A sigh of relief escaped me.
The weight I'd been carrying finally lifted.
When I was little, I promised Ethan I'd stay with him for a lifetime. Now he's the one who doesn't remember first.
So it doesn't count as me breaking my promise.
I smiled—a real smile, from somewhere deep inside.
"Okay." I breathed out. "Ethan, I don't owe you anymore."
As I spoke, a lecherous old man climbed onto the stage, grabbing at my clothes. "Who knows if those photos are Photoshopped? Let me inspect the goods."
Ethan stepped in front of me instinctively and kicked the man away. "With your filthy hands you dare touch her?!"
The man rolled across the floor, crashing through a row of tables. Every guest went still, as if remembering an old saying that had circulated through the city years ago—that if you messed with Serena Sullivan, the three Sullivan brothers would chase you overseas and still grind your bones to dust.
I looked at Ethan, who was practically ready to kill someone, and felt something complicated twist in my chest. Why bother? The ones who'd tied me up here to be humiliated by anyone—that was them.
Across the room, Vanessa frowned.
Ethan snapped back to himself. He yanked off my shawl. "Here—the birthmark matches the photo exactly. In a proper auction, who would come paw at the merchandise? Follow some rules. Don't ruin Vanessa's mood."
Oh. So it was still for her.
I pulled my gaze away from Ethan and looked toward my second brother—the one who'd been sickly and frail since childhood, who'd basically grown up on my back. Marcus walked toward me. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes held no warmth at all.
"Be good and cooperate, Serena." He adjusted his glasses. "It'll be over soon. This is a very fair trade. Vanessa gave Adrian to you—let you become Mrs. Gilbert. Now you let her vent a little. That's only right."
He looked all business. Exactly like the frail boy in my memory.
When we were little, every time I carried him to the hospital, he'd carefully record another entry in his little notebook. He said he owed all of it to his sister, and he had to repay it for a lifetime. I once secretly looked at that notebook. On the last page, on the day he recovered, he'd written: How I wish I could stay sick forever, so I could keep clinging to my sister's side forever.
I pulled myself back to the present and looked at Marcus.
I didn't question him like before about what I supposedly owed Vanessa. Instead, I asked softly, "Marcus, for Vanessa, how many times have you messed with me now?"
He remembered.
"Ninety-nine times."
He said the number clearly, then cut off whatever I was about to say. "Stop with that stupid stuff about being a 'tasker'—that if you get humiliated a certain number of times, you'll disappear. Look, this is already the ninety-ninth time." The corner of his mouth curled. "Aren't you still standing here perfectly fine? Serena, don't use childish threats on us."
The moment he finished speaking—
Warm liquid, without any warning, surged from my nose.
One drop. Two. They splattered onto my pure white wedding dress, spreading into a glaring red stain.
The calm on Marcus's face shattered.
He grabbed ice water, tissues—nothing he did could stop the blood pouring out of me. He'd been sick so long he'd practically become his own doctor, and he knew this wasn't normal. His voice cracked as he shouted, helpless, trembling.
"Doctor! Get a doctor—now!"
But the doctor who rushed over and examined me couldn't find anything wrong.
Across the room, Vanessa frowned. "Serena, are you deliberately making trouble?"
