The file was huge. Dozens of pages. Floods of photos. Daphne Thorne. Eldest daughter of the Thorne family. Marcus's first love. High society's golden couple. Perfect match. Three years ago, they got engaged. Then a pre-marital screening dropped a bomb: Daphne couldn't have kids. For a family like the Sterlings, no heir meant no deal. They nuked the engagement overnight. Marcus fought back — ready to walk away from everything for her — but his family didn't play nice. They tanked Thorne Enterprises' stock and choked out their supply chain. Unable to watch her family's legacy burn, Daphne broke down and called it off. After the breakup, Marcus was dragged through endless blind dates. He shot them all down. Until he met me. The woman notoriously known throughout our circle for being hideous. The pieces clicked into place. He didn't marry me because I was special. He didn't fall for my soul. Out of every option on the table, I was just the most pathetic. The most unpresentable. The ultimate embarrassment to the Sterling name. I was a tool. A weapon to enrage his parents and force them to cave. He'd thrown his life in front of that crash just to prove a point. To make them break. Staring at the glowing screen, a laugh ripped out of my throat. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. My chest caved in. The betrayal sat on my lungs like a brick. I gasped for air. My mom warned me beauty would get me played. But even behind the mask, I'd still been played. And the joke was all on me. Three years of marriage. Three years of soft smiles, forehead kisses, whispered promises. Every bit of it — a perfectly rehearsed performance. I was a prop. A stepping stone he used to shove his parents toward his real love. I thought Marcus was my light in the dark. Turns out he was just using me to bounce that light onto someone else. I sat in that room and cried until I had nothing left. Then I wiped my jaw dry, picked up my phone, and dialed his mother's number. She answered. Before she could get a word out, I spoke first. My voice was pure ice. "I'm divorcing Marcus." ### Chapter 2 There were a few seconds of dead silence on the other end of the line. "What did you just say?!" Mrs. Sterling's voice pitched up, like she couldn't believe her own ears. "Elara, looking the way you do, you actually have the nerve to ask for a divorce? Do you have any idea how many women in our circle are lined up to marry Marcus?" "What I look like is none of your business," I said. "I'm getting this divorce. If the Sterling family tries to block it, I'll hire a lawyer and drag this through court. Trust me — nobody wants that kind of press." Mrs. Sterling was still fuming on the other end, but I could hear the relief bleeding through. The eagerness she couldn't quite hide. Of course she was relieved. Mrs. Sterling had never liked her "ugly daughter-in-law." She couldn't wait to get me out of the picture and clear the runway for some gorgeous socialite. In her book, Daphne wasn't good enough for Marcus — and I was ten times worse. "Fine!" Mrs. Sterling finally caved. "I'll take care of the divorce. Just give me a few days." I hung up, took a deep breath, signed myself out of the hospital, and went home. First thing I did when I walked through the door? Start throwing things out. I pulled out every piece Marcus had given me over the years — necklaces, bracelets, rings, designer bags — and dumped every last one in the trash. The Cartier bracelet hit the bottom with a satisfying thunk. Just like tossing out three years of being an idiot. A few days later, Marcus came home. The burns on his back hadn't fully healed, so he moved a little stiff. But his suit was crisp and his face was just as gorgeous as ever. I used to melt looking at that face. Now? Nothing. "Why are you sitting out here?" he asked, using that same gentle tone. "The maids said you've barely eaten for days." I looked up at him. Before, one look at that face and my heart would race, my cheeks would burn. Now it just felt cold. Like a stranger's. Marcus didn't seem to notice the shift in my eyes. Or maybe he'd just never really been looking. He glanced at the calendar on the wall and reached for my hand like it was second nature. "Are you upset because I wasn't here to keep you company? It's your birthday today. I had someone set up a banquet at The Grand Monarch Hotel. We've still got time — let me take you dress shopping first. Sound good?" A week ago, I would've been over the moon. He remembered my birthday. He planned a whole banquet. Now all I could do was laugh quietly inside my own hollow chest. But I didn't call him out. "Okay," I said softly. Marcus drove me to a high-end boutique. The second we walked in, his phone rang. "Go ahead and start looking, I need to take this," he said, stepping aside. I let it go and headed upstairs to browse. My eyes landed on a champagne-colored gown. Simple. Elegant. "I'll take this one. Can you wrap it up for me?" I told the sales associate. "Actually, I want that dress." A soft female voice came from right behind me. I turned around. The second I saw who was standing there, my blood went cold. Daphne. The bright, vibrant woman from the photos — the one draped all over Marcus — was standing right in front of me in the flesh. She wore a cream-colored suit, long hair loosely curled, makeup flawless. That innate sense of superiority sat in her eyes as she stared at the champagne gown in my hands with a half-smile. "Sorry." Daphne stepped forward, her voice soft but her tone far from polite. "I've had my eye on this dress too. Even though you were here first..." She looked me up and down, taking in my heavy bangs and thick-rimmed glasses, and a perfectly calculated smile curved her lips. "I think it suits me much better. Why don't you just let me have it?" ### Chapter 3 My grip tightened on the dress. The fabric was soft, but right then it felt like it was lined with thorns. "Not happening." I turned to the sales associate. "Ring me up." Daphne's smile slipped a little. She reached out and grabbed the other end of the gown. "I really love it though. Looking the way you do… honestly, what you wear isn't gonna change much. Why not do me a solid and let me have it? Please?" We stood there locked in a standoff, the air thick with it. "What's going on?" Marcus's deep voice cut in from the top of the stairs. He'd finished his call and come up just in time to catch the scene. His brow creased. Daphne's whole face lit up the second she saw him, but she didn't let go of the dress. "Marcus? You're here too?" Her gaze bounced between the two of us before she put on a look of sudden realization. "Oh — so this is your wife? If I'd known she was Mrs. Sterling, I never would've fought her for it. It's all yours, Mrs. Sterling." She let go of the fabric as she spoke, acting like the stubbornness two seconds ago had been some harmless little joke. But the next second, Marcus reached over, lifted the champagne gown right out of my hands like he was taking a toy from a kid, and handed it to Daphne. "Don't worry about it." He looked at Daphne, his voice softer than anything he'd used on me all day. "It suits you better anyway. Go try it on." A flicker of smugness flashed in Daphne's eyes. She took the dress, shot me a smile, and disappeared into the fitting room. My hands hung frozen in the air. My fingertips still tingled from where the fabric had been yanked away. I slowly pulled them back and curled them into fists. My nails dug into my palms, but the sharp sting couldn't cover up the dull, brutal ache ripping through my chest. Marcus finally turned back to me, like he'd just handled some throwaway little errand. "Lara, that was Daphne, a… friend of mine. She's just a little direct. She didn't mean anything by it. It's just a dress. We'll grab something else." I looked up at him through my thick-rimmed glasses. "Why don't you just say it straight? You said it suited her better, but what you really meant is that with a face like mine, I don't deserve a dress like that. I don't deserve anything beautiful. Isn't that it?" Marcus froze. Clearly, he hadn't seen that coming — especially not me ripping the mask clean off the whole thing. "That's not what I meant." He smoothed out his expression fast, a trace of helplessness slipping into his tone. "If I thought you weren't good enough, why would I have married you in the first place?" Why did he marry me? His words hit like a poisoned blade straight to the chest. The pain was so sharp my vision went black for a second. Yeah. Why? Because my ugliness was exactly what he needed. I was the perfect weapon. The pawn he used to back the Sterlings into a corner until they gave in. Growing up, hiding my real face meant swallowing a lifetime of mockery. The whispers from classmates. The insults from blind dates. The heavy sighs from my father… Those words were like needles. After enough years of being poked, I'd gone numb. But Marcus was different. Three years of gentle comfort, small defenses, even the life-risking love he showed that night in the crash — they were like warm water slowly melting the ice inside me. They gave me delusions. A dependency I never should've let myself have. And then, with his own two hands, he shattered that fake warmth in the calmest, most casual way imaginable. This hurt a thousand times worse than outright cruelty. I swallowed the lump climbing up my throat and the agony churning in my chest. Without a word, I turned to another rack and grabbed a plain black dress. Just then, the fitting room curtain whipped open. Daphne stepped out. The champagne gown hugged every curve, set off her fair skin, made her glow. She looked absolutely stunning. She did a little twirl, the skirt flaring out in a graceful arc. "Ms. Thorne, it's gorgeous on you!" the sales associates gushed. "Like it was made for you!" Marcus's gaze landed on Daphne too. His eyes darkened. Daphne's figure was reflected in them, crystal clear. And in that usually cold gaze, there was a flicker of something tender — the exact look I'd spent three years searching for and never once saw turned on me. It lasted half a second. I caught every frame of it. An invisible hand clamped around my heart and squeezed. I could barely breathe. "Marcus, how do I look?" Daphne asked with a bright smile, her eyes skimming past me like I wasn't there. "Beautiful." Marcus nodded, his tone firm, approving. The smile on Daphne's face grew even brighter. She walked up to Marcus, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Oh, right — I heard tonight's Mrs. Sterling's birthday banquet? At The Grand Monarch?" "Yeah," Marcus nodded. "I happen to be free tonight," Daphne said, turning to me with a polite smile. "Mrs. Sterling, you wouldn't mind if I dropped by to celebrate, would you?" Before I could even open my mouth, Marcus beat me to it. "Of course not. We'd love to have you." ### Chapter 4 The penthouse ballroom at The Grand Monarch Hotel was lit up like a dream. The birthday banquet Marcus threw for me was over-the-top extravagant. He'd invited half the city's elite. I wore that plain black dress. Heavy bangs, thick-rimmed glasses — the usual shield over my face. Standing next to Marcus, I felt like a shadow that didn't belong. I could feel stares coming from every direction — curious, judgmental, most of them dripping with open contempt and smirks. "What was Mr. Sterling thinking, marrying someone like that…" "She's just… rough to look at. Mr. Sterling is so out of her league, what's he even after?" "Who knows? Maybe he's just into weird stuff." The whispers buzzed around me like mosquitoes. I kept my back straight, face blank, like I couldn't hear a thing. Not long into the banquet, Marcus gave me a gift in front of everyone — an expensive diamond necklace. When the velvet box flipped open, low gasps of envy rippled through the crowd. "Thank you," I said, voice flat as I took it. Daphne arrived a little later. The second she walked in, every head in the room turned. Wearing that champagne gown, makeup flawless, smile elegant — it was like she was the real guest of honor. "Sorry I'm late." Daphne walked up to me, tone all sincerity. "I didn't have time to put a gift together. Hope you don't mind, Mrs. Sterling — let me make a fool of myself and play a little something to celebrate your birthday instead." Then she turned to Marcus with a smile. "Marcus, I remember you're great on the piano too. How about a four-hand duet? Just to spice things up for Mrs. Sterling's birthday — what do you say?" The guests started clapping and egging them on. "Come on, Mr. Sterling, give us a show!" "Ms. Thorne and Mr. Sterling — they really do look perfect together!" "Yeah, they're such a match…" Marcus looked at Daphne's expectant eyes, then glanced down at me — silent beside him. After a beat of hesitation, he actually walked over to the piano. The harmony started. A four-hand arrangement of Für Elise. The man aloof and elegant, the woman radiant and stunning. Sitting side by side, they looked like a painting come to life. They played like they'd done it a hundred times before. Because they probably had. I stood there in my plain black dress — the one Marcus hadn't even noticed I'd changed into — and watched my husband fall in love with another woman in front of three hundred people. On my birthday. The whispers around me got louder. This time, they didn't even try to hide the contempt. "Now that — that's what a match looks like…" "If only Mr. Sterling had married Ms. Thorne back when he had the chance." "Such a shame…" "That Elara woman's just taking up space. An ugly girl like her snagging the best heir in the circle? What a waste." Every word was a poisoned needle jabbing into my heart, one after another. I stood frozen. The air was thinning around me. The stares, the comments — they were drowning me. I turned and walked out to the balcony. The night breeze was cool, blowing away the suffocating heat, the heavy perfume, the noise. I leaned against the railing, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. Footsteps came up behind me. A warm body pressed close, and arms wrapped around my waist from behind. My body went stiff. "Why are you out here all by yourself?" Marcus's deep voice came right by my ear. "Don't take what they said to heart. It's just petty gossip." I didn't move. Didn't speak. Marcus clearly thought I was just pouting. His chin brushed the top of my head, and his tone softened into coaxing. "Lara, I've told you, you're great. You don't have to care what other people say. As long as I like you, that's enough." Like? I almost laughed out loud. Seriously? Was that what we were calling it? Did he "like" using me as a weapon against his family? Or did he "like" using me as a sad little foil to prove his forever love for Daphne? Marcus probably felt words weren't enough. Seeing me still silent, he suddenly turned his head and, catching me completely off guard, kissed the side of my neck. A warm, soft pressure hit my skin. I shuddered and instinctively tried to shove him off. Just then — Bang! The glass balcony door flew open. Daphne stood in the doorway, smile still half-frozen on her face. But the second she saw us wrapped up in each other — especially Marcus's lips on my neck — the smile dropped. Her face paled, and tears welled up fast. "I — I'm sorry… I didn't mean to interrupt." Her voice cracked. She spun around and bolted, looking completely shaken. Marcus let go of me instantly. His expression shifted. His eyes chased the direction she'd run off in, filled with obvious concern and — something like conflict. ### Chapter 5 He quickly looked away and turned back to me. His voice was calm again. "Don't let that stuff earlier get to you. As long as I like you, that's all that matters. I'm gonna step out to make a call." He hurried out after her. I stood there, staring at the empty doorway. I tried to curl my lips into something, but I couldn't even fake a bitter smile. I couldn't stand another second at this birthday banquet. I turned around and left. Just as I reached the driveway outside the hotel, a figure stepped right in my path. Daphne. Her eyes were still a little red, but she'd already pulled herself together. She looked at me with her chin tilted up. "Leaving so soon, Mrs. Sterling?" Daphne asked. Her voice was soft, but every word was laced with venom. "Doesn't look great for the guest of honor to cut out early. Or — are you upset Marcus ran after me?" I didn't want to deal with her. I stepped around her and tried to walk away. "Hold up." Daphne reached out and grabbed my arm. "We need to talk. About Marcus. About this joke of a marriage you're in. There are some things you should probably know —" "Move," I said, voice cold as ice. "What? Feeling guilty? Because you know you're sitting in a spot that was never yours?" Daphne wouldn't drop it. She stepped in closer and locked her fingers around my wrist. "Let me tell you — Marcus doesn't even —" "Let go of me!" I yanked my arm, trying to shake her off. We wrestled right at the edge of the driveway. Daphne was in high heels. Her foot slipped. She screamed and fell backward, clamping down on my arm in a death grip. She dragged me down with her, throwing me off balance. "Ah —!" The screech of tires and a sickening thud hit at the exact same second! In the chaos, something massive slammed into me. The world spun. A searing pain ripped through my forehead and cheek, and warm liquid instantly blurred my vision. Daphne's scream rang in my ears. Pain and dizziness swallowed me whole. I drifted in and out, catching flashes — people crowding around us, frantic voices, the wail of an ambulance siren… In the haze, I thought I saw Marcus rushing over. For the first time, real panic cracked through that cold, composed face of his. Then I heard pieces of a conversation, sounding like they were floating in from miles away: "Mr. Sterling, both victims are critical. They both need surgery now. But there's only one operating room open. Mrs. Sterling's facial wounds are deep — if we don't treat her immediately, she could be disfigured for life. Ms. Thorne's hands are torn up pretty bad. They might scar." Then, I heard Marcus's voice — "Save Daphne first. She still needs her hands to play the piano. They can't have any flaws." "But Mrs. Sterling —" "Leave her. Looks don't matter to her anyway." Looks don't matter to her anyway. Five words. That's all I was worth. Everything went black, and I passed out cold. When I woke up, I was in a hospital room. Not a soul around. I reached up and touched my face. Thick layers of gauze. The door swung open. Daphne walked in with a pack of her friends. Her hands were bandaged too, but there was a smug little smile playing on her lips. "Elara." She walked up to my bed, looking me up and down. "Heard you got hurt pretty bad. Face sliced wide open. I honestly thought you were done for this time — permanently disfigured. Who knew the Sterlings' doctors were that good? They actually patched you back together." "But let's be real — even patched up, they can't hide how ugly you already were. That thick gauze actually pairs great with your bangs and glasses. Same level of eyesore." The guys and girls behind her snickered. I closed my eyes, not even bothering to look at them. "Get out." Before Daphne could say anything, a curly-haired girl in a pink suit next to her lost it. "Excuse me?! Daph came all the way here to check on you and you're telling her to get out? Being ugly's one thing, but having zero manners? You're seriously trash!" I opened my eyes, shooting an icy glare at the girl before looking at Daphne. "Take your lapdogs and get the hell out. You're not welcome here." "Who are you calling a lapdog?!" The girl in pink's face turned beet red. She lunged forward, hand flying up to slap me across the face — My face was injured. I couldn't move fast enough. The slap was an inch from my face — "Whoa, Gemma, hitting a patient isn't a great look." A man in a floral shirt caught Gemma's wrist. He looked to be pushing thirty, his eyes crawling over me on the bed. A nasty smirk hung on his lips. "Mrs. Sterling, right? You've got some bite. But — I happen to know how to fix that." He took two steps forward, looming over the bed. His stare was greasy and shameless. "I've seen plenty of women like you. Nothing much to look at, but with a huge attitude. You just need a man to put you in your place. No matter how tough you act, once you get screwed into submission, you'll behave." "Tsk, the body's not bad... Forget the face. It's all the same with the lights off anyway." With that, he actually reached out and yanked the blanket right off me! ### Chapter 6 "Get off me!" I snapped, fighting through the pain to twist away, but I was a second too slow. The man was ridiculously strong. He pinned my shoulder down with one hand and ripped open the collar of my hospital gown with the other, exposing my pale skin and bandages. He stared, his eyes full of a mix of excitement and disgust. "Tsk, the body's not bad... Forget the face. It's all the same with the lights off anyway." "Let go of me! Help — somebody help!" I thrashed desperately, my whole body shaking with humiliation and terror. But Daphne's crew just stood there. Some smirked, some crossed their arms like they were watching a show, and Gemma — the girl in the pink dress — actually pulled out her phone to film it. Despair and fury snapped whatever was left of my reason. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a heavy glass vase on the nightstand. I grabbed it, swung it at the head of the guy pinning me, and smashed it down with everything I had. CRASH —! A dull thud, the man's scream, and shattering glass all erupted at once. Just then, the door swung open. A nurse walked in carrying a tray of supplies. She took one look — the bloody man on the floor, the mess everywhere, me sitting up on the bed with my gown torn and face white as paper — and nearly dropped the tray. "Oh my God! What the hell happened?! Security! Call security! And the police — now!" ... At the police station, Daphne's group and I were put in separate interrogation rooms. Daphne's side all spun the exact same story, claiming I'd attacked Lydon out of nowhere. I said it was self-defense against attempted rape. But nobody bought it. I mean — who's gonna believe an "ugly girl" got sexually harassed? Soon, Marcus showed up with a lawyer. The Police Chief greeted him in person. "Mr. Sterling, about this case… both sides are telling different stories. Procedurally, we need to close it out. But everyone involved is someone you know, so…" Marcus's gaze landed on me first. His eyes lingered on my torn collar and the gauze on my face. His brow tightened for a split second before he looked away, turning to Daphne, who was sitting quietly to the side. Daphne met his gaze and shook her head gently. Her eyes were full of helplessness and a hint of grievance, like she was the one unfairly dragged into this mess. Marcus stayed silent for a few seconds. The interrogation room was dead quiet. Every second felt like torture. Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, steady, completely flat. "Lydon was out of line, sure. But rape? Lara, are you sure you didn't misread the situation? Lydon's never had trouble getting women." He then turned to the Police Chief, tone casual but carrying weight. "Lydon's hurt pretty badly — he needs to get checked out at the hospital first. Lara's emotionally unstable. She needs to cool down. Since the police were already called, just process it as disorderly conduct. Hold her for a few days. Let her think about what she did." My eyes shot wide open. I stared at him, stunned. Was it because Lydon "never lacked women"? Or was it because I was ugly — so in his mind, it was physically impossible for me to be assaulted?! It felt like my heart had been ripped out and crushed alive. It hurt a thousand times worse than the cuts on my face or the terror I'd just lived through. The Police Chief caught on instantly. "Understood, Mr. Sterling. Officers — escort Mr. Mercer and Ms. Thorne out." Then he turned back to me, tone strictly business. "Mrs. Sterling, you are now being lawfully detained on suspicion of assault and disorderly conduct." Soon, Daphne and Lydon were politely escorted out of the station. As they walked past me, Lydon clutched his bleeding head and shot me a vicious glare. Daphne paused, tilted her head to look at me, and curled her lips into a victorious little smile as she whispered: "See?" she whispered. "Pretty obvious who Marcus believes, isn't it?" With that, she strutted off. I was taken into a holding cell. I knew Daphne wasn't about to let this chance slip. For me, the next seven days were hell. The freezing cell, the rancid food, cellmates who went out of their way to pick fights, getting splashed with ice water in the middle of the night, cellmates roughly jabbing at my unhealed wounds… The torment was nonstop. Day three. A cellmate "accidentally" tripped me face-first into the concrete floor. My stitches split open. I lay there bleeding and laughed until I couldn't breathe. Because somewhere out there, Daphne was probably getting a manicure. I gritted my teeth and held on. Didn't cry. Didn't scream. My eyes went emptier by the day. My heart went colder and harder. On the seventh day, I was released. Marcus was waiting at the entrance. He leaned against his car, a cigarette between his fingers. The curling smoke blurred his handsome face. Seeing me walk out, he put out the cigarette and came over. "You're out. Get in the car." I didn't move. I looked up and stared straight at him, voice hoarse. "Why?" Marcus didn't seem to expect that. He paused. "Why what?" "Why'd you let them walk? Why'd you lock me up?" My voice was soft, but trembling with everything I'd kept down. "Because you think I'm ugly, right? So Daphne's friend couldn't possibly have tried anything with me. So obviously I was lying. Obviously I jumped him out of nowhere. Is that it?" ### Chapter 7 Marcus looked at my red eyes and the deep despair sitting in them. A faint twinge of discomfort flickered through his mind, but he pushed it away just as fast. His tone softened, taking on that patient, reasoning edge. "Lara, Lydon's a piece of trash, sure. But rape? The odds are low. It was chaotic. You were scared out of your mind — you probably just misread the whole thing. Locking you up for a few days was to teach you a lesson and let the dust settle. I didn't just abandon you in there. I put in a word with the people inside. Made sure you weren't mistreated." Put in a word? I almost laughed out loud. But the tears fell first. Did he ever once stop and think that his beloved Daphne had also "put in a word"? That she made sure I was tortured until I was begging to die? I bit my lip so hard it bled. The taste of copper filled my mouth. Over the next few days, like he was worried his little tool might act out, Marcus made a rare attempt at making it up to me. He took me to an exclusive private auction. He bought every sky-high diamond necklace, antique earring, and famous painting in sight, putting everything in my name. But staring at those cold diamonds, I felt absolutely nothing. Just pure numbness. After the auction, I walked out onto the deck alone to get some air. Familiar footsteps came up behind me. Daphne. Again. "Elara, Marcus bought you a whole pile of stuff. Are you happy now?" Daphne walked up to me. Her voice was soft, but her eyes were pure venom. "But no matter how expensive that junk is, it doesn't change the fact that you're just a tool. He used you to force his parents' hand. Now that he's basically gotten what he wants, how much longer do you really think he's gonna keep you around? When we get married, I'll make sure to send you an invite." I didn't want to hear it. I turned to walk away. But Daphne grabbed my wrist hard. "Leaving already? Heart broken? I told you the truth last time. The only person Marcus has ever loved is me. You're nothing but a —" "Let go!" I yanked my arm back. We wrestled at the stern railing. The yacht swayed slightly. Daphne's heels slipped. She screamed and fell backward, but her hand clamped onto me in a death grip! "Ah —!" We both lost our balance. We went over the railing and plunged straight into the pitch-black, freezing ocean below! Ice-cold water flooded my mouth and nose instantly. The impact and the freezing cold knocked the air clean out of my lungs. I couldn't swim. I thrashed uselessly as bitter saltwater poured down my throat. Through the blur, I saw a figure dive into the water and swim toward us with powerful strokes. Marcus. Without a second of hesitation, he swam straight for Daphne, who was thrashing and screaming for help. He grabbed her from behind and quickly swam toward a life raft. He didn't glance back at me. Not once. The freezing ocean was nothing compared to the ice in my heart. Just as my consciousness started slipping, a passing dinghy spotted me. The people on board scrambled to drag me out of the water. I collapsed onto the deck, coughing violently, throwing up mouthfuls of seawater. I was soaked through, shivering uncontrollably. Marcus had already gotten Daphne onto a life raft. He wrapped her up tight in a blanket, whispering soft words into her ear. Only then did he seem to remember something. He looked up. His gaze landed on me. It started as a casual glance — then a second later, it locked. "Your face…" he murmured, his brows knitting together. My heart skipped a beat. I instinctively ducked my head and touched my face. The thick, dull foundation I always wore had washed off in the struggle and the saltwater, leaving patches of my real skin exposed. My soaked bangs were plastered to my forehead, and my thick-rimmed glasses were long gone. "Marcus… my head hurts… I'm so cold…" Right at that moment, Daphne let out a weak groan. She nestled deeper into Marcus's arms, breaking his stare. Marcus pulled his eyes away immediately. "Hang in there. I'm getting you to a doctor right now." He didn't spare me another glance. He scooped Daphne up and hurried toward the cabin. I sat there, staring at his back. I clutched my soaked clothes, fingertips completely numb. In the end, I didn't say a single word. With the help of the people who saved me, I climbed back onto the yacht and found an empty room to clean myself up. I stood in front of the mirror. I wiped the fog off with my sleeve. And there she was. The face my mother told me to hide. The face I'd buried under ten years of cheap foundation and ugly frames. The face that got her killed. Sharp cheekbones. Huge dark eyes. A mouth that didn't need a single thing to be dangerous. I wasn't ugly. I never had been. After changing my clothes, I got off the yacht. My phone rang. It was Mrs. Sterling. "Elara." Mrs. Sterling's voice rang with undisguised relief and satisfaction. "The divorce papers are finalized. As of right now, you have zero ties to Marcus or the Sterling family. We'll send your father a lump sum as compensation. Just don't ever show your face again." I stood on the pier, gripping my phone. The ocean breeze caught my half-dry hair, blowing it back to reveal my smooth forehead. Without the glasses hiding them, my clear eyes were pure ice. It was over. I hailed a cab. I didn't go back to the Sterling house. I went straight to the cemetery on the outskirts of the city. The woman in the tombstone photo was beautiful and gentle, but her eyes carried a sorrow that could never be erased. "Mom," I whispered. My voice scattered into the wind. "You were right. Being too pretty gets you played. But even playing ugly — I still got played all the way through." "Hiding who I was didn't keep me safe. It just made it easier for people to walk all over me. So from now on… I'm done hiding." "Even if the road ahead gets rough, I'm gonna face it as me." I bowed three times, deep, then turned and walked away without looking back. Back at the villa, I slipped in without a single maid noticing. I went straight up to my bedroom and did three things. First, I packed my bags. Second, I scrubbed away every last trace of makeup. The bathroom mirror was fogged up — but as the steam cleared, it slowly revealed a face that was devastatingly beautiful. Third, I pulled out my phone and booked the earliest flight out of the city. I cabbed it to the airport, checked in, got through security, waited at the gate, and finally boarded the plane. I kept my head down the whole way. But my bare face was too striking to hide. It still pulled countless stares — amazed, curious, some people even sneaking photos. I didn't notice. Or — I just didn't care anymore. The plane climbed into the clouds, leaving Kingsport City — and every bit of pain and lies it held — far behind me. What I didn't know was that, shortly after my flight took off, all those candid airport shots exploded online. They hit local trending at insane speed and started spreading like wildfire. #AirportGoddessSpotted #IsThisLevelOfBeautyEvenReal #InternetDoYourThing INeedHerInfoASAP #WhoIsShe The photos went full-blown viral. The whole internet was trying to hunt down the stunning girl from the airport. And pretty soon, my real identity started surfacing…

Ten years later, I ran into Liam Carter again at a class reunion. All our classmates, successful now, were married with kids. Only Liam was still single. "Serena, Liam's waiting for you. He hasn't dated or gotten married in years." They'd barely finished speaking when Liam walked in. He walked in, sharp in a suit, and everyone gasped. Ten years later, Liam was still drop-dead gorgeous. The youthful arrogance was gone, though. A calm maturity now settled in his brow. Knowing our history, they made sure Liam and I sat together. He kept sneaking glances at me, like he had a million things to say. But all he managed was a soft, "Rena, long time no see." "Yeah, long time no see." I responded blandly, my face completely devoid of any emotion about our long-awaited reunion. Childhood sweethearts, totally inseparable, but we ended up like strangers. I remembered the party after high school graduation, when he cut a slice of watermelon for the new transfer student. This time, I didn't cry. I just quietly ended things. "All because of a piece of watermelon?" "Yeah." He scoffed. "Fine. Just try to stick with it for more than a couple days this time. Give me some peace." I didn't say anything. I just grabbed my bag and left the private room. This time, he didn't immediately follow me out like he always did. He figured I was just throwing another tantrum, that in a few days, once I cooled down, I'd naturally come crawling back to him, just like before. After all, that's how all ninety-nine previous breakups went. But what he didn't know was that it was the straw that broke the camel's back. My heart, repeatedly stung and already riddled with holes, had finally run out of its last shred of warmth and hope. With that ninety-ninth breakup, I was truly done with him. Liam and I had always been known throughout the school as a match made in heaven. He was the school's golden boy, tall with long legs, a face so chiseled it was almost intimidating. He always rocked a cool, black windbreaker, all swagger and charm, drawing girls in like crazy. But his eyes? They were always, only, on me. We were childhood sweethearts, practically glued at the hip growing up. At our baby party when we were just one, it was like we picked each other, destined from the start. By seven, our parents had already joked about our marriage. At fourteen, we were passing love notes. Sixteen, he officially asked me out. Eighteen, we promised to get into the same college... Everything was perfect until our senior year. That's when Tiffany Hayes, a new transfer student, showed up in our class. When the homeroom teacher set up the "buddy system" for new students, she specifically paired Tiffany with Liam. She made it crystal clear: "If you don't take this on, you can forget about dating Serena Reed anywhere on campus." Liam, who was usually so aloof and distant, had no choice but to take on the assignment. At first, it was just regular tutoring sessions and showing her around campus. But little by little, things started to feel really off. When Tiffany mentioned she craved a cake from that trendy bakery in Soho everyone queues for, he ditched football training to get it for her. When Tiffany posted on Instagram that she was feeling down, he stayed on the phone with her all night. And get this: one time, when she had period cramps, he borrowed money from me to buy her hot cocoa... I was furious. We fought. And that's when I started breaking up with him, over and over again. The first time I dumped him, it was on the phone. There was this long silence on his end, then I heard his breathing, ragged and fast. It was a total downpour that night. He showed up at my place, soaked to the bone, and stood outside all night. His voice hoarse, he kept calling my name, begging me to forgive him. The second time I ended things, he skipped a whole day of classes, posted up outside my classroom door, his eyes bloodshot. He shoved a thick, messily written but totally heartfelt love letter into my hands, begging me to get back together, all humble and desperate. But as it happened more and more often, he finally seemed to figure out my bottom line... that I couldn't actually leave him! So, his apologies started getting lazier and lazier. What used to be an instant makeup turned into a day later, then three days, then a week... Until the ninety-ninth time. All that pent-up disappointment and heartache, simmering for way too long, just burst. I finally decided to leave him for good. The first thing I did when I got home? Fired up my laptop and, without a second thought, changed my top choice on the application. It was supposed to be NYU, our dream school, but I switched it to UCLA, clear across the country. Next, I started clearing out everything that reminded me of him. Limited edition plushies he'd given me, matching couple bracelets, little notes filled with sweet nothings, a thick stack of photos... Each one held a memory – sweet, bittersweet – but now they all felt impossibly heavy. I shoved it all into one massive cardboard box. The next day, I hauled that heavy box over to his place. His butler, who knew me well, showed me straight into the living room. In the spacious living room, he and Tiffany were sitting side-by-side on the plush carpet, playing the latest video game. They were super close, and Tiffany kept letting out excited squeals and sweet, flirty giggles. "Wow, Liam, you're incredible! I've been stuck on this level forever!" My eyes instantly fixed on the oversized black T-shirt Tiffany was wearing. It was the limited edition one I'd hunted down for his birthday last year, hitting up multiple malls just to find it. When he got it, he was so surprised he picked me up and spun me around a few times, then whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my skin, "Rennie gave this to me. I'm gonna wear it every single day." Turns out, his "wear it every single day" promise actually meant he could just casually lend it to another girl like this. Tiffany must've felt my stare, because she turned around. Saw me standing there with the box, and a sweet, innocent smile bloomed on her face. "Oh, hey Serena! You're here? Liam asked me to come over and play some games. And he even cooked me pasta himself! But I'm such a klutz, I accidentally knocked over my juice, so he lent me his shirt to wear. Hope you don't mind?" Liam didn't even flinch. He just lazily lifted his eyes, giving me a quick glance. His fingers were still flying across the controller. His voice was totally casual. "What do you want? Didn't we break up?" Watching him act like he didn't care at all, a wave of bitter self-mockery washed over me. I remembered the first time I'd brought up breaking up, how he'd been a mess in the pouring rain, practically begging me. Then I remembered how it took him longer and longer to win me back after our fights. And the last time, he'd just sent a WhatsApp message: "Stop being dramatic. I'll take you for BBQ tonight. He kept pushing my boundaries, and because I kept caving and forgiving him, he just got bolder and bolder. But he had no idea that even a camel eventually gets broken by the last straw. This time, the ninety-ninth breakup, I was genuinely done with him. "Exactly because we broke up, I wanted to return some of your stuff." "If you're just gonna be dramatic, you can just toss it. No need to bring it all the way over." "Okay." I nodded, no hesitation. Carrying the cardboard box, crammed with memories, I walked over to the giant dumpster nearby. Without a second thought, I just pitched the whole thing in. The box hit the empty bin with a dull thud. ###Chapter 2 I turned to leave. "Wait." He stopped me. "Take your stuff from my place too." He probably thought I'd be hurt by that, just like always. That my eyes would well up and I'd ask, "Liam, what the hell?" And then he'd smoothly say, "Let's not fight," and everything would just blow over again. But I didn't say anything. I just turned around, silent, and started to systematically clear out my stuff from this house – a place I'd once known so well, practically called it my second home. By the front door, those fuzzy bear slippers he'd specially bought with my initials; on the kitchen mug rack, the cute strawberry mug that was exclusively mine; on the living room couch, the light gray throw blanket I always used... I picked them out one by one, calmly tossing them into another empty cardboard box, as if I were just clearing out some irrelevant trash. Meanwhile, his little game with Tiffany started up again, a fresh round. During a break in their game, Tiffany announced she was thirsty, then very casually picked up his half-empty water glass and took a sip. And he, the serious germaphobe who used to cringe even at my half-finished boba tea, just glanced over and said absolutely nothing. Tiffany then pouted, saying she was hungry, craving specialty tacos from some old, far-off spot. He didn't hesitate, immediately getting up, grabbing his car keys, and walking right out the door. I watched it all, but my heart, strangely, didn't ache anymore. Just a numb, icy coldness remained. I grabbed the packed box and headed upstairs, needing to get the last few things from his room. The moment I pushed open his bedroom door, a figure blocked my path. It was Tiffany. A smirk plastered her face, triumph and challenge in her eyes. "You broke up with Liam. What are you even doing here, still trying to get a reaction?" I didn't want to get into it with her. "I'm just here to get my stuff. Make a clean break." "A clean break?" She scoffed. "You think playing these mind games is going to make Liam even look your way? He's so over your dramatics. Every time you threatened to break up, you just knew he'd come begging, didn't you? What else can you do besides cling to him?" "Let me tell you something. Everything you like, everything you want, I'm taking it. You copied his applications, hoping to cling to him forever, right? Well, too bad. I got into NYU too." I'm gonna take him from you, piece by piece, until he's completely mine. And you'll get a front-row seat to watch yourself lose." I wasn't going to entertain her bullshit. Clutching the box, I tried to walk past her. But she wouldn't let up. She grabbed my arm, her words turning even nastier. "What, did I hit a nerve? Cat got your tongue? Serena, seriously, have some shame! Your clinging is just disgusting! No wonder Liam got sick of you. Looks like your parents didn't teach you squat, raising a..." SMACK! The sharp sound of a slap echoed, cutting off Tiffany's vicious rant. I'd had enough. I lifted my hand and slapped her hard. I could handle being messed with, but no one, no one insulted my parents! She clutched her cheek, eyes wide with disbelief. Then her face contorted with rage, and she raised her hand to hit me back! Just then, I heard the front door open downstairs, followed by footsteps. He was home. Tiffany's eyes gleamed, a wicked idea already forming. She shrieked, then yanked my hand, dragging me down the stairs with her. "Aargh!" We both tumbled, hitting the first-floor landing with a sickening thud. My whole body screamed, every bone feeling shattered. My forehead slammed into the corner of a step, and warm blood instantly streamed down. Tiffany had taken a nasty fall too, but she scrambled up in a flash. Before I could even move, she clutched her face, strategically exposing the bright red slap mark I'd given her. Tears welled up instantly, gushing down as she sobbed dramatically, a perfect picture of distress. "Liam... Serena... she... she just came at me and hit me, then pushed me down the stairs... I'm in so much pain..." Liam's eyes swept over the chaotic scene, his face hardening into a grim mask. He strode over, his eyes first landing on Tiffany, who was sobbing hysterically. Then his gaze, colder than ice, shot to me, struggling to get back on my feet. His voice was laced with frost. "Serena! What the hell is wrong with you?! This is my house. Who gave you the right to lay a hand on my guest?!" I bit back a gasp, fighting the searing pain and dizziness. "She insulted my parents first, that's why I—" "Enough!" He didn't even want to hear it, cutting me off sharply. His eyes were full of disappointment and impatience. "I don't want to hear any excuses! Butler! See her out!" The Butler looked visibly uncomfortable, but still stepped forward, gesturing for me to leave. I watched him turn away without hesitation. He gently helped Tiffany up, then carefully cradled her to the sofa. He pulled out the first-aid kit and gently cleaned and dressed her wounds, as if she were some fragile, precious jewel. In that moment, my heart felt like it had been carved out of my chest. The pain was so intense, I could barely breathe. He used to treat me like that. I remember one time, I busted my knee in gym class. He went white as a sheet, totally panicked, and without a word, scooped me up and sprinted to the med center. The whole time, he kept whispering, "Don't be scared, Rennie, it'll be okay, the pain will be gone in a second. Back then, all his tenderness, all his frantic concern, it was all just for me. But now? All that care, all that patience, it was being showered on some other girl. All my explanations, all my hurt, they just choked in my throat, dissolving into a cold, crushing despair. I didn't say another word, just dragged myself out, every inch of me aching and humiliated. I went to the hospital alone. The check-up revealed a mild concussion and a bunch of soft tissue bruises all over. The doctor wanted me to stay for observation. While I was recovering in the hospital, my phone kept buzzing. It was Tiffany, sending all sorts of taunting messages, along with photos and videos of him doting on her. He spoon-fed her porridge, peeled apples for her, and even took her for strolls in the garden. I just stared at them, my face blank, not replying to a single one. My heart was totally numb. Her provocations didn't faze me one bit. ###Chapter 3 After I got out of the hospital, the class organized a graduation party. I really didn't want to go, but my friends talked me into it. The moment I walked into the private room, I saw Liam and Tiffany sitting glued to each other. Tiffany was smiling, feeding him a piece of fruit. He didn't refuse. When my classmates saw me, they all looked a bit awkward. They quickly gathered around, whispering, "Serena, what's going on? You and Liam... fighting again?" I calmly shook my head. My voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough. "Not fighting. We broke up." "What? Broke up?!" Everyone looked stunned. "Why? Liam was always so good to you!" "Yeah, seriously! When you got sick in senior year, he almost fought the dean just to get you a long medical leave!" "Oh, and! The surprises he'd plan for you every holiday? We were all so jealous!" "You two were the couple everyone thought would go from school uniforms to wedding gowns! How could you break up now, right before graduation?" Listening to them rattle off all his past ‘greatness,' my heart felt like it was shriveling up in a pool of acid, bloated and throbbing. Yeah, he was that good to me once. Good enough that I genuinely believed he was my forever. But that's precisely why his later coldness and favoritism felt so utterly brutal. I paused for a beat, then said softly, "We weren't a match, so we broke up. Nobody's indispensable. Besides," My gaze flickered to him across the room, pouring Tiffany a drink. "He and Tiffany seem to be doing just fine now, don't they?" He happened to catch what I said, frowning as he looked my way, his eyes unreadable. For the rest of the night, it was like he was deliberately trying to spite me. He went out of his way to be even more overtly affectionate with Tiffany, super attentive, practically glued to her side. He probably expected me to get jealous, to get mad, maybe even storm over and break them up like I used to. But I didn't. I just sat quietly in my corner, chatting occasionally with whoever was nearby, my gaze calm and unruffled. As if he genuinely was just some random stranger, completely irrelevant to me now. But that utter silence, my complete dismissal, seemed to spark a kind of panic in him he'd never felt before. He instinctively started to move toward me, but Tiffany, right there beside him, grabbed his arm. Tiffany stood on her tiptoes, whispering something in his ear. He stopped cold, a deep frown creasing his forehead, and finally, just sat back down. Soon enough, someone suggested a round of Truth or Dare. A few rounds later, Tiffany lost. Her dare? Kiss the tallest guy in the room for three minutes. All eyes instantly snapped to him. Tiffany's face flushed, but her eyes held a challenging glint as she walked straight up to him. The other classmates gasped, whispering, "Whoa... this is totally messed up, right? Serena's literally right here!" Tiffany, though, shot a glance at me in the corner, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Serena, you and Liam are totally over. So, you're cool with us playing a game and kissing, right?" Her best friend immediately chimed in, "Seriously! She's his ex now, what right does she have to tell Liam who he can kiss?" Instantly, every eye in the room, including his, was on me like a spotlight. His gaze was intense, holding an unspoken pressure, as if he was waiting for my reaction. I lowered my head, my long lashes veiling any emotion in my eyes. My voice was barely a whisper, yet it cut through the silence, clear to everyone. "...Yeah, it has nothing to do with me." Those words drew a definitive line. His face instantly darkened, his eyes blazing with fury and a simmering rage from being defied. He let out a sharp, cold scoff, then abruptly pulled Tiffany by the waist. To everyone's shocked gasps, he slammed his lips onto hers! A wave of suppressed gasps and sharp intakes of breath swept through the private room, only to be swallowed by an eerie, deathly silence. I just watched as they full-on made out under the lights, practically glued to each other. Tiffany's hand even snaked up around his neck. My heart felt like it was caught in a vice, a sharp, cramping pain that nearly buckled me. I dug my nails into my palms, digging in so hard it hurt, desperately trying to keep the crushing bitterness and despair from totally drowning me, from making me lose it right then and there. It felt like an eternity, but that agonizingly long kiss finally broke. Tiffany's best friend practically yelled, "So, Liam, how was that? Kissing our Tiffany... gotta be a whole lot more exciting than with some other girls, huh?" His gaze swept over my pale face, a cold, cruel smirk playing on his lips. His voice was low, but every word cut deep: "No comparison. Tiffany... total knockout." ###Chapter 4 Tiffany's smugness was practically oozing off her. After a few more rounds, Tiffany lost again. This time, her dare was to sit on a guy's lap and complete a specific task. Tiffany didn't even hesitate, her eyes immediately darting back to Liam. I couldn't take it anymore. I shot up, muttered something about needing the restroom to my friend, and practically sprinted out of that suffocating private room. I hid in the restroom, splashing cold water on my face again and again, but the tears just kept coming, mixing with the water. It took forever to get myself somewhat together. I just wanted to go home. As I turned the corner down the hall, I heard familiar voices coming from the patio. It was Liam and his closest buddies. "Liam, dude, wasn't that a bit much back there? Serena looked ghost-white. Aren't you gonna go check on her?" "Check on her?" He scoffed, a cold sound. "So she can break up with me again in a few days? Am I a glutton for punishment?" "True... it's your own fault for spoiling her, though. She'd always pull the breakup card. Maybe this is a good chance for her to finally learn her lesson." Exactly. Once classes start at NYU, she'll be in a new city, won't know anyone. She'll definitely come crawling back. Then you just throw her a bone, and she'll beg for you back. After this, she won't dare threaten to break up with you again. Perfect. Standing outside the door, every drop of blood in me turned to ice. My hands and feet went completely numb with cold. So, in his eyes, all those times I tried to break up with him, all that pain and disappointment? It was just me ‘throwing a tantrum,' just ‘a way to manipulate him.' And his ‘lesson' for me? To humiliate me in front of everyone by kissing another girl! I silently turned and walked away, down the stairs. The summer night wind brushed against me, but it was so cold it made me tremble. As I walked, memories flashed through my mind like a silent film. There was a time when, if I so much as frowned, he'd get all anxious, asking if I was feeling unwell. Back then, girls would constantly try to give him love letters. He'd always refuse them without even glancing, then come straight to me, looking for praise. "Rennie," he'd boast, "I rejected another one today, all on my own. Praise me!" I'd gotten so used to his kindness, to him treating me like I was his one-of-a-kind treasure. When did it all change? It started the day Tiffany showed up. He'd break his own rules for Tiffany, again and again, completely ignoring my feelings. It wasn't like I didn't notice how Tiffany was special to him, or how he treated her differently. I was just clinging to that last sliver of hope, using breakup threats again and again to test him, to try and win him back. But all it did was make him see me as annoying and childish. Turns out, once I wasn't his one and only anymore, even my tears were wrong. Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed I was almost home. From a distance, I spotted a mail carrier standing by my front door. Guess my acceptance letter finally arrived. I took a deep breath, just about to step forward, when I saw a tall, familiar figure standing with the mailman. It was him! He was holding one of the envelopes, clearly marked with UCLA logo, and he was about to rip it open...

My mom always told me being pretty would get me played. So I hid my face for ten years — and married a man who played me anyway. For over a decade, I buried myself behind heavy bangs, thick-rimmed glasses, and drugstore foundation two shades too dark. Then I married Marcus Sterling, heir to the Sterling empire. He said it was love at first sight. I believed him. I thought he was the one man who saw past the surface and loved me for who I really was. Then came the car crash. Marcus threw himself over me, took the hit, and ended up in the ICU. Bruised and dizzy, I stumbled down the hospital corridor to his room — then froze at the door. His mother's voice was pouring through the crack. "Marcus! Marrying that hideous woman already turned us into the laughingstock of the city, and now you're throwing your life away for her? How much longer are you gonna keep this ridiculous act going?" My hand locked on the doorknob. Silence stretched on the other side. Then Marcus spoke. Flat. Dead calm. Nothing like the warm man I'd married. "Mom. You know what I want." "I knew it! I knew you were still doing all of this for Daphne!" Mrs. Sterling's voice shook with rage. "Listen to me. You are the future of this family. Daphne will never set foot in our home! I don't care how much you love her. Using Elara to back us into a corner isn't going to work!" The blood drained from my face. What were they talking about? For Daphne? Who the hell was Daphne? Something cold clamped down on my chest. I couldn't breathe. I stumbled back, the hospital wall scraping my shoulder, until I made it to my own room. My hands shook so hard I could barely unlock my phone. I pulled up a chat with a private investigator I knew. "Look into Marcus Sterling and a woman named Daphne. Everything. Spare no detail." Every second of waiting felt like bleeding out. My ears were ringing. Mrs. Sterling's shrill voice — the laughingstock, for Daphne — and Marcus's ice-cold tone played on a loop in my skull. Every word tore through the life we'd built. Shredded the heart I'd finally let him win. My screen lit up. The file was huge. Dozens of pages. Floods of photos. Daphne Thorne. Eldest daughter of the Thorne family. Marcus's first love. High society's golden couple. Perfect match. Three years ago, they got engaged. Then a pre-marital screening dropped a bomb: Daphne couldn't have kids. For a family like the Sterlings, no heir meant no deal. They nuked the engagement overnight. Marcus fought back — ready to walk away from everything for her — but his family didn't play nice. They tanked Thorne Enterprises' stock and choked out their supply chain. Unable to watch her family's legacy burn, Daphne broke down and called it off. After the breakup, Marcus was dragged through endless blind dates. He shot them all down. Until he met me. The woman notoriously known throughout our circle for being hideous. The pieces clicked into place. He didn't marry me because I was special. He didn't fall for my soul. Out of every option on the table, I was just the most pathetic. The most unpresentable. The ultimate embarrassment to the Sterling name. I was a tool. A weapon to enrage his parents and force them to cave. He'd thrown his life in front of that crash just to prove a point. To make them break. Staring at the glowing screen, a laugh ripped out of my throat. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. My chest caved in. The betrayal sat on my lungs like a brick. I gasped for air. My mom warned me beauty would get me played. But even behind the mask, I'd still been played. And the joke was all on me. Three years of marriage. Three years of soft smiles, forehead kisses, whispered promises. Every bit of it — a perfectly rehearsed performance. I was a prop. A stepping stone he used to shove his parents toward his real love. I thought Marcus was my light in the dark. Turns out he was just using me to bounce that light onto someone else. I sat in that room and cried until I had nothing left. Then I wiped my jaw dry, picked up my phone, and dialed his mother's number. She answered. Before she could get a word out, I spoke first. My voice was pure ice. "I'm divorcing Marcus." ### Chapter 2 There were a few seconds of dead silence on the other end of the line. "What did you just say?!" Mrs. Sterling's voice pitched up, like she couldn't believe her own ears. "Elara, looking the way you do, you actually have the nerve to ask for a divorce? Do you have any idea how many women in our circle are lined up to marry Marcus?" "What I look like is none of your business," I said. "I'm getting this divorce. If the Sterling family tries to block it, I'll hire a lawyer and drag this through court. Trust me — nobody wants that kind of press." Mrs. Sterling was still fuming on the other end, but I could hear the relief bleeding through. The eagerness she couldn't quite hide. Of course she was relieved. Mrs. Sterling had never liked her "ugly daughter-in-law." She couldn't wait to get me out of the picture and clear the runway for some gorgeous socialite. In her book, Daphne wasn't good enough for Marcus — and I was ten times worse. "Fine!" Mrs. Sterling finally caved. "I'll take care of the divorce. Just give me a few days." I hung up, took a deep breath, signed myself out of the hospital, and went home. First thing I did when I walked through the door? Start throwing things out. I pulled out every piece Marcus had given me over the years — necklaces, bracelets, rings, designer bags — and dumped every last one in the trash. The Cartier bracelet hit the bottom with a satisfying thunk. Just like tossing out three years of being an idiot. A few days later, Marcus came home. The burns on his back hadn't fully healed, so he moved a little stiff. But his suit was crisp and his face was just as gorgeous as ever. I used to melt looking at that face. Now? Nothing. "Why are you sitting out here?" he asked, using that same gentle tone. "The maids said you've barely eaten for days." I looked up at him. Before, one look at that face and my heart would race, my cheeks would burn. Now it just felt cold. Like a stranger's. Marcus didn't seem to notice the shift in my eyes. Or maybe he'd just never really been looking. He glanced at the calendar on the wall and reached for my hand like it was second nature. "Are you upset because I wasn't here to keep you company? It's your birthday today. I had someone set up a banquet at The Grand Monarch Hotel. We've still got time — let me take you dress shopping first. Sound good?" A week ago, I would've been over the moon. He remembered my birthday. He planned a whole banquet. Now all I could do was laugh quietly inside my own hollow chest. But I didn't call him out. "Okay," I said softly. Marcus drove me to a high-end boutique. The second we walked in, his phone rang. "Go ahead and start looking, I need to take this," he said, stepping aside. I let it go and headed upstairs to browse. My eyes landed on a champagne-colored gown. Simple. Elegant. "I'll take this one. Can you wrap it up for me?" I told the sales associate. "Actually, I want that dress." A soft female voice came from right behind me. I turned around. The second I saw who was standing there, my blood went cold. Daphne. The bright, vibrant woman from the photos — the one draped all over Marcus — was standing right in front of me in the flesh. She wore a cream-colored suit, long hair loosely curled, makeup flawless. That innate sense of superiority sat in her eyes as she stared at the champagne gown in my hands with a half-smile. "Sorry." Daphne stepped forward, her voice soft but her tone far from polite. "I've had my eye on this dress too. Even though you were here first..." She looked me up and down, taking in my heavy bangs and thick-rimmed glasses, and a perfectly calculated smile curved her lips. "I think it suits me much better. Why don't you just let me have it?" ### Chapter 3 My grip tightened on the dress. The fabric was soft, but right then it felt like it was lined with thorns. "Not happening." I turned to the sales associate. "Ring me up." Daphne's smile slipped a little. She reached out and grabbed the other end of the gown. "I really love it though. Looking the way you do… honestly, what you wear isn't gonna change much. Why not do me a solid and let me have it? Please?" We stood there locked in a standoff, the air thick with it. "What's going on?" Marcus's deep voice cut in from the top of the stairs. He'd finished his call and come up just in time to catch the scene. His brow creased. Daphne's whole face lit up the second she saw him, but she didn't let go of the dress. "Marcus? You're here too?" Her gaze bounced between the two of us before she put on a look of sudden realization. "Oh — so this is your wife? If I'd known she was Mrs. Sterling, I never would've fought her for it. It's all yours, Mrs. Sterling." She let go of the fabric as she spoke, acting like the stubbornness two seconds ago had been some harmless little joke. But the next second, Marcus reached over, lifted the champagne gown right out of my hands like he was taking a toy from a kid, and handed it to Daphne. "Don't worry about it." He looked at Daphne, his voice softer than anything he'd used on me all day. "It suits you better anyway. Go try it on." A flicker of smugness flashed in Daphne's eyes. She took the dress, shot me a smile, and disappeared into the fitting room. My hands hung frozen in the air. My fingertips still tingled from where the fabric had been yanked away. I slowly pulled them back and curled them into fists. My nails dug into my palms, but the sharp sting couldn't cover up the dull, brutal ache ripping through my chest. Marcus finally turned back to me, like he'd just handled some throwaway little errand. "Lara, that was Daphne, a… friend of mine. She's just a little direct. She didn't mean anything by it. It's just a dress. We'll grab something else." I looked up at him through my thick-rimmed glasses. "Why don't you just say it straight? You said it suited her better, but what you really meant is that with a face like mine, I don't deserve a dress like that. I don't deserve anything beautiful. Isn't that it?" Marcus froze. Clearly, he hadn't seen that coming — especially not me ripping the mask clean off the whole thing. "That's not what I meant." He smoothed out his expression fast, a trace of helplessness slipping into his tone. "If I thought you weren't good enough, why would I have married you in the first place?" Why did he marry me? His words hit like a poisoned blade straight to the chest. The pain was so sharp my vision went black for a second. Yeah. Why? Because my ugliness was exactly what he needed. I was the perfect weapon. The pawn he used to back the Sterlings into a corner until they gave in. Growing up, hiding my real face meant swallowing a lifetime of mockery. The whispers from classmates. The insults from blind dates. The heavy sighs from my father… Those words were like needles. After enough years of being poked, I'd gone numb. But Marcus was different. Three years of gentle comfort, small defenses, even the life-risking love he showed that night in the crash — they were like warm water slowly melting the ice inside me. They gave me delusions. A dependency I never should've let myself have. And then, with his own two hands, he shattered that fake warmth in the calmest, most casual way imaginable. This hurt a thousand times worse than outright cruelty. I swallowed the lump climbing up my throat and the agony churning in my chest. Without a word, I turned to another rack and grabbed a plain black dress. Just then, the fitting room curtain whipped open. Daphne stepped out. The champagne gown hugged every curve, set off her fair skin, made her glow. She looked absolutely stunning. She did a little twirl, the skirt flaring out in a graceful arc. "Ms. Thorne, it's gorgeous on you!" the sales associates gushed. "Like it was made for you!" Marcus's gaze landed on Daphne too. His eyes darkened. Daphne's figure was reflected in them, crystal clear. And in that usually cold gaze, there was a flicker of something tender — the exact look I'd spent three years searching for and never once saw turned on me. It lasted half a second. I caught every frame of it. An invisible hand clamped around my heart and squeezed. I could barely breathe. "Marcus, how do I look?" Daphne asked with a bright smile, her eyes skimming past me like I wasn't there. "Beautiful." Marcus nodded, his tone firm, approving. The smile on Daphne's face grew even brighter. She walked up to Marcus, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Oh, right — I heard tonight's Mrs. Sterling's birthday banquet? At The Grand Monarch?" "Yeah," Marcus nodded. "I happen to be free tonight," Daphne said, turning to me with a polite smile. "Mrs. Sterling, you wouldn't mind if I dropped by to celebrate, would you?" Before I could even open my mouth, Marcus beat me to it. "Of course not. We'd love to have you." ### Chapter 4 The penthouse ballroom at The Grand Monarch Hotel was lit up like a dream. The birthday banquet Marcus threw for me was over-the-top extravagant. He'd invited half the city's elite. I wore that plain black dress. Heavy bangs, thick-rimmed glasses — the usual shield over my face. Standing next to Marcus, I felt like a shadow that didn't belong. I could feel stares coming from every direction — curious, judgmental, most of them dripping with open contempt and smirks. "What was Mr. Sterling thinking, marrying someone like that…" "She's just… rough to look at. Mr. Sterling is so out of her league, what's he even after?" "Who knows? Maybe he's just into weird stuff." The whispers buzzed around me like mosquitoes. I kept my back straight, face blank, like I couldn't hear a thing. Not long into the banquet, Marcus gave me a gift in front of everyone — an expensive diamond necklace. When the velvet box flipped open, low gasps of envy rippled through the crowd. "Thank you," I said, voice flat as I took it. Daphne arrived a little later. The second she walked in, every head in the room turned. Wearing that champagne gown, makeup flawless, smile elegant — it was like she was the real guest of honor. "Sorry I'm late." Daphne walked up to me, tone all sincerity. "I didn't have time to put a gift together. Hope you don't mind, Mrs. Sterling — let me make a fool of myself and play a little something to celebrate your birthday instead." Then she turned to Marcus with a smile. "Marcus, I remember you're great on the piano too. How about a four-hand duet? Just to spice things up for Mrs. Sterling's birthday — what do you say?" The guests started clapping and egging them on. "Come on, Mr. Sterling, give us a show!" "Ms. Thorne and Mr. Sterling — they really do look perfect together!" "Yeah, they're such a match…" Marcus looked at Daphne's expectant eyes, then glanced down at me — silent beside him. After a beat of hesitation, he actually walked over to the piano. The harmony started. A four-hand arrangement of Für Elise. The man aloof and elegant, the woman radiant and stunning. Sitting side by side, they looked like a painting come to life. They played like they'd done it a hundred times before. Because they probably had. I stood there in my plain black dress — the one Marcus hadn't even noticed I'd changed into — and watched my husband fall in love with another woman in front of three hundred people. On my birthday. The whispers around me got louder. This time, they didn't even try to hide the contempt. "Now that — that's what a match looks like…" "If only Mr. Sterling had married Ms. Thorne back when he had the chance." "Such a shame…" "That Elara woman's just taking up space. An ugly girl like her snagging the best heir in the circle? What a waste." Every word was a poisoned needle jabbing into my heart, one after another. I stood frozen. The air was thinning around me. The stares, the comments — they were drowning me. I turned and walked out to the balcony. The night breeze was cool, blowing away the suffocating heat, the heavy perfume, the noise. I leaned against the railing, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. Footsteps came up behind me. A warm body pressed close, and arms wrapped around my waist from behind. My body went stiff. "Why are you out here all by yourself?" Marcus's deep voice came right by my ear. "Don't take what they said to heart. It's just petty gossip." I didn't move. Didn't speak. Marcus clearly thought I was just pouting. His chin brushed the top of my head, and his tone softened into coaxing. "Lara, I've told you, you're great. You don't have to care what other people say. As long as I like you, that's enough." Like? I almost laughed out loud. Seriously? Was that what we were calling it? Did he "like" using me as a weapon against his family? Or did he "like" using me as a sad little foil to prove his forever love for Daphne? Marcus probably felt words weren't enough. Seeing me still silent, he suddenly turned his head and, catching me completely off guard, kissed the side of my neck. A warm, soft pressure hit my skin. I shuddered and instinctively tried to shove him off. Just then — Bang! The glass balcony door flew open. Daphne stood in the doorway, smile still half-frozen on her face. But the second she saw us wrapped up in each other — especially Marcus's lips on my neck — the smile dropped. Her face paled, and tears welled up fast. "I — I'm sorry… I didn't mean to interrupt." Her voice cracked. She spun around and bolted, looking completely shaken. Marcus let go of me instantly. His expression shifted. His eyes chased the direction she'd run off in, filled with obvious concern and — something like conflict. ### Chapter 5 He quickly looked away and turned back to me. His voice was calm again. "Don't let that stuff earlier get to you. As long as I like you, that's all that matters. I'm gonna step out to make a call." He hurried out after her. I stood there, staring at the empty doorway. I tried to curl my lips into something, but I couldn't even fake a bitter smile. I couldn't stand another second at this birthday banquet. I turned around and left. Just as I reached the driveway outside the hotel, a figure stepped right in my path. Daphne. Her eyes were still a little red, but she'd already pulled herself together. She looked at me with her chin tilted up. "Leaving so soon, Mrs. Sterling?" Daphne asked. Her voice was soft, but every word was laced with venom. "Doesn't look great for the guest of honor to cut out early. Or — are you upset Marcus ran after me?" I didn't want to deal with her. I stepped around her and tried to walk away. "Hold up." Daphne reached out and grabbed my arm. "We need to talk. About Marcus. About this joke of a marriage you're in. There are some things you should probably know —" "Move," I said, voice cold as ice. "What? Feeling guilty? Because you know you're sitting in a spot that was never yours?" Daphne wouldn't drop it. She stepped in closer and locked her fingers around my wrist. "Let me tell you — Marcus doesn't even —" "Let go of me!" I yanked my arm, trying to shake her off. We wrestled right at the edge of the driveway. Daphne was in high heels. Her foot slipped. She screamed and fell backward, clamping down on my arm in a death grip. She dragged me down with her, throwing me off balance. "Ah —!" The screech of tires and a sickening thud hit at the exact same second! In the chaos, something massive slammed into me. The world spun. A searing pain ripped through my forehead and cheek, and warm liquid instantly blurred my vision. Daphne's scream rang in my ears. Pain and dizziness swallowed me whole. I drifted in and out, catching flashes — people crowding around us, frantic voices, the wail of an ambulance siren… In the haze, I thought I saw Marcus rushing over. For the first time, real panic cracked through that cold, composed face of his. Then I heard pieces of a conversation, sounding like they were floating in from miles away: "Mr. Sterling, both victims are critical. They both need surgery now. But there's only one operating room open. Mrs. Sterling's facial wounds are deep — if we don't treat her immediately, she could be disfigured for life. Ms. Thorne's hands are torn up pretty bad. They might scar." Then, I heard Marcus's voice — "Save Daphne first. She still needs her hands to play the piano. They can't have any flaws." "But Mrs. Sterling —" "Leave her. Looks don't matter to her anyway." Looks don't matter to her anyway. Five words. That's all I was worth. Everything went black, and I passed out cold. When I woke up, I was in a hospital room. Not a soul around. I reached up and touched my face. Thick layers of gauze. The door swung open. Daphne walked in with a pack of her friends. Her hands were bandaged too, but there was a smug little smile playing on her lips. "Elara." She walked up to my bed, looking me up and down. "Heard you got hurt pretty bad. Face sliced wide open. I honestly thought you were done for this time — permanently disfigured. Who knew the Sterlings' doctors were that good? They actually patched you back together." "But let's be real — even patched up, they can't hide how ugly you already were. That thick gauze actually pairs great with your bangs and glasses. Same level of eyesore." The guys and girls behind her snickered. I closed my eyes, not even bothering to look at them. "Get out." Before Daphne could say anything, a curly-haired girl in a pink suit next to her lost it. "Excuse me?! Daph came all the way here to check on you and you're telling her to get out? Being ugly's one thing, but having zero manners? You're seriously trash!" I opened my eyes, shooting an icy glare at the girl before looking at Daphne. "Take your lapdogs and get the hell out. You're not welcome here." "Who are you calling a lapdog?!" The girl in pink's face turned beet red. She lunged forward, hand flying up to slap me across the face — My face was injured. I couldn't move fast enough. The slap was an inch from my face — "Whoa, Gemma, hitting a patient isn't a great look." A man in a floral shirt caught Gemma's wrist. He looked to be pushing thirty, his eyes crawling over me on the bed. A nasty smirk hung on his lips. "Mrs. Sterling, right? You've got some bite. But — I happen to know how to fix that." He took two steps forward, looming over the bed. His stare was greasy and shameless. "I've seen plenty of women like you. Nothing much to look at, but with a huge attitude. You just need a man to put you in your place. No matter how tough you act, once you get screwed into submission, you'll behave." "Tsk, the body's not bad... Forget the face. It's all the same with the lights off anyway." With that, he actually reached out and yanked the blanket right off me! ### Chapter 6 "Get off me!" I snapped, fighting through the pain to twist away, but I was a second too slow. The man was ridiculously strong. He pinned my shoulder down with one hand and ripped open the collar of my hospital gown with the other, exposing my pale skin and bandages. He stared, his eyes full of a mix of excitement and disgust. "Tsk, the body's not bad... Forget the face. It's all the same with the lights off anyway." "Let go of me! Help — somebody help!" I thrashed desperately, my whole body shaking with humiliation and terror. But Daphne's crew just stood there. Some smirked, some crossed their arms like they were watching a show, and Gemma — the girl in the pink dress — actually pulled out her phone to film it. Despair and fury snapped whatever was left of my reason. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a heavy glass vase on the nightstand. I grabbed it, swung it at the head of the guy pinning me, and smashed it down with everything I had. CRASH —! A dull thud, the man's scream, and shattering glass all erupted at once. Just then, the door swung open. A nurse walked in carrying a tray of supplies. She took one look — the bloody man on the floor, the mess everywhere, me sitting up on the bed with my gown torn and face white as paper — and nearly dropped the tray. "Oh my God! What the hell happened?! Security! Call security! And the police — now!" ... At the police station, Daphne's group and I were put in separate interrogation rooms. Daphne's side all spun the exact same story, claiming I'd attacked Lydon out of nowhere. I said it was self-defense against attempted rape. But nobody bought it. I mean — who's gonna believe an "ugly girl" got sexually harassed? Soon, Marcus showed up with a lawyer. The Police Chief greeted him in person. "Mr. Sterling, about this case… both sides are telling different stories. Procedurally, we need to close it out. But everyone involved is someone you know, so…" Marcus's gaze landed on me first. His eyes lingered on my torn collar and the gauze on my face. His brow tightened for a split second before he looked away, turning to Daphne, who was sitting quietly to the side. Daphne met his gaze and shook her head gently. Her eyes were full of helplessness and a hint of grievance, like she was the one unfairly dragged into this mess. Marcus stayed silent for a few seconds. The interrogation room was dead quiet. Every second felt like torture. Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, steady, completely flat. "Lydon was out of line, sure. But rape? Lara, are you sure you didn't misread the situation? Lydon's never had trouble getting women." He then turned to the Police Chief, tone casual but carrying weight. "Lydon's hurt pretty badly — he needs to get checked out at the hospital first. Lara's emotionally unstable. She needs to cool down. Since the police were already called, just process it as disorderly conduct. Hold her for a few days. Let her think about what she did." My eyes shot wide open. I stared at him, stunned. Was it because Lydon "never lacked women"? Or was it because I was ugly — so in his mind, it was physically impossible for me to be assaulted?! It felt like my heart had been ripped out and crushed alive. It hurt a thousand times worse than the cuts on my face or the terror I'd just lived through. The Police Chief caught on instantly. "Understood, Mr. Sterling. Officers — escort Mr. Mercer and Ms. Thorne out." Then he turned back to me, tone strictly business. "Mrs. Sterling, you are now being lawfully detained on suspicion of assault and disorderly conduct." Soon, Daphne and Lydon were politely escorted out of the station. As they walked past me, Lydon clutched his bleeding head and shot me a vicious glare. Daphne paused, tilted her head to look at me, and curled her lips into a victorious little smile as she whispered: "See?" she whispered. "Pretty obvious who Marcus believes, isn't it?" With that, she strutted off. I was taken into a holding cell. I knew Daphne wasn't about to let this chance slip. For me, the next seven days were hell. The freezing cell, the rancid food, cellmates who went out of their way to pick fights, getting splashed with ice water in the middle of the night, cellmates roughly jabbing at my unhealed wounds… The torment was nonstop. Day three. A cellmate "accidentally" tripped me face-first into the concrete floor. My stitches split open. I lay there bleeding and laughed until I couldn't breathe. Because somewhere out there, Daphne was probably getting a manicure. I gritted my teeth and held on. Didn't cry. Didn't scream. My eyes went emptier by the day. My heart went colder and harder. On the seventh day, I was released. Marcus was waiting at the entrance. He leaned against his car, a cigarette between his fingers. The curling smoke blurred his handsome face. Seeing me walk out, he put out the cigarette and came over. "You're out. Get in the car." I didn't move. I looked up and stared straight at him, voice hoarse. "Why?" Marcus didn't seem to expect that. He paused. "Why what?" "Why'd you let them walk? Why'd you lock me up?" My voice was soft, but trembling with everything I'd kept down. "Because you think I'm ugly, right? So Daphne's friend couldn't possibly have tried anything with me. So obviously I was lying. Obviously I jumped him out of nowhere. Is that it?" ### Chapter 7 Marcus looked at my red eyes and the deep despair sitting in them. A faint twinge of discomfort flickered through his mind, but he pushed it away just as fast. His tone softened, taking on that patient, reasoning edge. "Lara, Lydon's a piece of trash, sure. But rape? The odds are low. It was chaotic. You were scared out of your mind — you probably just misread the whole thing. Locking you up for a few days was to teach you a lesson and let the dust settle. I didn't just abandon you in there. I put in a word with the people inside. Made sure you weren't mistreated." Put in a word? I almost laughed out loud. But the tears fell first. Did he ever once stop and think that his beloved Daphne had also "put in a word"? That she made sure I was tortured until I was begging to die? I bit my lip so hard it bled. The taste of copper filled my mouth. Over the next few days, like he was worried his little tool might act out, Marcus made a rare attempt at making it up to me. He took me to an exclusive private auction. He bought every sky-high diamond necklace, antique earring, and famous painting in sight, putting everything in my name. But staring at those cold diamonds, I felt absolutely nothing. Just pure numbness. After the auction, I walked out onto the deck alone to get some air. Familiar footsteps came up behind me. Daphne. Again. "Elara, Marcus bought you a whole pile of stuff. Are you happy now?" Daphne walked up to me. Her voice was soft, but her eyes were pure venom. "But no matter how expensive that junk is, it doesn't change the fact that you're just a tool. He used you to force his parents' hand. Now that he's basically gotten what he wants, how much longer do you really think he's gonna keep you around? When we get married, I'll make sure to send you an invite." I didn't want to hear it. I turned to walk away. But Daphne grabbed my wrist hard. "Leaving already? Heart broken? I told you the truth last time. The only person Marcus has ever loved is me. You're nothing but a —" "Let go!" I yanked my arm back. We wrestled at the stern railing. The yacht swayed slightly. Daphne's heels slipped. She screamed and fell backward, but her hand clamped onto me in a death grip! "Ah —!" We both lost our balance. We went over the railing and plunged straight into the pitch-black, freezing ocean below! Ice-cold water flooded my mouth and nose instantly. The impact and the freezing cold knocked the air clean out of my lungs. I couldn't swim. I thrashed uselessly as bitter saltwater poured down my throat. Through the blur, I saw a figure dive into the water and swim toward us with powerful strokes. Marcus. Without a second of hesitation, he swam straight for Daphne, who was thrashing and screaming for help. He grabbed her from behind and quickly swam toward a life raft. He didn't glance back at me. Not once. The freezing ocean was nothing compared to the ice in my heart. Just as my consciousness started slipping, a passing dinghy spotted me. The people on board scrambled to drag me out of the water. I collapsed onto the deck, coughing violently, throwing up mouthfuls of seawater. I was soaked through, shivering uncontrollably. Marcus had already gotten Daphne onto a life raft. He wrapped her up tight in a blanket, whispering soft words into her ear. Only then did he seem to remember something. He looked up. His gaze landed on me. It started as a casual glance — then a second later, it locked. "Your face…" he murmured, his brows knitting together. My heart skipped a beat. I instinctively ducked my head and touched my face. The thick, dull foundation I always wore had washed off in the struggle and the saltwater, leaving patches of my real skin exposed. My soaked bangs were plastered to my forehead, and my thick-rimmed glasses were long gone. "Marcus… my head hurts… I'm so cold…" Right at that moment, Daphne let out a weak groan. She nestled deeper into Marcus's arms, breaking his stare. Marcus pulled his eyes away immediately. "Hang in there. I'm getting you to a doctor right now." He didn't spare me another glance. He scooped Daphne up and hurried toward the cabin. I sat there, staring at his back. I clutched my soaked clothes, fingertips completely numb. In the end, I didn't say a single word. With the help of the people who saved me, I climbed back onto the yacht and found an empty room to clean myself up. I stood in front of the mirror. I wiped the fog off with my sleeve. And there she was. The face my mother told me to hide. The face I'd buried under ten years of cheap foundation and ugly frames. The face that got her killed. Sharp cheekbones. Huge dark eyes. A mouth that didn't need a single thing to be dangerous. I wasn't ugly. I never had been. After changing my clothes, I got off the yacht. My phone rang. It was Mrs. Sterling. "Elara." Mrs. Sterling's voice rang with undisguised relief and satisfaction. "The divorce papers are finalized. As of right now, you have zero ties to Marcus or the Sterling family. We'll send your father a lump sum as compensation. Just don't ever show your face again." I stood on the pier, gripping my phone. The ocean breeze caught my half-dry hair, blowing it back to reveal my smooth forehead. Without the glasses hiding them, my clear eyes were pure ice. It was over. I hailed a cab. I didn't go back to the Sterling house. I went straight to the cemetery on the outskirts of the city. The woman in the tombstone photo was beautiful and gentle, but her eyes carried a sorrow that could never be erased. "Mom," I whispered. My voice scattered into the wind. "You were right. Being too pretty gets you played. But even playing ugly — I still got played all the way through." "Hiding who I was didn't keep me safe. It just made it easier for people to walk all over me. So from now on… I'm done hiding." "Even if the road ahead gets rough, I'm gonna face it as me." I bowed three times, deep, then turned and walked away without looking back. Back at the villa, I slipped in without a single maid noticing. I went straight up to my bedroom and did three things. First, I packed my bags. Second, I scrubbed away every last trace of makeup. The bathroom mirror was fogged up — but as the steam cleared, it slowly revealed a face that was devastatingly beautiful. Third, I pulled out my phone and booked the earliest flight out of the city. I cabbed it to the airport, checked in, got through security, waited at the gate, and finally boarded the plane. I kept my head down the whole way. But my bare face was too striking to hide. It still pulled countless stares — amazed, curious, some people even sneaking photos. I didn't notice. Or — I just didn't care anymore. The plane climbed into the clouds, leaving Kingsport City — and every bit of pain and lies it held — far behind me. What I didn't know was that, shortly after my flight took off, all those candid airport shots exploded online. They hit local trending at insane speed and started spreading like wildfire. #AirportGoddessSpotted #IsThisLevelOfBeautyEvenReal #InternetDoYourThing INeedHerInfoASAP #WhoIsShe The photos went full-blown viral. The whole internet was trying to hunt down the stunning girl from the airport. And pretty soon, my real identity started surfacing…

Ten years later, I ran into Liam Carter again at a class reunion. All our classmates, successful now, were married with kids. Only Liam was still single. "Serena, Liam's waiting for you. He hasn't dated or gotten married in years." They'd barely finished speaking when Liam walked in. He walked in, sharp in a suit, and everyone gasped. Ten years later, Liam was still drop-dead gorgeous. The youthful arrogance was gone, though. A calm maturity now settled in his brow. Knowing our history, they made sure Liam and I sat together. He kept sneaking glances at me, like he had a million things to say. But all he managed was a soft, "Rena, long time no see." "Yeah, long time no see." I responded blandly, my face completely devoid of any emotion about our long-awaited reunion. Childhood sweethearts, totally inseparable, but we ended up like strangers. I remembered the party after high school graduation, when he cut a slice of watermelon for the new transfer student. This time, I didn't cry. I just quietly ended things. "All because of a piece of watermelon?" "Yeah." He scoffed. "Fine. Just try to stick with it for more than a couple days this time. Give me some peace." I didn't say anything. I just grabbed my bag and left the private room. This time, he didn't immediately follow me out like he always did. He figured I was just throwing another tantrum, that in a few days, once I cooled down, I'd naturally come crawling back to him, just like before. After all, that's how all ninety-nine previous breakups went. But what he didn't know was that it was the straw that broke the camel's back. My heart, repeatedly stung and already riddled with holes, had finally run out of its last shred of warmth and hope. With that ninety-ninth breakup, I was truly done with him. Liam and I had always been known throughout the school as a match made in heaven. He was the school's golden boy, tall with long legs, a face so chiseled it was almost intimidating. He always rocked a cool, black windbreaker, all swagger and charm, drawing girls in like crazy. But his eyes? They were always, only, on me. We were childhood sweethearts, practically glued at the hip growing up. At our baby party when we were just one, it was like we picked each other, destined from the start. By seven, our parents had already joked about our marriage. At fourteen, we were passing love notes. Sixteen, he officially asked me out. Eighteen, we promised to get into the same college... Everything was perfect until our senior year. That's when Tiffany Hayes, a new transfer student, showed up in our class. When the homeroom teacher set up the "buddy system" for new students, she specifically paired Tiffany with Liam. She made it crystal clear: "If you don't take this on, you can forget about dating Serena Reed anywhere on campus." Liam, who was usually so aloof and distant, had no choice but to take on the assignment. At first, it was just regular tutoring sessions and showing her around campus. But little by little, things started to feel really off. When Tiffany mentioned she craved a cake from that trendy bakery in Soho everyone queues for, he ditched football training to get it for her. When Tiffany posted on Instagram that she was feeling down, he stayed on the phone with her all night. And get this: one time, when she had period cramps, he borrowed money from me to buy her hot cocoa... I was furious. We fought. And that's when I started breaking up with him, over and over again. The first time I dumped him, it was on the phone. There was this long silence on his end, then I heard his breathing, ragged and fast. It was a total downpour that night. He showed up at my place, soaked to the bone, and stood outside all night. His voice hoarse, he kept calling my name, begging me to forgive him. The second time I ended things, he skipped a whole day of classes, posted up outside my classroom door, his eyes bloodshot. He shoved a thick, messily written but totally heartfelt love letter into my hands, begging me to get back together, all humble and desperate. But as it happened more and more often, he finally seemed to figure out my bottom line... that I couldn't actually leave him! So, his apologies started getting lazier and lazier. What used to be an instant makeup turned into a day later, then three days, then a week... Until the ninety-ninth time. All that pent-up disappointment and heartache, simmering for way too long, just burst. I finally decided to leave him for good. The first thing I did when I got home? Fired up my laptop and, without a second thought, changed my top choice on the application. It was supposed to be NYU, our dream school, but I switched it to UCLA, clear across the country. Next, I started clearing out everything that reminded me of him. Limited edition plushies he'd given me, matching couple bracelets, little notes filled with sweet nothings, a thick stack of photos... Each one held a memory – sweet, bittersweet – but now they all felt impossibly heavy. I shoved it all into one massive cardboard box. The next day, I hauled that heavy box over to his place. His butler, who knew me well, showed me straight into the living room. In the spacious living room, he and Tiffany were sitting side-by-side on the plush carpet, playing the latest video game. They were super close, and Tiffany kept letting out excited squeals and sweet, flirty giggles. "Wow, Liam, you're incredible! I've been stuck on this level forever!" My eyes instantly fixed on the oversized black T-shirt Tiffany was wearing. It was the limited edition one I'd hunted down for his birthday last year, hitting up multiple malls just to find it. When he got it, he was so surprised he picked me up and spun me around a few times, then whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my skin, "Rennie gave this to me. I'm gonna wear it every single day." Turns out, his "wear it every single day" promise actually meant he could just casually lend it to another girl like this. Tiffany must've felt my stare, because she turned around. Saw me standing there with the box, and a sweet, innocent smile bloomed on her face. "Oh, hey Serena! You're here? Liam asked me to come over and play some games. And he even cooked me pasta himself! But I'm such a klutz, I accidentally knocked over my juice, so he lent me his shirt to wear. Hope you don't mind?" Liam didn't even flinch. He just lazily lifted his eyes, giving me a quick glance. His fingers were still flying across the controller. His voice was totally casual. "What do you want? Didn't we break up?" Watching him act like he didn't care at all, a wave of bitter self-mockery washed over me. I remembered the first time I'd brought up breaking up, how he'd been a mess in the pouring rain, practically begging me. Then I remembered how it took him longer and longer to win me back after our fights. And the last time, he'd just sent a WhatsApp message: "Stop being dramatic. I'll take you for BBQ tonight. He kept pushing my boundaries, and because I kept caving and forgiving him, he just got bolder and bolder. But he had no idea that even a camel eventually gets broken by the last straw. This time, the ninety-ninth breakup, I was genuinely done with him. "Exactly because we broke up, I wanted to return some of your stuff." "If you're just gonna be dramatic, you can just toss it. No need to bring it all the way over." "Okay." I nodded, no hesitation. Carrying the cardboard box, crammed with memories, I walked over to the giant dumpster nearby. Without a second thought, I just pitched the whole thing in. The box hit the empty bin with a dull thud. ###Chapter 2 I turned to leave. "Wait." He stopped me. "Take your stuff from my place too." He probably thought I'd be hurt by that, just like always. That my eyes would well up and I'd ask, "Liam, what the hell?" And then he'd smoothly say, "Let's not fight," and everything would just blow over again. But I didn't say anything. I just turned around, silent, and started to systematically clear out my stuff from this house – a place I'd once known so well, practically called it my second home. By the front door, those fuzzy bear slippers he'd specially bought with my initials; on the kitchen mug rack, the cute strawberry mug that was exclusively mine; on the living room couch, the light gray throw blanket I always used... I picked them out one by one, calmly tossing them into another empty cardboard box, as if I were just clearing out some irrelevant trash. Meanwhile, his little game with Tiffany started up again, a fresh round. During a break in their game, Tiffany announced she was thirsty, then very casually picked up his half-empty water glass and took a sip. And he, the serious germaphobe who used to cringe even at my half-finished boba tea, just glanced over and said absolutely nothing. Tiffany then pouted, saying she was hungry, craving specialty tacos from some old, far-off spot. He didn't hesitate, immediately getting up, grabbing his car keys, and walking right out the door. I watched it all, but my heart, strangely, didn't ache anymore. Just a numb, icy coldness remained. I grabbed the packed box and headed upstairs, needing to get the last few things from his room. The moment I pushed open his bedroom door, a figure blocked my path. It was Tiffany. A smirk plastered her face, triumph and challenge in her eyes. "You broke up with Liam. What are you even doing here, still trying to get a reaction?" I didn't want to get into it with her. "I'm just here to get my stuff. Make a clean break." "A clean break?" She scoffed. "You think playing these mind games is going to make Liam even look your way? He's so over your dramatics. Every time you threatened to break up, you just knew he'd come begging, didn't you? What else can you do besides cling to him?" "Let me tell you something. Everything you like, everything you want, I'm taking it. You copied his applications, hoping to cling to him forever, right? Well, too bad. I got into NYU too." I'm gonna take him from you, piece by piece, until he's completely mine. And you'll get a front-row seat to watch yourself lose." I wasn't going to entertain her bullshit. Clutching the box, I tried to walk past her. But she wouldn't let up. She grabbed my arm, her words turning even nastier. "What, did I hit a nerve? Cat got your tongue? Serena, seriously, have some shame! Your clinging is just disgusting! No wonder Liam got sick of you. Looks like your parents didn't teach you squat, raising a..." SMACK! The sharp sound of a slap echoed, cutting off Tiffany's vicious rant. I'd had enough. I lifted my hand and slapped her hard. I could handle being messed with, but no one, no one insulted my parents! She clutched her cheek, eyes wide with disbelief. Then her face contorted with rage, and she raised her hand to hit me back! Just then, I heard the front door open downstairs, followed by footsteps. He was home. Tiffany's eyes gleamed, a wicked idea already forming. She shrieked, then yanked my hand, dragging me down the stairs with her. "Aargh!" We both tumbled, hitting the first-floor landing with a sickening thud. My whole body screamed, every bone feeling shattered. My forehead slammed into the corner of a step, and warm blood instantly streamed down. Tiffany had taken a nasty fall too, but she scrambled up in a flash. Before I could even move, she clutched her face, strategically exposing the bright red slap mark I'd given her. Tears welled up instantly, gushing down as she sobbed dramatically, a perfect picture of distress. "Liam... Serena... she... she just came at me and hit me, then pushed me down the stairs... I'm in so much pain..." Liam's eyes swept over the chaotic scene, his face hardening into a grim mask. He strode over, his eyes first landing on Tiffany, who was sobbing hysterically. Then his gaze, colder than ice, shot to me, struggling to get back on my feet. His voice was laced with frost. "Serena! What the hell is wrong with you?! This is my house. Who gave you the right to lay a hand on my guest?!" I bit back a gasp, fighting the searing pain and dizziness. "She insulted my parents first, that's why I—" "Enough!" He didn't even want to hear it, cutting me off sharply. His eyes were full of disappointment and impatience. "I don't want to hear any excuses! Butler! See her out!" The Butler looked visibly uncomfortable, but still stepped forward, gesturing for me to leave. I watched him turn away without hesitation. He gently helped Tiffany up, then carefully cradled her to the sofa. He pulled out the first-aid kit and gently cleaned and dressed her wounds, as if she were some fragile, precious jewel. In that moment, my heart felt like it had been carved out of my chest. The pain was so intense, I could barely breathe. He used to treat me like that. I remember one time, I busted my knee in gym class. He went white as a sheet, totally panicked, and without a word, scooped me up and sprinted to the med center. The whole time, he kept whispering, "Don't be scared, Rennie, it'll be okay, the pain will be gone in a second. Back then, all his tenderness, all his frantic concern, it was all just for me. But now? All that care, all that patience, it was being showered on some other girl. All my explanations, all my hurt, they just choked in my throat, dissolving into a cold, crushing despair. I didn't say another word, just dragged myself out, every inch of me aching and humiliated. I went to the hospital alone. The check-up revealed a mild concussion and a bunch of soft tissue bruises all over. The doctor wanted me to stay for observation. While I was recovering in the hospital, my phone kept buzzing. It was Tiffany, sending all sorts of taunting messages, along with photos and videos of him doting on her. He spoon-fed her porridge, peeled apples for her, and even took her for strolls in the garden. I just stared at them, my face blank, not replying to a single one. My heart was totally numb. Her provocations didn't faze me one bit. ###Chapter 3 After I got out of the hospital, the class organized a graduation party. I really didn't want to go, but my friends talked me into it. The moment I walked into the private room, I saw Liam and Tiffany sitting glued to each other. Tiffany was smiling, feeding him a piece of fruit. He didn't refuse. When my classmates saw me, they all looked a bit awkward. They quickly gathered around, whispering, "Serena, what's going on? You and Liam... fighting again?" I calmly shook my head. My voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough. "Not fighting. We broke up." "What? Broke up?!" Everyone looked stunned. "Why? Liam was always so good to you!" "Yeah, seriously! When you got sick in senior year, he almost fought the dean just to get you a long medical leave!" "Oh, and! The surprises he'd plan for you every holiday? We were all so jealous!" "You two were the couple everyone thought would go from school uniforms to wedding gowns! How could you break up now, right before graduation?" Listening to them rattle off all his past ‘greatness,' my heart felt like it was shriveling up in a pool of acid, bloated and throbbing. Yeah, he was that good to me once. Good enough that I genuinely believed he was my forever. But that's precisely why his later coldness and favoritism felt so utterly brutal. I paused for a beat, then said softly, "We weren't a match, so we broke up. Nobody's indispensable. Besides," My gaze flickered to him across the room, pouring Tiffany a drink. "He and Tiffany seem to be doing just fine now, don't they?" He happened to catch what I said, frowning as he looked my way, his eyes unreadable. For the rest of the night, it was like he was deliberately trying to spite me. He went out of his way to be even more overtly affectionate with Tiffany, super attentive, practically glued to her side. He probably expected me to get jealous, to get mad, maybe even storm over and break them up like I used to. But I didn't. I just sat quietly in my corner, chatting occasionally with whoever was nearby, my gaze calm and unruffled. As if he genuinely was just some random stranger, completely irrelevant to me now. But that utter silence, my complete dismissal, seemed to spark a kind of panic in him he'd never felt before. He instinctively started to move toward me, but Tiffany, right there beside him, grabbed his arm. Tiffany stood on her tiptoes, whispering something in his ear. He stopped cold, a deep frown creasing his forehead, and finally, just sat back down. Soon enough, someone suggested a round of Truth or Dare. A few rounds later, Tiffany lost. Her dare? Kiss the tallest guy in the room for three minutes. All eyes instantly snapped to him. Tiffany's face flushed, but her eyes held a challenging glint as she walked straight up to him. The other classmates gasped, whispering, "Whoa... this is totally messed up, right? Serena's literally right here!" Tiffany, though, shot a glance at me in the corner, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Serena, you and Liam are totally over. So, you're cool with us playing a game and kissing, right?" Her best friend immediately chimed in, "Seriously! She's his ex now, what right does she have to tell Liam who he can kiss?" Instantly, every eye in the room, including his, was on me like a spotlight. His gaze was intense, holding an unspoken pressure, as if he was waiting for my reaction. I lowered my head, my long lashes veiling any emotion in my eyes. My voice was barely a whisper, yet it cut through the silence, clear to everyone. "...Yeah, it has nothing to do with me." Those words drew a definitive line. His face instantly darkened, his eyes blazing with fury and a simmering rage from being defied. He let out a sharp, cold scoff, then abruptly pulled Tiffany by the waist. To everyone's shocked gasps, he slammed his lips onto hers! A wave of suppressed gasps and sharp intakes of breath swept through the private room, only to be swallowed by an eerie, deathly silence. I just watched as they full-on made out under the lights, practically glued to each other. Tiffany's hand even snaked up around his neck. My heart felt like it was caught in a vice, a sharp, cramping pain that nearly buckled me. I dug my nails into my palms, digging in so hard it hurt, desperately trying to keep the crushing bitterness and despair from totally drowning me, from making me lose it right then and there. It felt like an eternity, but that agonizingly long kiss finally broke. Tiffany's best friend practically yelled, "So, Liam, how was that? Kissing our Tiffany... gotta be a whole lot more exciting than with some other girls, huh?" His gaze swept over my pale face, a cold, cruel smirk playing on his lips. His voice was low, but every word cut deep: "No comparison. Tiffany... total knockout." ###Chapter 4 Tiffany's smugness was practically oozing off her. After a few more rounds, Tiffany lost again. This time, her dare was to sit on a guy's lap and complete a specific task. Tiffany didn't even hesitate, her eyes immediately darting back to Liam. I couldn't take it anymore. I shot up, muttered something about needing the restroom to my friend, and practically sprinted out of that suffocating private room. I hid in the restroom, splashing cold water on my face again and again, but the tears just kept coming, mixing with the water. It took forever to get myself somewhat together. I just wanted to go home. As I turned the corner down the hall, I heard familiar voices coming from the patio. It was Liam and his closest buddies. "Liam, dude, wasn't that a bit much back there? Serena looked ghost-white. Aren't you gonna go check on her?" "Check on her?" He scoffed, a cold sound. "So she can break up with me again in a few days? Am I a glutton for punishment?" "True... it's your own fault for spoiling her, though. She'd always pull the breakup card. Maybe this is a good chance for her to finally learn her lesson." Exactly. Once classes start at NYU, she'll be in a new city, won't know anyone. She'll definitely come crawling back. Then you just throw her a bone, and she'll beg for you back. After this, she won't dare threaten to break up with you again. Perfect. Standing outside the door, every drop of blood in me turned to ice. My hands and feet went completely numb with cold. So, in his eyes, all those times I tried to break up with him, all that pain and disappointment? It was just me ‘throwing a tantrum,' just ‘a way to manipulate him.' And his ‘lesson' for me? To humiliate me in front of everyone by kissing another girl! I silently turned and walked away, down the stairs. The summer night wind brushed against me, but it was so cold it made me tremble. As I walked, memories flashed through my mind like a silent film. There was a time when, if I so much as frowned, he'd get all anxious, asking if I was feeling unwell. Back then, girls would constantly try to give him love letters. He'd always refuse them without even glancing, then come straight to me, looking for praise. "Rennie," he'd boast, "I rejected another one today, all on my own. Praise me!" I'd gotten so used to his kindness, to him treating me like I was his one-of-a-kind treasure. When did it all change? It started the day Tiffany showed up. He'd break his own rules for Tiffany, again and again, completely ignoring my feelings. It wasn't like I didn't notice how Tiffany was special to him, or how he treated her differently. I was just clinging to that last sliver of hope, using breakup threats again and again to test him, to try and win him back. But all it did was make him see me as annoying and childish. Turns out, once I wasn't his one and only anymore, even my tears were wrong. Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed I was almost home. From a distance, I spotted a mail carrier standing by my front door. Guess my acceptance letter finally arrived. I took a deep breath, just about to step forward, when I saw a tall, familiar figure standing with the mailman. It was him! He was holding one of the envelopes, clearly marked with UCLA logo, and he was about to rip it open...

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