The cell was dark, damp, and smelled like rot.

Curled up in the far corner was a thin, disheveled woman.

Her sleeves hung loose—her arms crippled—and her head was buried deep into her knees.

Lively footsteps echoed closer and closer—too cheerful for a place like this, almost like someone couldn't wait to celebrate.

The cell door swung open. In walked a woman in a flashy, crimson dress, clinging to the arm of a sharply dressed man carrying a long rectangular box.

“Hey sis, how do I look today?” the woman twirled in front of her, holding up her skirt with a giggle.

“I thought red was the perfect send-off color. Especially when today’s your big goodbye—and my wedding day!”

The woman in the corner finally looked up. Her face was a mess of dirt and scars that looked like ugly worms crawling all over.

Suddenly, she bolted forward, throwing herself at the red-dressed woman with all her remaining strength.

But before she could even get close, her limp body got kicked aside like trash, slamming into the cold, gray wall with a harsh thud.

Curling into herself from the pain pounding in her chest, she winced. Crimson leaked from the stitched-shut gash across her lips.

Her bloodshot eyes glared spitefully at the pair looming over her.

The man casually pulled his foot back, dusted off his trousers like he’d stepped in something foul. With a sneer, he slipped his arm around the red-dressed woman and pecked her on the lips.

Then he looked down at the woman on the floor like she was nothing more than roadkill.

“Elena Richardson, about to drop dead and still playing tough.

Cassandra’s been kind enough to come say goodbye, and this is how you repay her?”

Cassandra clung to his waist, voice trembling with exaggerated hurt.

“She’s always been like this with me, Darius. I’ve just learned to put up with it.”

Shame and bitterness twisted inside Elena. She tried to laugh but ended up tugging at the torn flesh where her dried lips had been stitched.

The pain was sharp and awful—but still couldn’t beat the gut-wrenching hurt from being betrayed by her own blood.

Not that Cassandra counted as family anymore.

Cassandra let go of Darius and crouched down beside Elena, lowering her voice.

“Weren’t you supposed to be some badass? So I broke your arms.

Weren’t you supposed to be gorgeous? So I ruined your face.

Weren’t you known for that smart mouth? So I stitched it shut myself.

And guess what? It felt amazing.”

She pulled out her phone, swiping through photos with a grin.

“Check it out—look at how your precious family died. Such a mess. Everything they owned is mine now.”

Elena stared holes through her.

Cassandra just smirked, leaning in to whisper so only they could hear.

“And that man you never cherished—Alexander Armstrong—he’ll be mine soon too.

Can’t wait to see the look on his face when he finds out it was you who tore everything he loved apart.

Oh—and turns out you’re one hell of a hacker. Makes sense why I hated you.”

At the sound of Alexander’s name, waves of regret surged through Elena.

She’d believed Cassandra’s lies, thought Alexander was some twisted freak who locked her away for fun. She never gave him a chance to explain...Cassandra had even set up Alexander, making Elena believe he was the one who killed their grandfather. That lie filled her with hatred, blinding her completely.

So, she wrecked his company, dragging the Armstrong legacy built over a century straight into the dirt.

She pushed him from the top all the way down to hell.

She destroyed him.

Elena’s eyes, already dull, dimmed even more as hopelessness swallowed her whole.

Suddenly, Cassandra stumbled to the floor, acting all shaken like someone just scared her out of her wits.

Darius rushed over, scooping her up protectively and shielding her behind him. Then, without hesitation, he ground his foot down on Elena’s temple, hard.

With a cruel grin, he sneered, “You know what? All that stuff you snatched from the Armstrongs—it ended up in my hands anyway. Alexander’s got nothing now. Zero.”

He flipped open a sleek rectangular box, pulled out a tactical dagger, and casually tossed the box aside.

Under the moonlight, that blade gleamed cold and sharp.

Raising his arm high, he drove the weapon deep into her side.

The chill and agony were suffocating.

Elena could feel her lungs collapsing—she wasn’t going to make it.

Still, not a single tear.

She was born without properly functioning tear ducts.

Darius yanked the knife out, only to stab her again, and again.

Blood sprayed across the grimy wall like blooming winter plum blossoms.

Elena just lay there. She was beyond pain now—just numb.

Her mind started to drift.

Everything blurred, but she vaguely sensed struggling, the sound of fighting... then: two loud gunshots, clear as day.

“Elena! Elena!”

She felt herself sinking into warm arms. With everything she had, she fought to open her heavy eyelids and see the one calling her name.

As her vision cleared for a split second, one single tear slid out from the corner of her eye.

Alexander was cradling her bloodied body, tears choking in his throat. “Elena, please, wake up. I’ve avenged you. It’s over.”

With the last bit of strength she had, Elena turned her gaze toward the two people who’d tortured her. They were both lying motionless in a pool of blood now—each shot right between the eyes.

Alexander tried frantically to stop her bleeding, but there were just too many wounds.

His voice trembled. “I’m sorry, I should’ve come earlier. Hang on, I’ll get you to a hospital.”

But Elena knew. Her time was almost up. She shook her head slowly.

Her lips, disfigured and sewn shut, moved ever so slightly.

Alexander understood in an instant and took out the knife he always carried, carefully cutting the threads on her lips.

Her voice was hoarse and ragged. “I’m... sorry, Alexander.”

He held her face gently, like it was made of glass, his tears splashing down on her skin. “Don’t talk. You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

She wished more than anything to reach out and wipe his tears, to touch his face one last time—but her arms were gone.

Her vision clouded again. “I... I can't make it. If there’s... a next life, I’ll... love you better.”

As her pupils dilated, Alexander grabbed the bloodstained blade by his feet and, without hesitation, plunged it straight into his own heart.

Elena’s lips parted, barely managing a single word: “Don’t…”

Alexander collapsed with her in his arms, tears still in his eyes as he held her lifeless body.

Summoning the last bit of life in him, he reached out and gently closed her eyes.

Then, with a faint smile, his own eyes shut.

“We couldn’t live together, but we’ll die together. If there’s a next life... I’ll still love you.”