Jingshi.

Late March. Dead of winter.

The cold cut straight to the bone, like the whole city had been shoved into a freezer.

Inside the women’s prison workshop.

Rosalind Sinclair, dressed in a prison uniform, sat there sewing shoes.

Her hands were swollen red. Chilblains and blisters had chewed them up so badly that every little movement felt like torture.

Just then, a prison guard walked over and barked, "Rosalind, the Harrington family posted bail. You can leave."

The second she heard "the Harrington family," fear kicked in on instinct. Her mind blanked for a moment, and she didn’t even process what the guard had just said.

Four years ago had been the point where her whole life flipped upside down.

On the day of her eighteenth birthday banquet, she went from the pampered daughter of a wealthy family to a thief overnight.

Because her biological mother had been a nanny who secretly switched her identity with the Harrington family’s real daughter.

The truth only came out because that nanny showed up looking for money from Rosalind, and the whole thing blew wide open.

From that moment on, Rosalind’s world went gray. She watched the family of three from the Harringtons cry as they hugged each other, making up for lost years, pouring out all their longing and pain.

And she just stood there off to the side, stiff, awkward, completely lost.

At that moment, she had no choice but to accept that the daddy and mommy she had called for eighteen years no longer belonged to her.

It took a long while before Mr. Harrington finally noticed Rosalind standing there by herself in embarrassment. After hesitating for what felt like forever, he made up his mind and said, "Rosie, even if Sylvia is back, you’ll always be the Harrington family’s eldest daughter."

"From now on, Sylvia will call you her sister."

Only then did Mrs. Harrington seem to realize she had ignored Rosalind for far too long. She stepped in to soothe her and said, "Rosie, I’ll still treat you like my own daughter from now on."

Back then, Rosalind had believed every word of it, stupidly, wholeheartedly.

But karma hit way too fast.

The Harrington family got invited to the birthday banquet of the Whitfield family's heiress, the number one family in Jingshi.

At the banquet,

they saw with their own eyes Sylvia Harrington steal the Whitfield heiress's priceless necklace.

They saw Sylvia Harrington's so-called best friend point at her on the spot and call her the thief.

They saw the Whitfield heiress completely lose it, furious enough to call the police and have her thrown in prison.

And all of them, almost without a word, made the same choice by instinct—push Rosalind Sinclair out to take the fall for Sylvia Harrington.

She had been naive back then. She begged. She fought. She tried to explain.

But in that moment, it felt like the whole world had turned its back on her.

In the end, she was still the one sent to prison.

That was when she understood.

She had no parents anymore.

"Yo, look who's about to get out and go enjoy life. Girls, what do you think? You think Rosalind Sinclair's gonna forget us after she leaves?" the prison queen sneered, her tone dripping with mockery.

Rosalind Sinclair reacted almost on instinct and dropped to her knees with a thud. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was wrong. Please don't hit me."

The guard frowned, clearly annoyed. "Rosalind Sinclair, out. Now."

Only then did Rosalind Sinclair finally realize it.

She was being released.

The prison queen, the women in here, none of them would be able to bully her anymore.

Shivering all over, she kept her head down and forced herself to move, one step at a time, under the prison queen's stare.

After finishing the release paperwork and changing into her thin, worn-out old clothes, Rosalind Sinclair was escorted by a guard to the prison gates.

From far away,

she saw a tall, straight figure leaning lazily against a luxury car.

The man wore a black satin shirt, the top buttons left slightly open. His sharp black eyes were cold and heavy, and every inch of him gave off that oppressive, high-and-mighty aura of someone used to being in control.

Rosalind Sinclair looked at him and felt no joy at seeing family.

What rushed over her instead was lingering fear, cold and immediate.

Even her crippled leg started aching again, a dull pain spreading bit by bit.

Sebastian Harrington.

The man she had called her brother for eighteen years.

The same man who, just to give Mrs. Whitfield an explanation, had deliberately arranged for the cellblock queen to give her “special care.”

The source of every bit of hell she had gone through in prison.

The wind cut like ice.

But colder than the winter air was the chill in her heart.

Four whole years had passed.

Rosalind Sinclair had thought her heart was already numb, already dead to pain, but turns out it could still ache, still sink hard enough to make breathing feel rough.

She forced back the sting in her eyes.

By the time she finally shoved down that wave of dark emotion, Sebastian Harrington was already walking toward her.

She was scared. Truly scared. Her whole body tensed on instinct, but she didn’t dare dodge him. In her world, avoiding pain only brought worse pain after. Even though she had already left prison, that reflex had long since sunk into her bones.

She bent at the waist in a stiff, careful bow, all politeness, her voice shaky with fear and distance.

"Long time no see. I’m sorry."

Sebastian Harrington froze for a second.

Four years.

The spoiled little princess who used to carry herself like no one in the world could touch her—her first words to him now were actually “I’m sorry.”

He had been fully ready for Rosalind Sinclair to blow up the moment she saw him, to fight him like she had four years ago, to demand justice, to make a scene.

Instead, she lowered the back that had once been so straight it almost looked proud.

There was even a trace of fear on her.

What was she afraid of?

But then again... wasn’t this exactly what he had wanted from her four years ago?

Four years later, she had actually done it. Not just done it, but done it with brutal sincerity.

And now, he found himself not even daring to face it, let alone accept it.

In that split second, a bleak, bitter chill spread from deep inside him.

Sebastian Harrington stood there like a lion that had lost the fight, cast out into a deserted world with nothing but cold and darkness for company.

He took a long breath before finally speaking, his voice low and slow.

"Grandma missed you too much. Mrs. Whitfield saw that she's old and sick, so she signed the letter of forgiveness and let you out early."

The moment the words left his mouth, Sebastian felt his tone still wasn't gentle enough.

He stepped forward and tried to give Rosalind Sinclair a light hug, but she dodged him at once.

He froze for a second, clearly caught off guard. After thinking it over, he softened his voice even more.

"It's all in the past now. Come with your brother."

Rosalind's heart slammed hard against her chest.

Come with your brother?

She had waited for that sentence for so long she had lost count.

When she had just entered prison, she waited for Sebastian every single day, every single hour, hoping he would take her away. She refused to believe that the brother who had cherished her for eighteen years could really be that heartless.

But the bigger the hope, the harder the crash.

At first, she had hope. Then disappointment. And in the end, only despair.

Reality had beaten the truth into her again and again.

She had no family anymore.

The road where Sebastian Harrington would come save her had long since become a dead end in her heart.

So now, with this so-called brother standing right in front of her, telling her he was here to take her away—

she felt nothing.

Her heart was so numb it was like somebody had scraped every last bit of feeling clean out of it.

Rosalind Sinclair took a step back, bent at the waist again, and gave him another polite bow. Her voice was flat, quiet, almost too calm.

"Thank Mrs. Whitfield for signing the letter of forgiveness. And thank Old Mrs. Harrington for still remembering a convict like me."

Every word was proper.

Every gesture was respectful.

But there wasn’t a shred of warmth left in it.

Nothing that sounded like family.

The distance in her tone hit Sebastian Harrington like a wall, and it instantly put him on edge.

He pressed two fingers to his brow and rubbed at his temple, his voice carrying a clear note of impatience.

"You may have spent four years in prison, but Dad already said it—you’re still the Harrington family’s daughter. You don’t need to keep obsessing over the fact that you were in prison."

The little sister he had spoiled since childhood—

how could she possibly be some criminal reform inmate?

But to Rosalind, those words sounded brutally harsh, almost laughable.

Four years.

Four whole years behind bars.

Every single day, she wore that humiliating prison uniform and worked like a machine.

When she was hungry, she endured it.

When she was sick, she dragged herself through it.

If she made one tiny mistake, the guards punished her on the spot.

And in the dorms, the prison bully never let her breathe.

The woman picked on her, humiliated her, switched up her methods of torment like it was some twisted hobby.

Those years she served in prison had felt like living in the eighteenth level of hell—

a life worse than death.

The Harrington family’s daughter?

What had that so-called identity ever brought her,

other than fiercer beatings and even crueler abuse?

Seeing the grief on Rosalind’s face, Sebastian paused for a second. Then he reached out and patted her on the shoulder, his tone easing a little.

"Let's go to the hospital and see Grandma. Don't keep her waiting."

With that, he turned first and headed for the car.

After walking a bit, Sebastian Harrington looked back. Rosalind Sinclair was still following behind at an even pace, not too fast, not too slow, keeping a clear distance from him the whole time.

What was that supposed to mean?

Was he some kind of monster?

Did she really have to stay that far away from him?

For some reason, the image of Rosalind clinging to his arm and acting spoiled in the past flashed through his mind. That memory only made the restlessness in his chest worse, like a fire getting more oxygen.

His expression darkened, and he quickened his pace toward the car.

Four years of hell had taught Rosalind one thing down to the bone: she absolutely could not make anyone in the Harrington family angry. If she did, the consequences would be something she might not survive.

So even though the old injury in her calf was throbbing so badly it felt like a drill boring into the bone, she didn't dare slow down for even a second.

She hurried too fast, stumbled, and fell.

But she pushed herself up almost immediately and kept chasing after him, not saying a word.

By the time she reached the car, Sebastian was already inside.

The Harrington family's driver was still the same old Mr. Wang. He got out and greeted her politely, "Miss Harrington."

Then he reached over and opened the back door for her.

Rosalind didn't get in.

Instead, she pulled open the front passenger door and climbed in.

The driver froze for a second, clearly caught off guard.

The next moment, Sebastian suddenly got out of the car, yanked the passenger door open, and dragged Rosalind straight back out.

He flung her to the ground like she was nothing, like tossing out trash.

He was furious, his voice sharp and cold. "If you can't stand the sight of me that much, then fine. Stop calling me your brother!"

Rosalind Sinclair bit down on her lip, her calf twisted again, and the pain made her brows knot tight.

Sebastian Harrington didn’t notice a thing. He just kept laying into her, his voice cold and harsh.

"Rosalind Harrington, I thought you’d grown up. Turns out you’re still this childish."

He stared at her like she’d done something unforgivable.

"You really think sitting in the front seat is going to hurt anyone? All it does is prove you’ve got zero self-respect. You’re beyond saving."

"And you’ve still got the nerve to throw attitude at me? Looks like you still haven’t figured out who you are."

"Forget the car. Walk back by yourself."

He paused, eyes dark, then added in an even sharper tone, "And when you get to the hospital to see Grandma, wipe that dead look off your face. I don’t want her upset."

After saying that, Sebastian turned and ordered, "Drive."

Driver Wang was worried about Rosalind, but he didn’t dare go against Sebastian. He could only step on the gas and pull away at once.

Rosalind stood there, watching the car disappear bit by bit into the distance.

Inside, there was nothing. Not a ripple.

That feeling of being abandoned by everyone? She’d already lived through it four years ago.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know her place.

It was that he had forgotten—they were the ones who had shoved her back to where she started, then turned around and blamed her for not knowing who she was.

Her fingers slowly curled into a fist.

Then she forced herself up, little by little. She had to catch up fast. Otherwise, the Harrington family might get angry.

And she...

She felt like she really couldn’t take much more.

She had only walked a short stretch of road.

Then suddenly—

The sedan that had left came back and stopped right in front of her again.

The window slid down.

Sebastian’s eyes were burning with rage as he glared at her.

"Get in. Now."