In Veridia City, the most pitiful and the most vicious heiress shared my last name. The day my stepsister Morgan tried to shove my head in a toilet, Sebastian Thorne—the young prince, bleeding and hunted—shot her through both hands. “She is this city’s future queen!” he snarled. “Let’s see who dares touch her now.” That rescue only deepened Morgan’s hate. She tortured me creatively while undermining Sebastian’s bloody rise to power. A decade later, the day he seized his family’s empire, Sebastian booked the city’s finest suite to propose. But when I opened the door, he lay tangled in silk sheets with Morgan, both naked. The room fell silent. Everyone knew she was our sworn enemy. Morgan smirked, flaunting the marks on her skin. “Don’t give me that ‘I mistook you for your sister’ excuse, Sebastian. You knew it was me. You let me win the East Side project, didn’t you?” “Face it—you want a queen, not a weakling like her.” Sebastian smiled faintly. He didn’t deny it. As guests gasped, he picked up the ring and reached for my hand as if nothing happened. I stood still. “You once said,” I asked quietly, “that when you took power, I could do anything in this city.” “Does that still hold true?” He paused, surprised I hadn’t collapsed as usual, then nodded confidently. “Of course.” 1 I smiled back. The next second, I grabbed a fistful of Morgan’s hair and dragged her from the bed into the adjoining bathroom. I snatched the toilet plunger from its stand and brought it down on her with all my strength. Foul water and flecks of blood splattered everywhere. The guests screamed and scrambled back, their looks of pity curdling into disgust. Morgan, who had spent her life grinding me under her heel, shrieked in disbelief, her hand flying to her face. "Stella, are you insane?! Your mother had no class, and she raised a goddamn lunatic!" "You think this was my idea? It was Dad! He was ashamed of you! He told me to 'discipline' you properly!" My vision turned red. I swung the plunger harder, a decade of torment erupting in a single, violent burst. The calm smile on Sebastian's face shattered. Crack. The sound of a gunshot echoed in the small space, and the plunger fell from my nerveless fingers. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. I only realized what had happened when a warm drop of blood trickled down my cheek. He had fired at me. The scene superimposed itself over the memory from ten years ago, when he had risked everything to protect me from Morgan. Only this time, I was the one on the other side of the gun. A wave of bitter grief washed over me, hot and sharp. "Sebastian…" "Stella! How could you do something so vicious to your own sister? I don't even recognize you anymore!" I stared at his moving lips, unable to process the words. Morgan? My family? Her mother was the mistress who had destroyed mine. After Morgan was born, my own mother had a mysterious "fall" that broke her leg and left her partially paralyzed. From that day on, our lives became a living hell. After my mother died in a fire, I, the true heiress, was left to scavenge for moldy scraps in garbage cans. It was Sebastian who, at great personal risk, had climbed the walls of our estate again and again, bringing me bags of food. I still remembered the feeling of my hot tears mixing with the warmth of the food bags on my cold hands. Those years were filled with hard, tasteless survival biscuits, but to me, they were the sweetest things in the world. Sebastian had walked with me through that darkness. And yet, he could still stand here and call Morgan my family. I couldn't hear the rest of what he said. I only caught the words, "The only Mrs. Thorne will be you." 2 But his eyes never left Morgan’s trembling shoulders. He didn't see the web of my hand, split open by the bullet's shockwave, blood welling up from the wound. I heard my own voice, terrifyingly cold. "Don't bother. No one's forcing you to play out this twisted soap opera." "Sebastian, we're done." He froze, the words seeming to hang in the air between us as he stared, uncomprehending. After all, we had nearly died together in the trunk of a kidnapper's car, and even then, I hadn't left his side. Just as he reached out, a flicker of hesitation on his face, Morgan let out a sharp laugh. "Done? Stella, who are you trying to fool?" "You have nowhere to go! This is just another one of your pathetic games, trying to guilt-trip him with that time you saved his life!" Sebastian's expression turned to ice. He hated being manipulated. Morgan’s voice turned sickly sweet. "They always say the thing we have in common is our dimples. Why don't we just carve yours out? Then Sebastian will never get us mixed up again." Sebastian hesitated for a split second. It was all the opening Morgan needed. She clutched her stomach. "Ow… I've never been hit like that in my life. We… we weren't careful. What if… what if she just hurt our baby?" He shot her a weary glance, then gave a final, fatal nod. Her bodyguards seized me instantly, twisting my arms behind my back. My eyes widened in disbelief, but before a word could escape my lips, Sebastian cut me off, his voice deceptively gentle. "Stella, you always said you hated your dimples." "Thorne Medical has the best cosmetic surgeons in the world. Don't worry, there won't be a scar." The tip of a blade pressed against each of my cheeks, and a starburst of agony erupted. The bodyguard, loyal to Morgan, maliciously twisted the blade. Tears streamed down my face, hot and involuntary. I used to despise every feature I shared with her. On my eighteenth birthday, I’d waited all night for him to celebrate with me. His phone was off. When I finally dragged my heartbroken self back to the tiny safe house we shared, I found him tangled in our narrow bed with her. The world dissolved into a deafening roar. I remember stumbling to the wall, my body shaking as I threw up until there was nothing left. He knelt before me, swearing he’d been drunk, that he thought it was me. I’d sobbed, shaking uncontrollably, asking him why, why, why? At thirteen, he was a bloody, bruised mess, but he’d still kicked the teeth out of the thugs who followed me home from school. At fifteen, he was a fugitive who couldn't afford a decent coat, but he’d saved for months to buy me a necklace I’d glanced at once in a shop window. On my seventeenth birthday, I’d hidden under the covers, whispering into the phone. "Are you crying? Because I said I love you, are you crying?" His choked voice came back, "I haven't even given you flowers yet, I haven't officially asked you… you can't be the first one to say it." And now… now there was a second time he "mistook" her for me. And a third. By the tenth time, Morgan had ripped the covers off and sneered, "How could anyone make the same mistake ten times? Even if you can't see, can't you feel? My sister is built like a twig. Just admit it, you want me!" And he had just stood there, silent. With two bleeding holes carved into my face, I was thrown to the floor like a broken doll as the crowd dispersed. 3 The engagement party I had dreamed of for months was ruined. A love forged over a decade of shared survival was shattered. I lay on the cold floor until the wounds on my face went numb, then propped myself up with my left hand. I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years. "I've changed my mind," I rasped. "I know you can help me. I want them to pay." I spent seven days in the hospital. Sebastian arranged for the top cosmetic team, but he never showed his face. My bedside table was piled high with financial magazines, each one heralding the new, powerful alliance between the Thorne and Vance empires. The latest issue's headline blared: "A New Bride for the Thorne Prince?" My phone buzzed. An anonymous video. On the screen, Morgan was losing her composure. "Fine! I give up! I admit it! At first, I was just using you to torture my sister, but then… then I fell for you! I love you, Sebastian, how could I not?" "You designed my villa yourself, you stocked the cabinets with my medication, arranged by date. Every time I worked late, you were downstairs, chain-smoking in your car, just waiting for me… Even that fire at the old manor… you took the blame for me, let my sister stab you over and over… You have feelings for me too, don't you?" "Answer me!" she screamed, her voice raw. Her assistant tried to intervene, and Morgan slapped her across the face. "Get out!" In the dead silence that followed, I heard Sebastian let out a weary sigh. Then, one clear word: "Yes." 4 A roar filled my head, and the blood in my veins turned to ice. My mother died in that fire. The firefighters found a small wooden carving of me clutched in her charred hand. I had been so consumed by grief I nearly followed her. Instead, I took a pair of scissors and carved ninety-nine cuts into Sebastian's arms as he held me, weeping and apologizing, saying it was his enemies who had killed her. He never flinched, just held me tighter. "It's okay, Stella, it's okay. I'll stay with you for the rest of your life. You have me. I only have you. Just like when we were seven… don't let go of my hand, okay?" All the things that had anchored me, all the promises that had saved me… they were all lies. Staring at a headline predicting the soaring stock prices of the new Thorne-Vance joint venture, I scheduled the video to be sent to thirty major media outlets. You love a power couple? Then let's watch you crash and burn at the height of your glory. That evening, Sebastian appeared at my bedside, calmly reviewing my medical charts. When he saw I was awake and not throwing a hysterical fit, he looked surprised, then pleased. He reached for my hand. But I slapped it away, hard. His face fell. "Stella! It was a misunderstanding! How long are you going to drag this out?" "My mother," I whispered, tears finally breaking free. "Did you cover for Morgan?" I expected shame, denial, anything. But his expression only grew colder. "So it was you. You leaked the stories. Morgan was right." As if on cue, Morgan burst through the door, tears streaming down her face. "Everyone is slandering my mother, calling her a homewrecker… She was a devout woman, and your mother dragged her name through the mud!" My own father, who had been sitting quietly in a chair, stood up and pointed a finger at me. "You ungrateful brat!" The world began to warp and twist around me. 5 I tried to lunge at them, to tear them apart, but my body gave out. As my vision went black, I fell into a familiar embrace, and a voice, gentle and cruel, whispered in my ear. "I have the wooden carving your mother made." "Stella, go to the press. Tell them it was all a lie. Please?" Through a blur of tears, I almost laughed. The sound died in my throat, replaced by two words hissed through clenched teeth. "You're… pathetic." "I should have let you die in that gutter all those years ago." His smile didn't falter. He took my hand and turned on the live feed on his phone. Dozens of his men surrounded my mother's grave, shovels held high. My breath caught. My heart stopped. "You can't." Before the words were even out, there was a loud crash on the video feed. The glass on my mother's portrait on the headstone shattered, the cracks like tears streaming down her face. The pain in my chest was unbearable. I collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. A flash of anguish crossed his face, a flicker of the boy he used to be, the one who hid in my house for a decade, the boy my mother fed and protected even as her own body was covered in bruises. He tilted his head back, exhaling a heavy breath. But he didn't stop them. The grave cracked under the blows. And so did my heart. "I'll do it!" I begged, my face a mess of tears and snot. "I'll do anything! Just make them stop!" The tension in his face eased. He pulled me into his arms, holding me tight. "I can forgive you this time. But you are not to cause any more trouble for Morgan. Do you understand?" "Good girl," he murmured into my hair. "We're the ones who are going to grow old together." His embrace was as warm as ever, but I was shivering, frozen from the inside out. The plane is about to land, Sebastian. There is no 'we' anymore. At the press conference, I was a puppet on a string, surrounded by flashing lights. "My parents' marriage was already over," I recited from the script. "Morgan's mother was not a third party…" From the front row, Sebastian watched me, his brow furrowed. He didn't look happy. Suddenly, Morgan gave me a sly, triumphant smile. The next second, thousands of photos rained down from the ceiling. Photos of my mother being dragged away by homeless men. "No! Don't look!" I screamed, lunging to grab them, but it was too late. Morgan snatched the microphone. "I always respected the late Mrs. Vance! But it turns out she was the one cheating on my father! And with such… gutter trash!" The room erupted. I flew at her, my hand raised to strike, but before it could land, her theatrical sobs echoed through the speakers. The scene devolved into chaos. "Stella!" Sebastian's hand clamped around my wrist like a steel trap. His eyes were hard, filled with a crushing disappointment. "You faked this apology just to set a trap and ruin her?" "Is the kind, gentle Stella I knew really dead?" I couldn't hear him. "Sebastian… please, call the police… don't let them do this to my mother's memory…" I begged incoherently. A flicker of pity crossed his eyes, but then Morgan leaned against his shoulder, her soft sobs undoing any mercy I might have been shown. "I really thought she loved you," she whispered. "But the day you became head of the family, she threw filth on my mother's name and told everyone you were just her pathetic lapdog." Sebastian let out a series of cold, harsh laughs. He swept her up into his arms and turned to leave. His butler glanced nervously at the frenzied crowd. "Sir, shouldn't we leave some security for Madam?" Sebastian paused. Just as he was about to speak, Morgan suddenly went limp and collapsed backward in his arms. 6 He caught her, his face etched with alarm. She held up her phone, sobbing. "Someone desecrated my mother's grave… they poured feces all over it…" On the other end of the line, the cemetery groundskeeper stammered, "The person… they also left a bouquet of white chrysanthemums at the first Madam's grave. They said… they said it was on the young miss's orders." Morgan clutched at her heart, and her assistant wailed at Sebastian, "Mr. Thorne, her mother is her pride, her only weakness!" Sebastian's eyes were bloodshot with rage. He whirled on me. "Do you have any idea that the next part of this press conference was to announce our wedding date? I wanted to marry you properly, and you pull this stunt!" My mother loved baby's breath, never chrysanthemums. He knew that. He used to go with me to her grave every year. But now, he had forgotten. Tears of bitter laughter streamed down my face. "I wish I had done it." The reporters swarmed me. Seeing my lack of remorse, Sebastian trembled with fury. He grabbed my arm and dragged me to his car. When I saw the familiar gates of the cemetery, a cold dread filled me. "No!" At his command, men with shovels brought them down on my mother's headstone. It shattered. He held me fast as I struggled, his voice cold and hard in my ear. "Stella, when you make a mistake, you face the consequences." "Besides, Morgan has already promised me. Once this business with her mother is settled, she will treat me as nothing more than a brother-in-law." "I am giving you the dignity of being Mrs. Thorne. I won't touch you. But you need to learn your place." I watched, screaming, as they dug up my mother's urn. "I'm not marrying you! The wedding is off! Leave my mother alone!"
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