The Blood Bag Bride Replacing My Stolen Life

PROLOGUE I sacrificed over twenty years of my life for the Vance family, even giving my own blood to keep Natalie alive. Yet, after all of it, my parents dismissed me with nothing more than a one-way ticket to Vancouver. They even stole the fact that I had dragged Ethan out from beneath the earthquake rubble with my bare hands, wrapping my life-saving grace into a pretty little bow and handing it to Natalie to win her favor. Once upon a time, I kept waiting for them to finally see me. Now, I'm done waiting. This time, I'm leaving the Vance family for good—and I'm going to make sure everyone who wronged me pays the price. Seraphina's POV Heavy rain drummed against the window when they summoned me to the study. I stood before the large mahogany desk, my eyes locked on the plane ticket resting on its polished surface—destination: Vancouver, departing in a week. "The flight is booked. You leave next week," my father said, leaning back in his leather chair with complete indifference. My mother sat nearby, nursing a cup of coffee. She didn't even bother looking up at me. "Why?" I asked. "Don't play dumb." Father frowned, pure annoyance tightening his face. "Natalie and Ethan are getting engaged soon. Having you hang around here isn't appropriate." Not appropriate. I had lived in the Vance house for more than twenty years, yet no one had ever cared whether my life was appropriate. From the day I was born, I existed for a single purpose: to be a tool—a walking, breathing blood bag on standby, ready to be drained whenever Natalie needed spare parts. I stared down at my name printed on the boarding pass. Seraphina Vance. Yet in this household, I was never a person—just a shadow cast behind my older sister, Natalie. Silence thickened in the study. Father waited for my tears, and Mother braced for my begging. After all, every time something like this had happened over the years, I would cry, scream, and drop to my knees to beg for scraps of affection. This time, I just quietly stared at the ticket, then nodded gently. "Okay." A single word. Father blinked, caught off guard. Mother's hand trembled, coffee sloshing over the rim of her cup. "What did you say?" "I said okay," I replied, lifting my chin. My gaze was unnervingly dead. "I'll go." Mother opened her mouth as if to say something, but swallowed her words instead. She shot Father a bewildered look. I could read their thoughts: When did this submissive, obedient second daughter turn into such a stranger? Father stared hard at me, trying to sniff out any hint of an impending breakdown or hidden resentment. He found nothing. My face was as calm as stagnant water, void of any ripple. "Fine," Father said, looking away with a faint trace of relief. "Glad you finally came to your senses. Pack your bags, but don't take too much. Natalie said—" "I know," I cut him off smoothly. "Natalie's things aren't something I deserve." I turned and walked out of the study, my footsteps silent on the hardwood floor. The lightbulb at the end of the hallway had been burnt out for ages, and no one had ever bothered to fix it. Walking through that patch of darkness, my mind drifted back through the years. I was only eight when Natalie came down with a severe fever and needed an emergency transfusion. Mother dropped to her knees outside the hospital room, crying and pleading with me: "Phina, you're her little sister. You have to save Natalie. You were born to protect her, don't you understand?" Of course I understood. I had known it since the day I gained consciousness. Natalie had Rh-negative blood, and so did I. Whenever she needed a transfusion, the Vance family's immediate instinct was to bleed me dry. Back then, I was too young to know what being a "spare part" meant. I only knew that when I was sick, nobody cared, but when Natalie caught a mild cold, the entire world revolved around her. I once asked my parents why. Their answer was brutally simple: "You're the younger sister. Natalie will always be more important than you." As I grew older, the reality of my life crystallized. I understood why Natalie got designer dresses while I wore her cut-down hand-me-downs; why she went to elite private prep schools while I was tossed into a run-down public school; why I was always the one getting beaten whenever something went wrong. The answer was always the same: Because you're the spare. Wasn't I their daughter, too? I stepped into my room and gently clicked the door shut. The space was dim, illuminated only by a tiny desk lamp. This room had originally been a utility closet; they had only allowed me to move in here once I started high school. The window faced the back alley, leaking whenever it rained and freezing into an icebox in the winter. I began to pack. Truthfully, there wasn't much to take. Just a few outfits, all worn-out discards from Natalie. The jewelry, the bags, the decor—not a single thing in this room truly belonged to me. I dragged out an old suitcase, folding a few changes of clothes and setting my documents inside. My movements were methodical and calm, as if this were just another mundane chore. I didn't even notice when the tears started falling. By the time I snapped out of it, a teardrop had already splashed across the navy cover of my passport, blooming into a small, dark stain. I wiped it away with the back of my hand and kept packing. It was fine. It really is fine, I told myself. There had never been a place for me in this house anyway. Leaving was for the best; at least I would finally have peace. Outside, the downpour raged louder. I shoved the packed suitcase under my bed, lay down, and stared blankly at the ceiling. During the earthquake years ago, I had been trapped in the ruins under a torrential storm just like this one. Three whole days, and nobody came looking for me. I thought I would rot in that pitch-black hell, but I survived—and I dragged a dying boy out with me. That boy was Ethan Hayes. Right before slipping into unconsciousness, he had gripped my hand tightly and whispered, "I swear I will find you... I'll pay you back for this." He promised he would never forget the sound of my voice, or what I looked like. And what happened after that? My parents told Ethan that his savior wasn't me—it was Natalie. After that, Ethan catered to Natalie's every whim while treating me like scum on the bottom of his shoe. After that, I waited ten agonizing years, only to be handed a plane ticket to Vancouver and told, "Having you hang around here isn't appropriate." I shut my eyes, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Whatever. I'm done waiting. In this lifetime, I'm never waiting around for anyone ever again.Seraphina's POV The next morning, Natalie kicked open my bedroom door, her face dripping with sheer arrogance. Draped in the latest season's silk designer slip, she crossed her arms over her chest, scanning my tiny room with open disgust. "Are you really leaving?" I was folding the last few shirts, not even bothering to look up. "Yeah." Natalie strolled in and casually yanked open my wardrobe. Inside hung only a pathetic handful of faded, outdated clothes. "This junk is all you have?" Natalie sneered. "Whatever. It's not like you're taking any of it anyway." My hands paused slightly. Natalie was already rummaging through my vanity drawer. She pulled out a small jewelry box, popped it open, glanced at the trinkets, and tossed it carelessly back onto the dresser. "Everything here was paid for by the Vance family," she stated, her tone dripping with entitlement. "When you get out of here, you leave every single scrap behind." I finally raised my head to look at her. Her face was meticulously made up, every line and contour highlighting her inherent snobbery. Natalie had inherited all of our mother's best traits—flawless features, a slim figure, and the effortless, pampered elegance of someone who had never been told no. And what about me? I took after my father. When I was younger, I had been pretty in a delicate way, but years of neglect, endless chores, and emotional starvation had withered it away. I was painfully thin, like a dried branch battered by the elements. My skin was pale and bloodless—not from beauty, but from routine transfusions, losing hundreds of milliliters of blood every few months just to keep her safe. "Natalie," I said quietly, my voice flat. "Out of all that jewelry, did you personally buy a single piece for me?" Natalie's expression shifted violently. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Nothing." I lowered my gaze and resumed folding. "If you say leave it, I'll leave it." My lack of reaction clearly infuriated her. Marching forward, she swept her arm across the dresser, violently smashing everything onto the floor. "Seraphina! Who the hell do you think you are?!" Natalie shrieked. "You're nothing but a walking blood bag Mom and Dad made for me! If it weren't for me, you wouldn't even have been born!" Heavy footsteps echoed from the hall. Father and Mother rushed in, taking in the shattered mess across the floor. Mother frowned, stepping between us and facing me. "Phina, Natalie is just looking out for you. You're moving overseas alone; lugging around so much baggage will only weigh you down," Mother said, her tone feigning gentle reason, though her eyes were devoid of any real warmth. "Besides, all of this belonged to Natalie in the first place. It makes sense for her to take it back. Don't fight with your sister." I looked at my mother. Deep down, I felt nothing. Not a single ripple. Three specific memories flashed through my mind. The first was when I was five. It was Natalie's birthday, and the house was packed with neighborhood kids. The parents chatted in the living room while I hid alone in the hallway corner. The cook felt bad for me and slipped me a small cupcake. I held it like a treasure, but right before I took a bite, Natalie rushed over and slapped it out of my hands. The cupcake smashed against the floor, frosting smearing across the tiles. Mother marched over and backhanded me across the face. "It's Natalie's birthday! Why are you always so selfish?!" That was when I was five, and it was the first time I learned what injustice felt like. The second memory was when I was ten. I ran home with a straight-A report card, desperate for my parents to see. Father took it, barely glanced at the paper, and tossed it straight into the trash can. "What's the point of this? Even if Natalie fails every class, she's still the sole heir to the Vance estate. What about you? Even with straight A's, you'll never measure up to her. You're nobody." That was when I was ten, and it was the first time I realized I had no future in this house. The third memory was when I was fifteen. Natalie had gotten into a fight with someone at school and came home in a foul mood, taking it out on me. She pressed a burning cigarette butt against the back of my hand, leaving a permanent round scar. I screamed in agony. When our parents rushed in, they only had one thing to say: "Natalie is upset, Phina. Stop provoking her." That was when I was fifteen, and it was the moment I completely abandoned any hope of ever being loved by them. From that day on, I stopped crying, stopped screaming, and stopped defending myself. I learned silence. I learned endurance. I learned to mask every open wound beneath a blanket of pure numbness. Because nobody cared about my tears. Just like right now. Mother stood before me, her gaze dripping with favoritism toward Natalie and disgust toward me, as if I were merely an eyesore taking up space, not her flesh and blood. "Fine," I nodded. "Whatever Natalie says goes." Natalie hesitated, thrown off. She had fully expected me to cry, beg, and fall to my knees apologizing like I used to. Instead, I just nodded and quietly returned to folding my pitifully few shirts. "You better drill this into your head, Seraphina—" Natalie pointed a manicured finger at me. "Once you're out of the country, stay the hell away from Ethan. He's mine. Do you hear me?" I didn't turn around. "Understood." Natalie scoffed and strutted out of the room. Once the door clicked shut, absolute silence reclaimed the space. I crouched down, picking up the scattered debris piece by piece. There wasn't much worth salvaging anyway. A couple of cheap drugstore lipsticks, an expired bottle of lotion, and a heavily faded photograph. In the picture were three people: me, Ethan, and Natalie. It had been taken ten years ago, three days after I dragged Ethan out of the rubble. Natalie had shoved her way into the frame, clinging to Ethan, while Mother aggressively pushed me to the side. Mother had hissed: "With the way you look, standing next to Ethan is just an embarrassment." In that photo, Ethan was confined to a wheelchair, and Natalie stood behind him with a dazzling smile. Nobody remembered the girl who had actually pulled him from the dirt. I flipped the photo over. Scrawled on the back in Ethan's handwriting were the words: May I remember you forever. I stared at those words for a very long time. Then, slowly, I tore the photo in half, tearing it again and again until it was shredded into tiny confetti. I let the scraps slip through my fingers, watching them flutter to the floor like a belated fall of snow.Seraphina's POV That evening, Natalie sent a maid to fetch me, demanding that I go down to the kitchen and bring her a glass of ice water. I carried the glass up the stairs. The icy surface numbed my fingertips, but I kept walking. The hallway was quiet, lit only by dim, warm wall sconces. The second I pushed open Natalie's bedroom door, the scent hanging in the air froze me dead in my tracks. It was the unmistakable musk of post-coital sweat—heavy, musky, and thick with a suffocating, intimate sweetness. The bedside lamp was on, casting a golden glow over two completely tangled, naked bodies on the mattress. Natalie was propped lazily against the headboard, her hair splayed across the pillows, a smug, satisfied smirk playing on her lips. Ethan was on top of her, his head buried in the crook of her neck, leaving hot kisses on her collarbone. The glass slipped from my numb fingers, shattering into pieces against the hardwood floor. Ethan's head snapped up instantly. When our eyes locked, I didn't see shame, panic, or even the slight awkwardness of getting caught. All I saw was pure, unadulterated disgust. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Ethan snarled, his voice hoarse with violent fury. "Who told you to barge in here? Creeping in unannounced—what's your game? Trying to turn me on?" My lips parted, wanting to defend myself. But what could I even say? Tell him Natalie ordered me to fetch her water? He wouldn't believe a word. He never had. "Ethan..." Natalie pulled the duvet up to cover her chest, her voice instantly dropping into a fragile, trembling whimper. "I knew it... I knew she was obsessed with you... Just look at the way she's staring at you. She's completely jealous of me..." Her tears came on cue, her delicate shoulders shaking with theatrical sobs. Ethan's heart visibly broke for her. He pulled her tight against his chest, his eyes locking onto mine with lethal malice. Grabbing something off the nightstand, he whipped his arm back and hurled it directly at me. It was a used condom. It slapped wetly against my shirt before dropping to the floor, carrying a sickening, humiliating warmth. "Get the fuck out!" Ethan roared. "A pathetic bitch like you could never crawl into my bed! I'd have to be blind to ever look at you! Get out!" I stood paralyzed, the spilled ice water soaking through my socks and sending a bone-deep chill rushing straight up my spine. Memories flashed through my mind in rapid bursts. I remembered clawing my way out of the earthquake wreckage, covered in blood, screaming until my voice gave out with no one in sight. Ethan had been the one to wake up first under the neighboring concrete slab. When he saw my dirt-streaked face, he had whispered, "Don't be afraid. I will find you." Back then, his eyes had been so bright, shining like stars in the dark. I remembered the countless times I chased after him later, begging: "Ethan, I was the one who pulled you out, not Natalie. I have proof, just listen to me—" Every single time, all I got was his biting disdain. "I don't want to hear your pathetic lies." "You think I'd believe a single word coming out of your mouth?" "Seraphina, lie to me one more time and I'll have security throw you onto the street." I remembered my parents beating me bloody, screaming: "If you ever dare say another word to Ethan, we'll break your legs! If Natalie hadn't 'saved' him, this family would have gone under years ago! Who do you think you are?!" I remembered kneeling before Ethan, handing him my diary from the disaster—pages filled with every detail of those seventy-two hours beneath the rubble. Ethan had taken the notebook, ripped it to shreds right in front of my face, and tossed it into the trash. "Your storytelling is getting pathetic," he had said with a mocking sneer. Back then, a small part of me still held out hope. I naively believed that if I just persevered, Ethan would eventually realize the truth. Until tonight. I stared at the puddle by my feet, then looked up at the two people in bed. Natalie snuggled deep into Ethan's embrace, her lips curling into a triumphant, mocking smile. That look said it all: See that? He's mine. You'll never take him from me. Ethan was still spewing venom, his words vile and degrading. Yet, I couldn't hear him anymore. A deafening buzz filled my ears, like ten thousand bees swarming my skull. My vision blurred; my mind drifted away into a vacuum. So this was what it felt like to be thoroughly trampled into the dirt. So this was what it felt like when your heart completely died. Slowly, I bent down and began picking up the shards of broken glass. "Sorry," I whispered, my voice completely flat. "Excuse me." I turned, walked out of the bedroom, and gently pulled the door shut behind me. The corridor was pitch-black; I couldn't see a thing. But I didn't need a light anymore. I was leaving soon anyway. I had always been entirely expendable in this house. As the door clicked shut, Natalie's sweet, cloying voice drifted through the crack: "Ethan, you're the best. I know you love me most. Who does Seraphina think she is? Don't be mad, she's not worth your energy..." I didn't catch the rest. I didn't need to. I raised a hand to touch my cheek and found it completely dry. Not a single tear. Not even one.Seraphina's POV I was forced onto my knees in the basement. The basement had no heating, making it as cold as a meat locker in the winter. The blood seeping from the cuts on my back had already soaked through my thin shirt, clinging sticky and cold to my skin. Father stood by the door, a heavy leather belt gripped in his hand. "Who gave you permission to barge into that room?" Father's harsh voice echoed in the cavernous space. "Were you purposely trying to ruin Natalie's reputation?!" I kept my head down, offering no answer. Mother stood beside him, her gaze dripping with venomous disappointment. "You actually tried to throw yourself at Ethan? What an ungrateful little snake." "I asked you a question!" Father lashed out, the belt cracking through the air with a vicious whistle. "What the hell were you trying to pull?!" My body jerked violently. The leather struck my spine with brutal force, a searing burn tearing through my skin and digging straight into the bone. I bit the inside of my cheek until it bled, forcing myself not to make a sound. "Speak!" Another crack. I remained kneeling, fresh blood running down my back and pooling onto the concrete floor. "I didn't barge in," I finally spoke, my voice raspy and hollow. "Natalie told me to bring her water." "Liar!" Mother screeched. "Why would Natalie ever ask you to walk into her room?! Stop trying to smear dirt on your sister!" I closed my mouth and stayed silent. It was utterly pointless. I had known that for years. In this house, Natalie was always the angel, and I was always the sinner. Even if I laid the raw truth before their eyes, they would choose to blind themselves. Believing me meant admitting that they were monsters who had spent over twenty years tormenting their own daughter. They would never admit that. So I didn't need to explain anything. Father whipped me a few more times. Seeing that I wouldn't scream or beg, he grew bored. He tossed the belt to the ground and turned to Mother. "Leave her here until morning. No food, no water." Mother nodded, casting one final glance at me. There was no pity in her eyes, no maternal instinct—only the cold detachment one felt when throwing away a piece of trash. "Reflect on what you've done," Mother muttered coldly. "You don't get up until you've learned your place." The heavy metal door slammed shut, cutting off the light. I curled slightly in the dark, the cuts on my back throbbing with fire. I remembered being locked down here and beaten when I was five because I had taken a tiny bite of Natalie's cake. Back then, my small knees had pressed into the freezing tiles, tears streaming endlessly down my face. I had stopped crying since. Crying never made anyone care anyway. I huddled into a tighter ball, my shredded back scraping against the floor, the spike of pain nearly causing me to pass out. Drifting in the shadows, my mind wandered back to the past. Back to the rubble of the earthquake. I was fifteen that year, dragged along on a family vacation. Then the ground tore open. I was buried under tons of concrete for three full days and nights. Nobody came looking for me. I had screamed until my vocal cords shredded, but silence was my only reply. I had cried until my tears burned into my open wounds, praying for death. But I couldn't die. I wanted to live. Just when I was on the brink of giving up, I heard a faint whimper through the cracked wall beside me. Summoning every ounce of strength left in my broken body, I crawled through jagged rebar and crushed bricks until I finally spotted the trapped boy. It was Ethan. A heavy concrete beam had pinned his leg, blood coating his pale face as he mumbled incoherently. I leaned in close and caught his breathless whisper: "Please... somebody save me... I don't want to die..." I didn't hesitate. I had no idea who he was. I only knew that if I didn't move that beam, he was going to die right in front of me. I smashed at the debris with rocks, wedged wooden planks as levers, and pushed with everything I had. For three agonizing hours, my skin ripped open, my fingernails split down to the quick, and my forearms turned into a mangled mess of blood and bruises. Finally, I dragged him free. And then, blackness swallowed me. When I woke up, I was in a clean hospital bed. Natalie was already by the bedside of a handsome boy in a wheelchair, chatting with his wealthy parents. Natalie beamed, pointing at him: "This is the boy I saved. His name is Ethan Hayes." My parents stood nearby, smiles plastered all over their faces. Ethan Hayes. I knew the name—the sole heir to the Hayes empire. Later, when I was discharged and ran into Ethan, I couldn't wait to tell him the truth. Ethan had frowned, looking at me with pure disdain: "What are you talking about? Natalie was the one who pulled me out." I had frozen completely. "It was really me," I pleaded frantically. "Ethan, think back! In the dark, right before you passed out, didn't you see me? I was wearing a blue T-shirt, my hair tied in a ponytail—" "Shut up," Ethan snapped, cutting me off coldly. "I thought you were quiet and honest, Seraphina. I didn't think you were such a shameless liar. Natalie saved my life, and you're trying to steal her credit?" I tried to explain every tiny detail of that night, but Ethan refused to listen to a single syllable. Over the years, I tried to tell him the truth dozens of times. Each time, Ethan grew crueler and more disgusted. The last time, he simply had his security guards drag me off the Hayes estate and throw me into the street. I had begged: "Ethan, please, just look into it. Just investigate what happened that day—" Ethan had sneered: "I don't need to look into anything. Show your face in front of me again, and I'll call the cops." After that day, I never tried to explain again. The basement grew colder. Huddled in the dirt, my consciousness began to drift. Suddenly, the heavy door groaned open. A tall figure stood in the entryway, backlit by the hall light, his features obscured. Squinting through swollen eyes, I watched the shadow advance. As he stepped closer, I finally recognized him. It was Ethan. He held something in his hand, walking with brisk, impatient strides until he loomed directly over me. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the object at my face. It bounced off my chest and fluttered to the floor beside my bloody knees. I glanced down. An invitation card. An engagement invitation for Ethan Hayes and Natalie Vance. Set for the eighteenth of next month. Ethan stood tall, looking down at me like I was vermin. The light behind him cast his sharp face into deep shadows, masking whatever emotion he held. "Natalie and I are getting engaged next month," he said, his tone biting and icy. "Look at it and give up your pathetic delusions once and for all." I stared at the gilded card for a long time. Then, slowly, I tilted my head back and looked at Ethan's face. He had matured so much compared to ten years ago. He was no longer that helpless, dying boy trapped beneath the earth; he was the untouchable heir of the Hayes family, Natalie's devoted fiancé, the most enviable bachelor in the city. Yet he felt completely alien to me. The boy I had known had fire in his heart and light in his eyes. Before slipping into darkness, he had gripped my bleeding fingers and sworn, "I will find you," promising to remember my voice forever. Where was that promise now? "Are you deaf?" Ethan snapped, his brows furrowing with disgust. "I told you to give up." I tore my eyes away from him, looking back down at the card. "Okay," I whispered, my voice as faint as a falling leaf. "I hope you two are... very happy." Ethan froze, visibly thrown off by my calmness. "Stop acting so pure and innocent," he scoffed, turning on his heel and marching out into the hall. I knelt alone in the suffocating dark, the pain across my back turning into a dull, throbbing numbness. I reached out, picked up the invitation, and held it close to my face. The embossed gold lettering gleamed faintly in the sliver of light: Ethan Hayes & Natalie Vance Engagement Gala I folded the heavy card carefully and slipped it into my pocket. Then, I lowered my head until my forehead pressed against the freezing concrete, shutting my eyes tight. It was fine. Very soon, I would never have to kneel here again. I would never have to swallow these insults, or live walking on eggshells around these monsters. Because I was leaving. Leaving this family, leaving this city, and leaving Ethan far behind. A quote I read long ago echoed in my mind: Some people don't deserve your tears, and the one who truly does would never bear to see you cry. Ethan. You will never know who truly pulled you out of the jaws of death. You will never know who clawed through concrete and rebar for three hours, ripping her fingers to the bone, just so your heart could keep beating. You will never know that the girl you despised, mocked, and trampled on for a decade once loved you more than her own life. And now, I don't love you at all. The corners of my lips curved into a faint, ghost-like smile. Outside, the storm had finally passed. A pale sliver of dawn bled through the small ground-level grate. Morning was coming.Seraphina's POV Three days later, Natalie broke the silence. "Seraphina, you're coming with me to try on dresses." It wasn't a request; it was an order. Father and Mother sat on the living room sofa, nodding along before fixing their stern eyes on me, daring me to refuse. I set down the cleaning rag in my hand and said softly, "Natalie, it's not really convenient for me—" "What's so inconvenient about it?" Mother snapped, her brow instantly furrowing. "You just can't stand seeing your sister happy, can you? It's just a bridal fitting! She's choosing an engagement gown, and she's being generous enough to let you tag along to broaden your horizons. What right do you have to complain?" I didn't argue. I knew anything I said would fall on deaf ears. In the Vance household, I had never possessed the right to say no. Natalie had booked an appointment at the most exclusive haute couture bridal atelier in the city. A sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb. Natalie stepped out in towering stilettos, followed closely by two assistants carrying her designer bags. I trailed behind like an unwanted, faded shadow. The staff inside immediately greeted Natalie with practiced, dazzling smiles. Head held high, Natalie strutted in, tossing her purse to an attendant before pointing a dismissive finger at me by the entrance. "Find a corner to shove her into. Don't let her wander around." I was escorted to a low sofa in the far corner of the lounge area. The moment I sat down, the quiet murmurs of two nearby stylists drifted over. "Did you see that girl who just walked in? She's stunning." "Who? The bride?" "No, the one in the white tee who walked in last. I caught a glimpse of her face—she's so delicate and naturally gorgeous, way prettier than the bride inside." "Are you insane?! Keep your voice down! If she hears you, we're dead." I sat with my head bowed, my face completely expressionless. Yet a bitter mockery bloomed in my chest. Pretty? I hadn't heard that word directed at me in years. In the Vance family, I was always the reject. Ugly, frumpy, pathetic, embarrassing—those were the labels etched into my existence for over twenty years. Now strangers were calling me beautiful. Pity I didn't care anymore. Over by the fitting suites, Natalie tried on gown after gown. Every time the heavy velvet curtains pulled back, the staff showered her with rehearsed praise. "Miss Vance, this mermaid cut accentuates your curves perfectly!" "This cathedral train was practically sculpted for you!" "The off-the-shoulder neckline is so regal—Mr. Hayes is going to lose his mind when he sees you." Natalie's conceited laughter echoed through the boutique, growing louder and sharper. After trying on the sixth dress, she declared, "I'll take this one." The consultants breathed a collective sigh of relief, preparing the paperwork. Suddenly, Natalie's voice drifted sharply from the dressing area as she addressed the stylist beside her: "Were you girls gossiping about someone being pretty earlier?" The flattering laughter instantly died. "I asked you a question," Natalie pressed, her tone turning venomous. "Were you saying I'm not as pretty as that girl over there?" "Miss Vance, you misunderstood—" "I didn't misunderstand shit." Natalie violently ripped a diamond-encrusted veil off a mannequin and hurled it to the floor. "You think I'm blind?! You actually think that pathetic little charity case looks better than me?!" The terrified stylists froze, too scared to breathe. Fuming, Natalie stormed across the showroom straight toward me. She snatched the phone out of my hands and violently slammed it onto the glass table. "Who told you to come here and show off?! What the hell are you, sitting around thinking you have a right to be here?!" I lifted my head, meeting her gaze. My eyes were chillingly calm. Natalie's sneer faltered under my empty stare. Just as she was about to lash out, the heavy glass doors swung open. Ethan stepped inside. He wore a tailored charcoal-gray suit, his dark hair slicked back with ruthless precision, exuding an air of icy, untouchable privilege. The second Natalie spotted him, her fury melted away, replaced by instant, trembling tears. Her theatrical waterworks turned on in a fraction of a second. "Ethan..." She threw herself into his arms, sobbing inconsolably against his lapel. "What happened?" Ethan held her waist, his brow creasing with immediate concern. "Who upset you?" "Her!" Natalie pointed a trembling finger at me. "She came here to ruin my fitting! She told the stylists that I'm ugly and that she's prettier than me... Ethan, look at her! She's doing this on purpose because she wants to steal you from me!" I sat on the low couch, watching her performance with a profound sense of exhaustion. I didn't even have the energy to open my mouth. Ethan followed Natalie's finger, his gaze locking onto me like sub-zero frost. Releasing Natalie, he strode over, looming over me with suffocating pressure. "Seraphina, what the hell did you do?" I slowly stood up, looking him dead in the eye. "If I told you I never said that, would you believe me?" Ethan didn't bother answering my question. Instead, he coldly turned his head toward the petrified boutique staff. The employees trembled, glued to the floor. "You all thought Seraphina was pretty, didn't you?" Ethan's voice was as sharp as a razor. "Change your tune right now. Anyone who doesn't call her hideous doesn't walk out of this boutique today." The stylists exchanged panicked glances, cold sweat beading on their foreheads. I knew exactly what they were terrified of. Crossing Natalie Vance was bad enough, but crossing Ethan Hayes was a death sentence in this city. Nobody dared cross the Hayes empire. "Say it!" Ethan demanded, his voice cracking like a whip. One stylist swallowed hard, forcing out a trembling voice: "Um... Miss Seraphina... she... she actually looks very plain..." "Right, exactly," another joined in quickly. "She's not pretty at all... honestly, she looks too unrefined to even stand in a place like this..." One by one, the staff chimed in, rushing to save their jobs. "Just look at her, she's practically skin and bones. How could she ever compare to the bride?" "She looks sick and hollowed out. It's actually uncomfortable to look at." "She's completely ordinary. Standing next to Miss Vance, she looks like a maid." The insults grew louder, each word uglier than the last. I stood before the full-length mirror, watching my own reflection. Those cruel words stabbed into my ears like serrated blades. Yet, I didn't cry. I didn't scream. My expression didn't even twitch. I simply clenched my fists inside my pockets, my nails digging so hard into my palms that they punctured the skin, drawing blood. Ethan stood beside me, watching me with supreme cruelty. "Hear that?" he sneered. "That's who you really are. In everyone's eyes, you're an eyesore. And you thought you could compete with Natalie? You're not worthy." I closed my eyes. I listened to my own heartbeat—slow, steady, and unbothered. It didn't hurt. It truly didn't hurt anymore. Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked into Ethan's. Those were the eyes I had been infatuated with for ten long years. Back in the rubble, that dying boy with eyes as clear as mountain springs—I had once thought he was the purest thing on earth. And now? Now, those eyes held nothing but icy arrogance, shallow cruelty, and disgusting elitism. "Are you finished?" I asked softly. Ethan blinked, momentarily stunned by my composure. I stood there, looking at him with absolute indifference, as if observing a complete stranger on the street. "I've heard enough," I said with a slight nod. "Can I leave now?" Without waiting for his permission, I turned toward the exit. "Stop right there!" Ethan's sharp voice barked behind me. "Did I say you could leave?!" My steps paused for a fraction of a second. Then, I kept walking, not slowing down for an instant. Behind me came Natalie's sniffling complaints and Ethan's tender reassurances. Natalie whined, "Ethan, see how arrogant she is?" and Ethan replied, "Ignore her. She's just an ungrateful wretch." I never looked back. Pushing through the heavy glass doors, bright sunlight washed over my body, warm and slightly blinding. I squinted up at the sky. It was a brilliant blue. Just like the sky above the ruins ten years ago. That day, when I finally crawled out from beneath the concrete, that vivid blue sky was the very first thing I saw. I had thought I would cherish that blue for the rest of my life. Now, I realized that some memories weren't worth holding onto at all.Seraphina's POV That evening, I was called down to the living room. Natalie was curled up on the plush sofa, Ethan sitting right beside her. My parents stood near the mantelpiece, broad, approving smiles plastered across their faces. I knew Natalie had already spun her dramatic version of what happened at the boutique. Natalie pointed toward the far corner of the living room, her voice cold: "Get on your knees, Seraphina." I walked over and dropped to my knees. My kneecaps slammed against the unyielding hardwood floor, a sharp shock of pain shooting up my legs. My entire body weight pressed against the bone; every second dragged out like torture. Natalie leaned back on the sofa, crossing her legs as she glared down at me. "Seraphina, do you know why I'm making you kneel?" I didn't answer. "Do you know why I'm punishing you like this?" she repeated, raising her voice. Silence was my only reply. "Because I despise your pretentious little attitude," Natalie hissed. "You're nothing but a spare blood bag bred for me, yet you act so high and mighty. Who do you think you are? You think Ethan would ever give you a second glance?" I kept my head down, offering no reaction. "Ethan," Natalie turned to him, her tone instantly melting into pure sugar. "Come sit closer to me." Ethan shifted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Natalie melted into his side, looping her arms around his neck. "Ethan, do you love me?" "Of course I do." Ethan leaned down, kissing her forehead gently. "Then kiss me properly." Ethan cupped her cheeks, pulling her lips to his. It was a deep, possessive kiss, heated and breathless. Natalie's soft moans filled the dead-silent living room, heavy with performative intimacy. I kept my gaze fixed on the hardwood floor between my knees. The hard ridges of the wood were digging into my bruised skin, the pain threatening to make me black out. But I didn't flinch, and I didn't make a sound. I knelt there like a ghost, enduring the humiliation in absolute silence. After a long while, Ethan finally broke the kiss. Natalie's cheeks were flushed pink, her lips swollen. Nestled against Ethan's chest, she purred, "Ethan, you're amazing... my legs are completely weak..." Ethan chuckled softly, stroking her bare thigh. Suddenly, Natalie turned her head, fixing her eyes on me in the corner. "Seraphina, come here." I raised my head. "The sofa is dirty. Come wipe it clean." I pushed myself up slowly, a violent stab of agony in my knees nearly making me collapse. I limped over to the sofa and saw the damp stain glistening on the leather cushion. Left behind by their... display. I knelt down, picked up the cleaning rag from the tray, and began to wipe it down. Natalie looked down at me from Ethan's arms like a queen looking at an insect. "Do you know why Ethan belongs to me?" she suddenly whispered mockingly. "Because he knows who saved his life. That person was me. It has always been me. And what about you? You're just a pathetic loser nobody wants." My hand paused for a second. Then I continued wiping, pretending I hadn't heard a word. "Ethan, did you know?" Natalie tilted her chin up to look at him. "Back then, she used to stalk you, making up pathetic lies about being the one who pulled you from the ruins. You never believed her, right?" Ethan's jaw tightened slightly. "How could I?" he replied smoothly. "She's just a compulsive liar." Natalie smiled with pure satisfaction. "Hear that, Seraphina?" She looked down at me, her words coated in poison. "Ethan said you're a liar. You will never have his heart. Your heart is black, your blood is cold, and you are the most disgusting, vile creature on earth." I didn't argue. I just kept wiping the leather in slow, deliberate circles. Her venomous words sounded distant, muffled, as if separated by a thick pane of bulletproof glass. I didn't care anymore. I truly didn't care. Natalie kept droning on, bragging about how much Ethan loved her, how he insisted on holding her every single night to sleep, how his steady heartbeat was the most beautiful sound in the world. Not a single syllable registered in my mind. I was thinking about something else entirely. I was thinking about the fact that in three days, I would be walking out of this hellhole forever. By then, the corrupted footage on the backup drives should be completely restored. I wondered what expressions would paint their faces when the brutal truth was finally exposed to the world. A sudden urge to laugh bubbled in my chest. I swallowed it down. He who laughs last, laughs best. It wasn't my turn to laugh just yet.