I broke.
Davina stood off to the side, sneering. "This unhinged mess—and she thinks she deserves a Vance heir?"
They broke two of my ribs.
I woke up in a psychiatric hospital.
Dr. Kim told Oliver I'd been hurting myself.
He looked at me with open disappointment. "Why can't you just give in to them for once?"
"Do it for me. Can you do that much?"
"Just be good, and I promise—this is the last time I'll send you abroad."
Tears clung to my lashes, trembling, ready to fall.
I stared at him. My mouth opened, closed, opened again. In the end, nothing came out.
I let him pull me into his arms.
And only then did I realize.
There was no warmth in Oliver Vance's embrace.
By the end of the month, the elite-family qualification assessment arrived. I ignored it.
Oliver's expression darkened. He seized my wrist.
"Still throwing a fit over someone who doesn't matter?"
I said nothing.
My gaze drifted to the marks on his neck. I smiled.
Whatever softness had been left in his eyes froze over completely.
He went quiet for a long time, and when he finally spoke, the restlessness was spilling through every word.
"We're one step away—marry me and you'll be safe. How do you not understand that?"
"What have I done wrong? What is it about me that you can't stand?"
I kept my eyes down, chewing a piece of meat I couldn't break down no matter how long I tried. I turned my head and spat it out.
"Some damage doesn't heal just because you survive the exam."
His throat worked. His face went white.
"That was an accident."
"You were hurt badly. You weren't yourself—standing in front of that mirror practicing like a lunatic, passing out from the pain and starting again the second you came to."
"I didn't have another choice."
My head snapped up. I pressed the emotion down, pressed it again, but my voice still shook.
"Those two broken ribs cost me my qualification for the international competition. Permanently."
"That was the dream I would have given my life for."
"And you killed it with your own hands!"
Oliver opened his mouth to say something else.
I cut him off.
Enough. None of it mattered anymore.
I told him I'd go abroad the day after tomorrow.
Not for some ridiculous exam.
To leave. For good.
Oliver had handpicked the date. Bought his way onto the trending charts in advance. Hammered me into shape until I passed for the obedient, polished heiress his status required.
When reporters pressed him with questions,
he stood there holding flowers, that practiced smile never slipping, his tone warm and sincere.
"Thank you all for your attention. I love my fiancée very much. Ours is a love that goes both ways. We work hard for each other."
At that same moment, at the airport, boarding a flight to the U.S.
I lifted a hand and tipped my sunglasses down. The corner of my mouth curved.
I still couldn't stand watching him put on a show.
So I handed the tabloid press a parting gift.
Fifteen minutes into the exam, the silent testing hall erupted.
A staffer, face drained of color, fought through the swarm of reporters and whispered something in Oliver's ear.
He shoved everyone aside and charged into the exam hall.
But the instant he reached the doorway, one glance inside locked him in place.
The hall was empty.
An unidentified man was pinned to the floor by bodyguards.
He looked desperate, clutching a digital voice recorder, his voice cracking with panic as he repeated himself over and over: "I'm only here to deliver something for Miss Swanson, I swear..."
Oliver's eyes narrowed to slits. He stared the man down, then slammed the play button.
And when he heard what was inside—
Oliver Vance, the man who never broke composure, shattered.
