"You..."
Before I could finish speaking, the door swung open, and the servant hurried in.
"Miss, Mr. Isaiah... he's vomited blood. He's in a bad state. You need to come quickly."
Serena’s face shifted instantly, her concern sharpening into something else. She rushed past me without a second glance. "If it weren’t for you, Isaiah wouldn’t have felt so guilty. He wouldn’t have collapsed like this. Come with me, now! You need to comfort him."
She grabbed my arm, dragging me through the hallway to the VIP ward, where I found Isaiah, his eyes bloodshot and his face twisted in guilt. He was on his knees, as if ready to beg for mercy.
"Serena, I swear, I never meant to hurt Anthony. I was just trying to dodge him—he was about to hit me, and I didn’t expect him to fall down the stairs. He’s saying I pushed him, but I didn’t."
My heart twisted as I locked eyes with him, and in that moment, I saw his satisfaction hidden behind the act. He feigned weakness, his voice shaking. "If Anthony still holds this against me, then I’ll kneel. I’ll apologize, I’ll do whatever it takes."
I met his gaze, my blood boiling, but I said nothing. Serena rushed forward, regret painted all over her face as she wrapped her arms around him. "It’s not your fault," she murmured, her voice filled with fake compassion.
Then, with surprising force, she grabbed me, dragging me to kneel before him. "This is all his fault," she spat, shoving my head down.
She grabbed Isaiah’s hand and slapped it across my face, the sting biting through my skin. The old wedding ring on his finger scraped against my cheek, leaving a raw mark.
"It's because of him that you're like this, Isaiah," she hissed. "Hit him back."
Isaiah feigned innocence, drawing his hand back. "Isn’t this a bit much?" he asked, pretending to hesitate. "But if you slap him, one slap will cost you a Maserati. If you keep hitting him until he bleeds, I’ll get you a villa."
"Really?" Serena’s eyes lit up.
"Really," Isaiah smirked, raising his hand to strike me.
I recoiled instinctively, but I wasn’t quick enough. His hand barely missed my face, and in the process, he almost threw out his back.
Serena’s expression darkened, her patience thinning. She turned to the bodyguard by the door and nodded, signaling him to move. Before I could react, a sharp pain exploded in my leg as it was kicked out from under me. I screamed in agony, collapsing to the ground.
"Now he can't dodge," Serena muttered, her voice cold. "Hit him. Do it."
The world around me blurred, my ears ringing with the sound of her orders. I was dizzy with pain, my vision swimming as I lay on the cold floor. Isaiah’s greedy smirk was the last thing I saw before my vision faded.
When I finally hit the ground, Serena pulled Isaiah's hand over and exhaled in fake sympathy. "Does your hand hurt, my dear?" she cooed. "I’ll blow on it for you."
He looked at me, his voice dripping with mockery. "What about Anthony?"
Serena's gaze turned to me, her eyes narrowing. "He doesn’t deserve it," she sneered. Then, with sudden determination, she walked toward me. "You want to leave me? Fine. I’ll give you a chance."
I wiped the sweat from my brow, heart pounding. "What do you want from me?"
Her laugh was low and unsettling. "Mr. Crisp, the famous man from Orlando, must be worth a lot of money, right? If you were put up for auction, you’d fetch quite a price, wouldn’t you?"
My blood ran cold. "You’re insane!"
She didn’t answer, instead gesturing for someone to bring a contract and tossing it in front of me. "Sign it," she ordered. "Sign the agreement to be an auction item."
I shook my head, refusing, despite the tightness in my chest. "I won’t sign it."
Serena’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "So you won’t? Then let’s see what happens."
With a wave of her hand, someone stumbled into the room, kneeling before me.
My eyes went wide with shock.
It was Ashlyn. The same Ashlyn who had given me her coat that night at the winery. The same Ashlyn who had been Serena’s best friend for years. The woman who had stood beside Serena at our wedding.
But now, she was unrecognizable. Covered in blood, her clothes tattered, she knelt before me, her head lowered in submission. She began to kowtow, begging for mercy.
"Are you out of your mind?" I gasped, staring at Serena. "She’s your best friend! How can you do this to her?"
Serena’s eyes glinted with malice, her expression cold. "What? Are you feeling sorry for her?" she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. "Mr. Crisp from Orlando is truly something else—first, he seduces his stepsister, and now my best friend? She stood up for my husband, so I punished her."
