The next day, the engagement banquet sparkled with luxury.
Armando stood at the center of the hall, his hand wrapped tightly around Karylle's delicate fingers. Surrounded by laughter and champagne toasts, they accepted blessings from the guests—everyone praising how perfectly matched they looked, a talented man and a beautiful woman.
Karylle rested her arm proudly against his, her smile radiant with triumph. But Armando's eyes drifted—again and again—toward the far end of the villa.
Upstairs, behind a locked door, Debbie was being "taken care of" by the housekeeper he had arranged.
The butler entered the bedroom with a tray in hand, his tone polite but nervous.
"Miss Ingram, Mr. Robbins asked that you drink this warm milk and get some rest. He said he doesn't want you to tire yourself out."
Condensation still beaded the rim of the glass. It looked harmless.
Debbie stared at it, her fingers curling slightly, and said softly, "Leave it. I'll drink it later."
The butler hesitated but dared not press further. He set the milk down and quietly backed out of the room—then clicked the lock behind him.
Not long after, the door opened again. Armando entered, the scent of alcohol and Karylle's perfume still clinging to him from the banquet.
He walked to the bedside and lightly touched Debbie's cheek—his fingertips carried a trace of warmth, but his tone was full of false tenderness.
"Debbie, I've wronged you."
"I only have you in my heart, but I can't let go of the Robbins family inheritance. Karylle can help me now, but it's just temporary. Once I have full control of the family, I'll end the engagement and bring you away from here. Trust me, okay?"
He gazed at the "sleeping" Debbie, a flicker of struggle crossing his eyes. But in the end, he hardened his heart, turned around, and left.
As soon as the door closed, the woman on the bed slowly opened her eyes.
She had never touched the glass of milk—she'd only been pretending to sleep.
By sheer coincidence, when Armando had locked the door earlier, the lock hadn't clicked properly. With a light push, it opened.
Debbie leaned against the wall for support, forcing herself up through the stabbing pain in her body, and made her way toward the banquet hall.
When she appeared at the entrance, the once noisy hall suddenly fell silent.
Gasps erupted seconds later.
"Who's that?"
"Why is she dressed like that?"
"Does anyone know her?"
The guests began whispering among themselves, all eyes turning toward Debbie.
Armando's face changed instantly. Shock flickered in his eyes, followed by fury. He barked out, "Who let her out? Get her out of here!"
"Wait."
A cold, commanding voice cut through the noise.
Madam Robbins rose slowly from the sofa, her elegant dress glimmering under the chandelier. Her sharp eyes settled on her son with open disgust.
If her legitimate heir hadn't drowned years ago, she would never have allowed this illegitimate son to step foot in the Robbins household.
"Armando," she said icily. "What is the meaning of this?"
Before he could answer, Karylle stepped forward, gripping his arm tightly. Her voice trembled just enough to sound convincing, laced with practiced fear and pity.
"Aunt Rosie, I—I don't know. This woman has been obsessed with Arman for a long time. She's always tried to get close to him. Maybe she snuck in tonight to ruin the engagement."
Madam Robbins's expression hardened. Her gaze swung sharply to her son.
"Is that true?"
Armando looked at Debbie's pale face, panic flickering in his heart. But under Madam Robbins' scrutiny—and with the thought of the hard-won inheritance hanging in the balance—he averted his eyes.
A look of feigned heartache and hesitation passed over his face as he nodded slowly.
"Yes... she's been bothering me for a while. I couldn't do anything about it."
Debbie felt her blood run cold. Her whole body stiffened as she shouted, her voice trembling with fury and disbelief.
"Armando, tell everyone—who am I to you? It was you who—"
Before she could finish, Armando gestured sharply, and the bodyguard rushed forward to cover her mouth.
She stared at Armando's familiar face—at the man who once swore to protect her—and listened as he labeled her nothing more than a deranged woman obsessed with him.
In that instant, the last shred of warmth in her heart shattered into ashes.
"So be it." Madam Robbins's voice was calm, but cold as ice. "Armando, you caused this mess. Clean it up. Don't ruin the evening for everyone else."
Armando's Adam's apple bobbed. Under the weight of everyone's gaze, he closed his eyes and gave the order hoarsely.
"Throw her... into the pool."
The bodyguard stepped forward, grabbed Debbie—still confined to her wheelchair—and carried her outside toward the garden.
With a loud plop, she was hurled into the pool.
The icy water swallowed her whole, the shock sending knives of pain through her abdomen. She struggled, gasping, but her limbs quickly went weak.
At the entrance of the banquet hall, Armando stood frozen, staring at the figure sinking deeper into the water. His heart pounded violently, his fingertips turning cold.
He wanted to rush to her, but his legs felt heavy as lead. He could only watch helplessly as Debbie's hair floated on the water's surface for a moment—then slowly sank out of sight.
And the pool went still.
