Back in my room, I locked the door behind me and leaned my back against the cold wooden panel, letting out a long breath. I raised a hand to press against my tightening temples, forcing myself to suppress the waves of grievance and pain surging inside me—what was past was past. Since I had already decided to leave for good, there was no point clinging to it anymore.
I walked over to the desk and sat down, opening my laptop. The sound of my fingers tapping on the keyboard was steady and rhythmic. If I was truly going to say goodbye, then everything behind me had to be settled properly. My funds, properties, and shares—all of it needed to be sorted out and entrusted to a trust fund. I wouldn’t leave anyone with a “mess” they could gossip about later.
Outside the window, the sunlight slowly slanted westward, fading from brilliant gold into a soft orange-pink before finally sinking beyond the horizon, leaving only a faint afterglow. I finally closed the laptop and rubbed my aching wrist. The documents on the desk were stacked neatly, every file organized precisely according to the trust fund’s requirements.
I stood up and stretched my stiff neck, only then remembering the phone I had casually set aside earlier. The moment I picked it up, the screen lit up—a message from Vanessa Bennett, completely filling the chat window.
“Clara, do you think this ring looks nice?”
Nine photos followed, each one dripping with deliberate flaunting.
The first photo showed a gradient evening gown. The pale blue skirt flowed in layered waves, like a sky soaked in sunset hues. Fine silver threads were embroidered along the hem, shimmering with restrained, classical elegance. I recognized it instantly—it was the piece I had fallen in love with at a haute couture show last year. Back then, Liam Foster had laughed and said he’d buy it for my birthday and take me to the annual charity gala in it.
The second photo was a pair of custom diamond crystal heels, the surface densely inlaid with tiny diamonds that refracted dazzling light even through a still image. Their sheer luxury was unmistakable—so eye-catching that even paired with the couture gown, they would steal the spotlight.
The last few photos showed Vanessa holding onto Liam’s arm as they stood before the mirror in the walk-in closet. On Vanessa’s finger was unmistakably the engagement ring that should have belonged to me. In the photos, she smiled sweetly, her eyes curved with happiness that practically overflowed as she leaned against Liam, their intimacy glaringly painful to look at.
There was another follow-up message, deliberately sent by Vanessa:
“Clara, I heard Liam say you spent half a month designing this engagement ring yourself, that every detail carried your hopes for a perfect marriage. Don’t you think it looks especially suitable on me? It feels like it was meant for me from the start.”
My fingers paused briefly on the screen, a faint stab of pain passing through my chest—so light it almost felt like an illusion. I knew Vanessa’s intentions all too well. Sending these was partly to flaunt Liam’s favoritism, and partly to provoke me, to watch me lose control.
If this were the past, seeing these would have sent my blood boiling. Even if it meant mutual destruction, I would have demanded an explanation. But now, my suitcase was already quietly more than half packed. I had only one month left before leaving. These people and these matters had long since become part of the past I needed to cut away.
Expressionless, I tapped the screen without hesitation and replied with three words, as calmly as if I were talking about the weather:
“Yeah. It’s pretty.”
After sending it, I immediately muted Vanessa’s chat. I tossed the phone aside, washed up, and prepared to rest.
I didn’t know how much time had passed when thirst woke me. I quietly went downstairs to get some water. Just as I reached the turn of the staircase, I heard a suppressed argument coming from the living room.
It was Liam’s voice, tense and furious in a way I had never heard before—there was even a trace of lingering fear beneath it.
“Who told you to go to that kind of shady drinking party? Do you have any idea that if I’d arrived just ten minutes later, you would’ve been drunk and sent into a guest room by those people?”
Vanessa’s voice was thick with sobs, every word soaked in self-pity, her eyes brimming with tears as if she had suffered an unbearable injustice.
“I didn’t want to go either… but the organizers said if I didn’t show up, it would affect my variety show opportunities. I can’t afford to lose this chance. I’m not like Sister Clara—even when scandals surrounded her, even when the entire internet cursed her, you still firmly chose to marry her and make her Mrs. Foster. She always had you backing her up.”
She sniffed, her shoulders trembling slightly, her tone humble to the extreme.
“But me? I’m just a helpless orphan. At the Bennett family, I have to read people’s faces. Outside, I get bullied too. Even if I were ruined… no one would care about me.”
“Who says no one would care?”
Liam’s Adam’s apple bobbed violently as the anger in his voice was instantly replaced by heartache. Suppressing the surge of emotion, his tone turned firm—almost obsessive.
“As long as I’m here, I dare anyone to lay a finger on you.”
Vanessa froze for a moment, then her eyes reddened even more. When she looked up at Liam, besides grievance, there was a barely concealed hint of triumph and reluctance.
“But you’re my brother-in-law… From the first time I saw you, I liked you. I’ve been holding myself back all this time—I didn’t want to interfere with you and my sister, didn’t want to put you in a difficult position.”
She probed cautiously, her voice light, yet sharp as a needle, stabbing straight toward the stairway where I stood frozen.
“Would you… break up with my sister for me?”
I stood there rigidly, my fingertips turning icy. I had clearly decided to let go. I had only one month left before escaping this cage. Yet hearing that question, my heart still felt like it was being tightly blocked, suffocatingly painful.
What would he say?
That he had long since lost all feelings for me? That Vanessa had always been the one in his heart?
Otherwise, how could he have splashed filth on me time and time again? How could he have given all the tenderness and favor that belonged to me to someone else? How could he even destroy my reputation with his own hands just to protect Vanessa’s career?
Suddenly, I found it absurd. A self-mocking smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I turned to leave quietly, unwilling to witness such a nauseating scene. But before I could take more than one step, I saw Liam reach out and carefully pull Vanessa into his arms, his voice gentler and firmer than ever before.
“Vanessa, even if I marry Clara Bennett, I’ll still protect you for the rest of my life. No one will ever be able to bully you.”
“Does that mean… as long as my sister agrees, I can stay by your side forever?”
Vanessa suddenly looked up. The grievance in her eyes vanished instantly, replaced by naked triumph.
My heart sank completely. I subconsciously stepped back half a pace, my foot accidentally bumping into the stair railing, producing a faint sound. That noise immediately alerted the two people in the living room.
Vanessa turned her head. The moment she saw me, a flash of viciousness crossed her eyes. She quickly rushed to the table, grabbed the heavy celadon porcelain vase, and charged straight toward me.
Bang—
A dull impact rang out as the vase smashed hard against my forehead. Shards of porcelain scattered everywhere. Warm blood instantly streamed down my face, blurring my vision.
I staggered backward, barely managing to steady myself by gripping the stair railing. I raised a hand to wipe the blood from my forehead. When I looked up again, I met Vanessa’s twisted, arrogant face.
“Believe it or not, Sister,” she sneered smugly, her voice dripping with triumph.
“Even if you died here today, Liam wouldn’t blame me for a single word—he’d be too busy feeling sorry for me.”
