Victor had been so frantic that he trampled over my hand as he rushed to his knees before Abigail, carefully wiping away her tears.
"Abby, what's wrong? It pains me to see you cry."
Abigail’s eyes were red and puffy. She curled her shoulders inward, looking as fragile as a frightened fawn.
"Brother, don’t blame Faith. This isn’t her fault."
Victor shot a glance at me, crumpled on the floor. His fury simmered beneath the surface, but his voice remained gentle as he coaxed her.
"Alright, I won’t blame her. Just tell me what happened."
Abigail let out a breath, as if relieved. "I came to comfort her, but she said it wasn’t fair that she had been humiliated alone. She called over some obsessed fan of hers to force a kiss on me… to defile me… even threatened to take nude photos of me."
Victor didn’t see my torn clothes, nor the blood dripping steadily from my forehead, nor the fingers he had just crushed underfoot. All he saw was the faintest red mark on Abigail’s chest—so light it was nearly invisible.
Fury filled in his eyes. His palm cracked across my face. "Faith, I’ve never let Abby suffer even the slightest grievance. How dare you use such disgusting tricks to hurt her? I should’ve never saved you back then—I should’ve let those stalkers do whatever they wanted to you!"
I shook my head desperately. Tears slipped into my lips, salty and bitter.
"Victor, you don’t believe me? You know how much I hate them—how could I ever—"
"You weren’t screaming about hate when you were on your knees, were you?" Victor’s face was dark, his laugh cold and mocking.
So, he had seen everything. Seen Abigail press me beneath her heel like I was nothing but an insect. Seen those men pin me down like I was filth beneath their hands.
Back then, he was the hero who had saved me. Now, he was the one offering me up to the wolves.
When I first debuted, I had attracted the attention of a group of obsessive stalkers. I’d get calls in the middle of the night—heavy breathing on the other end, never a word spoken.
When I danced on stage, I could feel the eyes on me. Some would crouch low, angling their phones to snap photos no one should be taking.
They got bolder. One of them finally caught me alone, cornering me in a pitch-black alley. It ended when Victor came out of nowhere, pulling me back from the edge.
Now, I clung to the fabric of his pants, my fingers tightening like a lifeline. "Victor, please don’t leave me. They’ll tear me apart—"
He sneered, yanking his leg away. "Oh, spare me. You look thrilled to me." His voice dripped venom. "Faith, since you love this so much, why don’t you get your fill? If she wants to play, then take her outside. Don’t dirty the Whyttons’ floors."
This time, Victor didn’t stand for me. He threw insulting words and walked away without looking back.
I lifted my head, staring at the Whyttons’ estate, glowing brightly against the night—yet all I felt was an endless, suffocating darkness.
Behind me, pained screams echoed, but Abigail couldn’t quite hide the satisfied curve of her lips. "Good thing you never married Faith, brother. That would’ve been humiliating!"
"Abby, don’t be rude. Faith is still your sister-in-law! And what’s so humiliating? She was just acting. I’ll deal with her when we get home. Come on, let’s get your wounds treated first."
Abigail’s smile froze. She stared at Victor in disbelief. But he didn’t notice. His only focus was getting her to the hospital.
While waiting for her test results, he finally had a moment to return his assistant’s call.
"We’ve made enough money. Faith’s probably learned her lesson by now—take down the lingerie blind boxes tonight."
A pause.
"Oh, and Faith didn’t cry when she got home, right? If she’s still upset, buy her a few handbags to cheer her up."
The person on the other end hesitated, then stammered:
"Mr. Whytton, Ms. Paston… she—she jumped into the sea. They… they haven’t recovered the body yet."
