Reborn at Nineteen Erasing My Billionaire Captor

Prologue In my past life, I loved Nicholas Vance for four years. To stay by his side, I gave up my acceptance letter to the Vienna Conservatory, abandoned my beloved piano, and even willingly played the shadow in the dark—a stand-in for his first love. Yet for the sake of his first love, Elena Miller, he locked me inside his mansion and clipped my wings. In the end, Elena pushed me down the stairs from the piano room. I crashed onto the ground, covered in blood, but Nicholas didn’t spare me a single glance. He strode straight past my dying body and swept the woman who murdered me into his arms. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to being nineteen years old. There were still three months left before the nightmare that destroyed my life was supposed to happen. This time, I accepted the offer from the Vienna Conservatory. I don’t want him anymore. Stella's POV I died at twenty-three. Elena Miller shoved me off the stairs outside the piano room. In the final moments of my life, I strained to shift my eyes. Through a blur stained red with blood, I caught sight of a familiar figure sprinting out of the building. It was Nicholas Vance. The man I had loved with every fiber of my being for four whole years. He was running fast, wearing an expression of pure, unbridled terror—a panic I had never seen on his face before. Was he afraid? Was he terrified that I was going to die? A second later, Nicholas’s long legs stepped right over my body as I lay in a pooling puddle of blood. Without a shred of hesitation, he rushed straight toward Elena, who was slumped on the ground just past me. "Elena!" Nicholas’s voice choked with tension. He dropped to one knee, pulling Elena tightly against his chest, cradling the back of her head with desperate tenderness. Leaning into his embrace, Elena peered over Nicholas’s shoulder. Her gaze locked onto mine as I lay bleeding out on the cold floor. In those gorgeous eyes, there wasn't an ounce of fear. There was only the smug, cruel triumph of a winner. Watching that, my throat tightened, and a fresh wave of blood welled up. I wanted to laugh, but tears spilled over first, blending with the crimson pool beneath me. So this was it. This was what I got for giving up my dream of going abroad, abandoning the piano, throwing away my dignity and my sense of self, all just to stay by his side! At the tender age of twenty-three, my life ended in a calculated murder, while the man I loved held my killer in his arms. Nicholas turned with Elena in his arms, his broad, commanding back swiftly disappearing down the end of the hallway. My vision slowly drifted apart, finally dissolving into total, pitch-black darkness. "Stella, get up. I’m driving you to school." A low, deep baritone broke through the dark. I snapped my eyes open, gasping frantically for air, my chest heaving violently up and down. Cold sweat instantly soaked through my pajamas. Instinctively, I curled into a ball, clutching the edge of the blanket as uncontrollable tremors wracked my body. The air carried a familiar scent of sandalwood and cedarwood diffuser. I slowly turned my head. Sunlight filtered through the white sheer curtains, casting soft geometric patterns across the wooden floor. A plush teddy bear sat on the nightstand, and thick music theory textbooks and sheet music notebooks were stacked neatly on the desk. This was Nicholas's mansion. This was the bedroom I had lived in for five years. Yet the decor in this room was unmistakably how it looked when I was nineteen! When I turned twenty, Nicholas had declared these plush toys childish and ordered the maids to throw every single one of them away. Trembling, I reached out and grabbed the phone off the nightstand. The screen lit up. The harsh glare made me squint on instinct. The display read clearly: October 12, 2023. Wait… wasn’t that three years ago?! I hadn’t died. I had actually gone back to being nineteen years old. The footsteps outside hadn’t gone far. Nicholas seemed irritated by my sluggishness, his long fingers rapping against the wooden door once more. *Knock, knock.* "You have ten minutes. I’ll be waiting in the car downstairs." Through the closed door, his voice carried the same familiar chill, aloof and haughty. I bit down hard on my lower lip. It was this very voice that had become an inescapable nightmare over the past four years. Nineteen was the turning point of my entire life. Three months from now, Nicholas would be drugged at a high-society gala. That night, with bloodshot eyes, he would break into my bedroom, using me as a stand-in for that woman—treating me as the only antidote to save him. From then on, everything changed. He was no longer the aloof guardian who kept me at a distance while still looking after me. He turned into an overbearing, paranoid tyrant ruled by an obsessive need for control. He clipped my wings, tore up my passport, and locked me in a cage like a pet. And right now, there were still three full months before that descent into hell. I let go of the blanket and looked down at my hands. They were whole, undamaged. These hands hadn't yet been crushed in a car door during one of Nicholas’s violent outbursts. These hands could still play the most intricate passages of Chopin and Liszt. Images from my past life flashed through my mind like a horror film. The sheer despair of being locked in that bedroom, used night after night. Nicholas’s cold cruelty when Elena returned, abandoning me in the pouring rain. And the utter indifference he showed as he stepped right over my dying body after I fell. The phantom agony seemed to slice through time and space, carving into my nerves all over again. No. I will never accept that fate again! In this life, I don't want Nicholas Vance. Even if he was once the only light in my dark, miserable life, even if I once loved him more than my own breath. I don’t want any of it anymore! I threw off the covers and swung my legs out of bed. My knees were weak, and I stumbled, nearly crashing to the floor. But I caught myself on the bed frame, steadying my posture. I walked over to the desk and flipped open my laptop. Sitting quietly in my inbox was an acceptance email from the Vienna Conservatory. In my past life, desperate to stay by Nicholas’s side, I had clicked "decline" the very day after receiving it. Staring at the formal text on the screen, my eyes stung, blurring my vision, but my fingers were entirely steady. I guided the mouse, clicked "Accept Offer," and swiftly typed out a reply stating that I would arrive for registration on time. Click. Send. Looking at the prompt confirming the email was successfully sent, I finally let out a long, shuddering breath. Three months. During these three months, I just needed to become invisible, attract zero attention from Nicholas, and then walk away completely clean. I walked into the bathroom, turned on the tap, and splashed freezing water over my face. The girl in the mirror was pale, with lingering panic in the corners of her eyes. But in those clear irises, there was no longer a trace of that blind, desperate devotion to that man. I washed up and changed. I pulled on a plain white hoodie and a pair of faded blue jeans, slung my backpack over my shoulder, opened the door, and walked down the stairs step by step.Stella's POV The mansion was dead quiet, the staff moving about with their heads bowed in silence. I walked outside. The crisp morning air hit me in the face, sharpening my senses. Parked on the sweeping black asphalt driveway in front of the villa sat a sleek black Maybach. I approached the car and instinctively reached for the front passenger door handle. For five years, that had always been my seat. Nicholas never allowed anyone else to sit in the passenger seat; he said it had the best view, and I wouldn't get carsick there. Just as my fingers brushed the cold metal handle, the window rolled down smoothly. My body froze. Today, a woman was sitting in the passenger seat. She wore a wine-red trench coat, her wavy hair tumbling effortlessly over her shoulders. She turned her head, her lips painted a fiery red, her makeup exquisite down to the last eyelash. My pupils shrank violently. Elena Miller. In my previous life, Elena didn’t return from abroad until I was twenty. In this life, the timeline had actually shifted forward. My fingers turned icy in an instant. The sickening weightlessness of falling and the crushing agony of shattered bones seemed to rush back into my body, seizing my lungs for a terrifying second. "You must be Stella, right?" Elena looked out at me, her red lips parting into a sweet, graceful smile. "I'm Elena. Nicholas’s first love. When Nicholas said he had to drop you off, I honestly thought you were still just a little girl!" As she spoke, her gaze swept over me shamelessly, a flash of pure disdain flickering in her eyes. I lowered my gaze, my thick lashes masking the storm of hatred and defense boiling underneath. Without saying a word, I let go of the front door handle, walked to the rear, opened the back door, and slid inside. The atmosphere in the car seemed to solidify into ice. In the driver’s seat, Nicholas had rolled his sleeves up to his forearms, showing the smooth, firm lines of his muscles. His hands rested on the steering wheel, his cold eyes flicking toward the rearview mirror to cast a flat look at me. "Cat got your tongue?" Nicholas’s tone was completely flat. "Don't know how to say hello?" My hands balled into tight fists on my lap. "Good morning, Ms. Miller," I said, keeping my voice as light and devoid of emotion as possible. Elena let out a soft laugh. She turned around, leaning an arm intimately against the back of Nicholas's seat, pressing half her body almost against his shoulder. "Nicholas, don't be so harsh. You’re scaring the poor girl." Nicholas didn't pull away. He simply shifted gears and stepped on the gas. The car glided smoothly out of the gated community. The entire ride, Elena did all the talking. She chatted about their fun times studying abroad, about a new movie role she had just landed, and complained about how uncomfortable her hotel bed was last night. Nicholas responded occasionally. He didn't say much, but the indulgence and patience he showed her were things I had never once experienced in five years. I turned my head, staring out the window. The trees and city blocks blurred past in reverse, dragging my thoughts back to my previous life. Back then, the first time Elena had shown up acting like the lady of the house, how had I reacted? I had thrown a fit like a lunatic who had just had her favorite toy stolen, screaming and crying, demanding to know why Nicholas would let another woman into his car. And what came of it? Nicholas had slammed on the brakes, pulled over, and looked at me with pure disgust. "Stella, remember your place. You’re just an orphan I sponsor. Who gave you the right to meddle in my business? Get out." It had poured that day. I had been kicked out onto the street, walking for three hours in the freezing rain to get back to the villa. I came down with a vicious fever that nearly killed me. Living this life again, I will never fight for things that never belonged to me in the first place. No love meant no love. A shadow was just a shadow. "I heard you've been living at Nicholas's place all this time?" Elena's voice suddenly cut through the quiet hum of the car. I didn't answer. Elena didn't seem to care about my silence. She leaned back toward the rear seat, closing the distance between us, and lowered her voice to a whisper meant only for my ears: "Don't think staying by his side for five years changes who you are. Nicholas only pities you because your mother died so early." The smile on Elena's face remained soft and sweet, but the venom dripping from her words was vile. "He will never love you. Stop dreaming." I kept staring out the window. I remembered how she had done the exact same thing in my past life—cornering me where Nicholas couldn't see, using the cruellest words to humiliate, provoke, and drive me insane. Then, she would put on her fragile victim act, making Nicholas despise me more and more with every passing day. Until finally, she pushed me into the abyss. I said nothing. My nails dug deep, crescent-shaped marks into my palms. If words could kill, I would have died a thousand times over. But in front of Nicholas, any argument or defense would only end with me taking the punishment. I didn't need to prove anything to a murderer. I just needed to survive and get through these next three months. Seeing me sit there like a wooden block with zero reaction, Elena grew bored. A glint of viciousness flashed across her eyes before she smoothed her features back into a sweet, charming expression and sat up straight. The Maybach came to a stop at a red light. Nicholas tapped his long fingers against the leather steering wheel, his gaze drifting up to the rearview mirror. In the back, I was huddled in the corner, my face turned firmly toward the window, offering him only a thin, stubborn profile. Nicholas’s brow furrowed slightly. "Don't cause trouble at school. The driver will pick you up after class," Nicholas commanded coldly. I didn't look back, answering with a single, flat syllable: "Okay." The light turned green, the car accelerated smoothly forward, and the cabin fell back into dead silence.Stella's POV The Maybach cruised smoothly along the elevated highway. The heater was running high, yet it couldn't melt the invisible layer of frost hanging over the back seat. Elena seemed irritated by the suffocating atmosphere. She unzipped her Chanel bag and pulled out an elegantly packaged, burgundy box. "Stella," Elena turned around, smiling warmly as she offered the box to the back seat, "these are handmade chocolates I brought back especially from Belgium. They're really hard to get. Try one." It was a dark truffle, dusted heavily with cocoa powder. As the wrapper was peeled away, a rich, sickly-sweet scent of cocoa instantly flooded the confined space of the car. My stomach heaved violently. A wave of dry retching hit the back of my throat. I was severely allergic to cocoa. Not the kind that just gives you a few itchy hives, but a life-threatening allergy that causes acute laryngeal edema and anaphylactic shock. Everyone in the Vance household knew this. The very first year Nicholas took me in, I had eaten a bite of chocolate cake by mistake and ended up lying in the ICU for three whole days. I pressed myself further against the car window, shrinking away from the outstretched hand. "No, thank you. I can't," I said, my voice stiff and laced with unmistakable resistance. Elena’s hand hovered awkwardly in the air. The smile on her face froze, and she immediately pouted, looking deeply hurt. "Stella, do you hate me? I just wanted to share something nice with you. If you don't like it, fine..." As she spoke, she slowly pulled her hand back, her eyes rimmed with unshed tears. In the driver’s seat, Nicholas’s expression darkened instantly. He glared at me through the rearview mirror, his tone flat yet heavy with absolute authority. "Elena is offering it to you, so take it. Don't you have any manners?" I looked up, meeting Nicholas’s deep, merciless eyes through the glass. "I’m allergic to cocoa," I stated coldly. Nicholas, have you forgotten? Back when I was lying half-dead in the ICU, you were the one who sat by my bedside with a grim face and personally fired the maid who bought that cake. You were the one who gave the order that across every single property under the Vance name, not a single cocoa bean was ever allowed to cross the threshold. Yet the man in the mirror didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow. "It’s just a piece of chocolate. It won't kill you," Nicholas said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. "Take it." A bitter laugh threatened to escape my throat. In Nicholas's eyes, Elena's tears meant she had suffered an unspeakable tragedy, while my life-threatening allergy was nothing more than a cheap trick to beg for sympathy. A flicker of pure malice danced in Elena's eyes. She thrust the chocolate back at me, shoving it directly into the palm of my hand. "She’s right, Stella, just take one tiny bite. It’s a gift from my heart. You wouldn't leave me hanging like this, would you?" I looked down at the dark truffle resting in my palm, its heavy scent suffocating me. The cocoa dust dusted my fingertips like a coat of corrosive poison. I knew that if I didn't eat it, this wouldn't end today. Nicholas had plenty of ways to punish my disobedience. In my past life, just because I refused a glass of wine from Elena, Nicholas locked me in the dark basement for a full twenty-four hours. There was no escaping it. I closed my eyes, my fingers trembling slightly. I lifted the chocolate and took a mechanical, tiny bite. A bitter, cloying flavor exploded across my tongue. Without chewing, I forced myself to swallow it down whole. "See? That wasn't so hard," Elena beamed with satisfaction, turning back around to chat casually with Nicholas. Two minutes. Barely two minutes passed before my body began to violently rebel. Something deep in my throat swelled rapidly, choking off my airway millimeter by millimeter. I gasped frantically for air, but less and less oxygen reached my lungs. The color drained from my face, leaving it a sickly, ashen white. Cold, clammy sweat beaded across my forehead, dripping down my cheeks. My hands began to shake uncontrollably. Crimson hives erupted across the backs of my hands and climbed up my neck, spreading at a terrifying speed. "Nngh... *cough*..." I clutched my throat with both hands, harsh, wheezing gasps rattling from my chest. My entire body curled into a knot on the leather seat as I writhed in agony. Nicholas finally realized something was horribly wrong. He snapped his head up toward the rearview mirror. The moment he saw the fiery red rash clawing across my neck and my lips turning a bruised shade of purple, his pupils contracted sharply. Nicholas yanked the steering wheel hard, swerving the car violently onto the emergency shoulder. He unbuckled his seatbelt in a flash, spun around, and flipped open the central console compartment. From the deepest compartment, he tore out an unopened box of emergency antihistamines and an auto-injector pen. It was the emergency kit he had kept stocked in his car for years, just in case an accident ever happened. He gripped the medication, turning to shove it into the back seat to me. Right at that exact second, Elena gasped, clutching her chest, and slumped weakly against Nicholas’s arm. "Nicholas..." Elena's voice was so faint it sounded like her breath was slipping away. Her shoulders trembled, her face twisted in distress. "I... my chest feels so tight, I can't breathe... I don't feel good either." Nicholas’s movements froze instantly. He looked down at Elena whimpering in his arms, then flicked his eyes back up to the rearview mirror. There, he saw me rolling my eyes back, my fingernails scraping desperately against the leather seats in a suffocating trance. The air in the car hung completely suspended for a heartbeat. Nicholas’s brow knit together. Without a second thought, he shoved the only emergency kit into Elena’s hands. "Elena, take the medicine first." He turned his entire body toward her, stroking her hair, his voice softer and gentler than I had ever heard it. In the back seat, my vision was already blurring into dark static. Every breath felt like inhaling razor blades. In the final split-second before the darkness claimed me, through the haze of fading light, I watched Nicholas hand the life-saving medicine to Elena without the slightest hesitation. With the last scrap of strength in my body, I clamped my eyes shut. In this life, Nicholas Vance... I really don't want you anymore.Stella's POV The sharp, pungent stench of hospital disinfectant burned my nostrils. Everything around me was quiet, broken only by the rhythmic, monotonous beeping of medical monitors. Consciousness slowly seeped back into my spinning head. My throat was still raw and agonizing; every swallow felt like scraping down broken glass. I struggled to pry open my heavy eyelids, and a stark white ceiling dominated my entire field of view. I survived. That was the very first thought that crossed my mind. I tried to shift my body, but a sharp prick on my left arm stopped me, accompanied by a cold sensation of fluid draining away. I slowly turned my head. A thick needle was buried deep in my vein. Dark red blood was steadily flowing down a clear plastic tube, gathering in a blood bag hanging beside the bed—a bag that was already nearly half full. My mind went completely blank. A blood draw? I had just survived anaphylactic shock and emergency resuscitation. Why was someone drawing my blood? "Oh, you're awake?" The door clicked open, and a nurse in a white coat walked in carrying a stainless steel tray. Seeing my eyes open, she stepped forward to check the flow rate on the IV tube. I parted my lips, my voice raspy and dry like sandpaper: "Why..." The nurse glanced at the blood bag, her tone entirely nonchalant, even laced with a matter-of-fact indifference. "Oh, the gentleman who brought you in said your constitution is strong, so you're fine. The other young lady who came in with you was diagnosed with mild anemia. You two share the same blood type, so he told us to draw some of yours for her transfusion." Her words hit me like a bolt of lightning straight to the skull. In that fraction of a second, I forgot how to breathe. Anemia? Elena Miller had mild anemia, so they were draining blood from someone who had just suffered an allergic shock and narrowly escaped death, all to give that woman a "quick boost"? Was this what Nicholas called "not a big deal"? I stared fixedly at the bag filled with my own blood. The disbelief in my eyes curdled into a bottomless, hollow despair, followed by a chill that froze me to the bone. Suddenly, I reached out with my right hand and grabbed the tubing on my left arm. "What are you doing?!" the nurse shrieked. I ignored her. Gritting my teeth, I jerked my wrist back with all the force I had left. *Rip!* The thick needle tore violently out of my vein! A spray of dark crimson blood erupted like a broken spring, splashing across the pristine white sheets, a few droplets even spattering onto the nurse's white coat. "Are you insane?! Do you want to die?!" The nurse turned pale with horror. She dropped her tray with a clatter, grabbed a fistful of sterile gauze, and pressed down desperately on my torn flesh. My face was paler than paper. My body shook violently from blood loss and sheer exhaustion, but my eyes remained glued to the door of the room, burning like a trapped beast pushed to the brink of death. Right at that moment, the door swung open. Nicholas strode inside, wearing his long black wool coat. His features were as chiseled and aloof as ever, carrying the effortless, unshakeable arrogance of someone born to rule over others. The moment he saw the blood-soaked sheets and the ripped-out IV line, his brow furrowed deeply. "What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?" Nicholas walked over to the bed, towering over me. There wasn't an ounce of concern in his eyes—only pure disgust for my "irrational scene." I didn't resist the nurse. I let her press down on my bleeding arm. I tilted my head back, looking up at this man. There was no redness around my eyes, yet tears streamed down like severed pearls, silently tracing paths down my pale cheeks before dripping onto the blood-smeared back of my hand. Nicholas's gaze wavered slightly, as if that single tear had scalded his vision. But he quickly masked it, his voice dropping another few degrees into freezing territory. "Elena is anemic. Her health is fragile. You grew up tough in the countryside, your body is strong, and you have the same blood type. What’s the harm in donating a little blood to her? Do you really have to make a scene over this?" So natural. So dripping with condescending entitlement. I stared at him. That handsome, sculpted face had once been the center of my entire youth. I used to foolishly believe that beneath that cold exterior lived a heart that would protect me. At this moment, I suddenly felt that the person standing in front of me was a complete stranger. Or rather, I had never truly known Nicholas Vance at all. "She has anemia," I whispered, my voice so frail the slightest breeze could shatter it. "Then what about me?" I just went into shock. I almost died in your car. You gave the only medicine to her, and now you want to drain my blood to feed her? Nicholas seemed to find my question utterly absurd. He loosened his silk tie with an irritated tug. "Aren't you awake and perfectly fine right now? Why are you crying? It’s not like it's a big deal." With that, he walked around the side of the bed and stepped up to the blood bag. He lifted the bag containing nearly 400cc of my crimson blood. Without sparing me another glance, he turned to the nurse. "Process this blood and get the transfusion started for Elena right away. She’s waiting in the next room." "Yes, Mr. Vance," the nurse stammered nervously, pressing down on my wound, terrified to utter another word. Carrying the bag of blood, Nicholas strode briskly out of the room. His tall, commanding back never paused for a fraction of a second. He didn't even bother to pull the door shut behind him. The icy draft from the corridor rushed straight inside. I sat on the hospital bed, utterly alone. The nurse finally managed to stop the bleeding, taped down medical gauze, and practically fled the room like she was escaping a ghost. I looked down at the blood-stained tape on my left arm, then at the sickening red smears on the sheets. My tears had dried completely, leaving my eyes raw and burning. I didn't throw another fit, nor did I cry. Somewhere in the deepest corner of my heart, I heard the sound of something shattering into dust. A destruction so complete that not even debris remained. In my past life, I had always lied to myself, convincing myself that Nicholas was just a man of few words. I thought that as long as I was obedient enough, submissive enough, he would turn back and look at me one day. Even until the moment I died, I clung to that pathetic illusion. But now, staring at that open door, I smiled. The smile was pale, broken, yet washed clean with the absolute clarity of someone setting themselves free. Nicholas Vance, I don't owe you anything anymore. These four hundred ccs of blood—consider them repayment for the five years of tuition and shelter you gave me. From this day forward, nothing about you has anything to do with me ever again. Propping up my weakened body, I slowly slid off the hospital bed, stepping barefoot onto the freezing tile floor. I had to get out of here. I wouldn't stay in this place a second longer.Stella's POV Just as my bare feet touched the cold ground, ready to leave, the door swung open again. I looked up and saw Elena Miller strolling inside. Elena had changed into a tweed Chanel skirt suit and high heels. Her makeup was flawless, with no trace of the weak, fragile patient who supposedly needed a transfusion for "anemia." Clutched in her hands was an old, dark red velvet box with frayed, faded corners. My pupils shrank violently. That was the heirloom box my father had left behind. I had kept it hidden carefully in the bottom-most drawer of my bedroom at the mansion. "What are you doing with my things?" My voice was cracked and hoarse. I lurched forward, lunging to snatch the box back. Elena took an effortless step back, gracefully dodging my reach. "Don't get so worked up, Stella," Elena smirked with open mockery, her manicured fingers stroking the faded velvet. "I just stopped by the villa to grab you some fresh clothes, and I accidentally saw this box lying on the floor. I figured I'd bring it along for you. Who would have thought that behind those cheap rags you wear, you were hiding a treasure like this?" "Give it back," I hissed, glaring at the box, my breathing turning ragged. Inside that box was no expensive jewelry; it held a miniature wooden violin carved by my father before he passed away. My father had been a poor carpenter. That tiny wooden violin, barely the size of a palm, was carved out of scrap wood over several sleepless nights. It was the only piece of my father I had left in this world. Ignoring my warning, Elena popped the metal latch right in front of my face. The miniature violin, glowing with the dull sheen of aged wood, lay quietly on the satin lining. Elena extended her perfectly polished nails, plucked the wooden violin from the velvet, and held it up to the light, inspecting it like garbage. "And here I thought it was some priceless antique. It's literally just a scrap piece of wood," Elena sneered, tossing it lightly in the air once or twice. "Is this kind of trash really worth hiding away like a crown jewel?" "I said, give it back!" Panicking, my body swayed from the sudden blood loss, but I threw myself forward with every ounce of strength I had left. Right as my fingertips were about to brush the wood— Elena met my eyes, a venomous curve tugging at her crimson lips. Then, she casually loosened her grip. "Oops. Slipped." *Crack!* The wood smashed against the hard hospital tile, letting out a dull, brittle snap. The neck broke completely in two. Several fine wire strings snapped with a ping, splinters spraying across the floor. The little violin that carried every drop of warmth from my childhood was shattered into pieces. I froze on the spot. I stared blankly at the snapped neck on the floor. A deafening ringing filled my ears, and a taut, fragile string in my brain snapped entirely. "You did that on purpose..." I lifted my head, my once-clear eyes instantly laced with terrifying crimson veins. I shoved both hands forward, slamming them violently into Elena's shoulders. "Who gave you the right to break my father's things?!" The shove carried all the furious adrenaline my dying body could muster. Elena leaned right into the momentum, letting herself crash heavily onto the floor. Almost the second she hit the tiles, she unleashed a piercing, bloodcurdling shriek, tears bursting forth like an open faucet. "Ah! It hurts! Stella, why did you push me?!" Heavy, frantic footsteps echoed down the hallway outside. The door was kicked open with tremendous force, and Nicholas burst into the room. The first thing he saw was Elena curled on the ground, clutching her wrist and weeping pitifully. Then, his freezing gaze swept straight toward me. "Nicholas... I only wanted to return her box. She didn't want my kindness, which is fine, but then she shoved me..." Elena whimpered on the floor, trembling all over, playing the helpless victim to perfection. Nicholas’s face instantly darkened to a terrifying pitch. He closed the distance in two strides. Without asking a single question, without a shred of patience to hear my side, his hand shot out and clamped down on my arm like an iron vice. The grip was monstrously strong; I could literally hear the fragile bones in my forearm groaning under the pressure. Agony shot straight up my arm, radiating through my entire body. "Apologize." Nicholas towered over me, his voice as sharp and cold as an ice pick. The pain drained what little color remained on my face, cold sweat beading on my forehead. I didn't struggle. I just fixed my bloodshot eyes onto Nicholas, my voice shaking with raw fury and despair: "She smashed my father's heirloom!" "I didn't mean to..." Elena sobbed from behind him. "She fumbled it when she grabbed for it, Nicholas, I swear it was an accident!" Nicholas glanced at the broken wood on the floor. His brow didn't even twitch. I knew that in his eyes, it was nothing more than a piece of cheap, worthless wood. And here I was, daring to lay hands on a delicate woman who had just suffered from "anemia" on my account, all over a piece of trash. "I won't say it again." Nicholas tightened his grip even further, as if intending to grind my bones to dust. "Apologize. Don't make me lose my temper." I stared up at the man before me. This was the man I had loved and looked up to for four years. He didn't care about the truth. The moment Elena shed a single tear, I deserved to be trampled underfoot, ground into the dirt right alongside my father's final memory. Pushed past the threshold of pain, a bizarre laugh slipped from my lips. It was a pale, hollow laugh, carrying the absolute, chilling finality of a heart that had completely died. "How do you want me to apologize?" I asked softly. Watching the faint smile on my lips, Nicholas’s voice turned even more merciless: "On your knees. Apologize." The hospital room dropped into a tomb-like silence. Elena’s sobbing hitched for a split second, a flash of sadistic glee sparking in the depths of her eyes. I didn't say another word. I looked into Nicholas's cold, emotionless eyes, and slowly, inch by inch, I bent my knees. *Thud.* My knees slammed hard against the freezing, unforgiving floor tiles, landing directly beside the shattered wooden violin. No fighting. No crying. I was as meek and compliant as a marionette whose strings had been cleanly cut. "I'm sorry, Ms. Miller," I said, keeping my head bowed, my voice entirely flat without a single tremor. Silent tears slipped from my eyes, dripping one by one onto the floor, splashing across the fractured neck of the wooden violin, soaking the pale wood into a dark, bruised hue.Stella's POV Nicholas released his grip, leaned down to gently scoop Elena up from the floor, and walked out of the room without ever looking back. I remained kneeling on the floor. Trembling, I extended my bruised, swollen hand, carefully gathering the scattered wooden splinters into my palm, piece by agonizing piece. Sharp wooden shards sliced into my skin, beads of blood welling up at the tips of my fingers, but I couldn't feel the sting. Because my heart, in this exact moment, had died completely. Weakened from severe blood loss and the lingering aftermath of anaphylaxis, I was forced to stay in the hospital for two more days on nutrient IV drips before I could even manage to stand and walk on my own. On the day I was discharged, no car came to pick me up. I hailed a cab by the curb and rode back to Nicholas’s hillside mansion alone. Pushing through the heavy front doors, the grand living room was empty. When the maids saw me return, their eyes carried a mix of quiet scorn and awkward avoidance. By now, the entire household knew Nicholas had brought back his first love, and the "Miss Stella" who had lived under this roof for five years had fallen from grace entirely. I ignored every gaze, heading straight up the grand staircase to the second floor, back into my room. Opening the door, everything was arranged just as I had left it. But to me, this was no longer a sanctuary; it was a gilded cage that had imprisoned me for five miserable years. I walked over to the walk-in closet and threw the doors wide. Inside hung rack upon rack of designer dresses, haute couture coats, and shelves of luxury handbags. All of them had been ordered by Nicholas's assistants, updated season by season. I used to believe this was Nicholas’s subtle way of doting on me. Only later did I learn the truth: he simply couldn't stand me dressing poorly and embarrassing the Vance name. With a blank expression, I ripped the clothes off their hangers and flung them onto the floor. Next was the vanity. The velvet-lined drawers held neatly organized fine jewelry: diamond pendants, sapphire earrings, and Cartier bracelets. I swept them all into a massive cardboard box. The sheet music on the shelves, the boxed sets of original vinyl records—pieces I had painstakingly hunted down over the years just to cater to Nicholas's tastes. I used to fantasize about the day we might sit together by the floor-to-ceiling windows, sharing the silence while listening to the same Chopin nocturne. Now, looking at them made me sick to my stomach. Finally, I opened the locked bottom drawer of my desk. Inside rested an old tin box. Opening the lid revealed a thick stack of sealed envelopes and a worn sketchbook. On every single envelope, the recipient line read: *To Nicholas Vance.* They were the confessions of a young girl, written across countless lonely nights before turning nineteen, words I had never possessed the courage to send. Every page was filled with my humble, burning, secret love. The sketchbook was filled entirely with Nicholas. His profile while reading, the curve of his lashes when he rested on the sofa, the subtle furrow of his brow. My fingers traced the edges of the yellowed paper, completely devoid of sentiment. I tossed the tin box right on top of the pile in the cardboard box, hoisted the heavy load into my arms, and walked down the stairs step by step, heading out toward the open clearing in the backyard. The early winter wind was biting cold, rustling the dead leaves across the lawn. I tipped the box over. The clothes, the diamonds, the sheet music, the vinyls, the letters, and the drawings tumbled out, piling into a small mountain of memories. I pulled a disposable lighter from my pocket. I had bought it at a convenience store on the way home. I flicked the wheel, and a blue flame leapt to life. I picked up a sketch of Nicholas's profile and touched the flame to the edge. Fire consumed the paper in an instant, the flickering glow illuminating my pale, emotionless face. I tossed the burning drawing straight into the heart of the pile. A gust of wind caught the embers, and the fire roared to life. Expensive silk dresses charred into blackened ash. Vinyl records warped, bubbled, and melted under the fierce heat, spewing acrid black smoke into the gray sky. The letters carrying five years of my youth and every ounce of my pathetic love dissolved into floating embers, scattering into the wind. The flames surged high, waves of heat washing over my skin until my cheeks burned. I crouched beside the blaze, arms wrapped around my knees, quietly watching the destruction. I watched the things I had once treasured like life itself turn into worthless trash. Burn. Burn away that foolish, pathetic, blind Stella from the past, along with every last trace of this garbage. Suddenly, the rumble of an engine broke the quiet. The black Maybach pulled up the driveway. Nicholas spotted the towering flames and thick smoke billowing from the backyard. His brow slammed together in immediate annoyance, and he marched toward the lawn with long, aggressive strides. "What do you think you're doing?" Nicholas stopped a few paces from the fire, demanding sharply. The choking smell of burning plastic made him cough. He looked down at me crouched on the grass, his eyes dripping with irritation. I didn't turn around. I didn't even shift my posture. Watching the final scrap of paper dissolve into cinders, my voice was as flat as someone commenting on the weather: "Just getting rid of things I don't want anymore." Nicholas looked down at me coldly. Among the flames were charred scraps of fabric and warped plastic discs. He didn't recognize that those were the designer clothes and rare vinyl records he had bought for me. He certainly didn't see the letters or the drawings being consumed by fire. In his mind, I had simply suffered a bruised ego and was throwing another childish tantrum to blow off steam. "Disgusting," Nicholas dropped the word coldly. Without bothering to ask a single follow-up question, he turned on his heel and walked straight into the mansion. Crouched on the ground, I listened to his fading footsteps until the fire burned out completely, leaving behind nothing but a heap of smoldering embers. Staring at the gray ash, my mind drifted back to my previous life. Back then, during the time I first realized I was nothing more than a stand-in, I had also suffered a breakdown and burned everything. That day, Nicholas had walked over just like this, taken one look, sneered, "What kind of crazy fit are you throwing now?" and turned away without looking back. The exact same scene. The exact same retreating back. Nicholas never cared about what I burned, because he had never cared about me in the first place. I stood up, brushing the dirt from my knees. A sudden gust of wind swept across the grass, lifting the ash into the air and scattering it harmlessly into the soil. It was over. The past between me and Nicholas Vance was just like this pile of ash. It could never be put back together again.