Friends used to tease me about being hopelessly lovesick. Back then, Paul would stroke my hair with lazy affection.
"In this lifetime, I belong only to Rena," he'd say. "Besides, Anna steals your things. How could I ever like a thief?"
Blinded by love, I missed the warning signs. I didn't notice how his gaze softened whenever he mentioned Anna, how his voice lost its edge.
On his birthday, I baked him a cake myself. Anna showed up at the Gilbert estate clutching a gift, standing in the pouring rain all afternoon just to catch a glimpse of him.
At first, Paul impatiently ordered the butler to send her away. But he couldn't sit still. He kept glancing at the storm outside, his leg bouncing.
The butler reported that Anna had collapsed. Paul bolted from his chair, rushed into the downpour, and scooped her into his arms.
I watched, frozen. The cake slipped from my hands and shattered on the floor.
That was when I understood: his heart had already strayed. That was the beginning of our end.
In the car, Paul loosened his tie with an irritated jerk and switched on the stereo. Soft music filled the silence, doing nothing to ease the tension.
I stared at my reflection in the window. Anna's taunt echoed in my mind: "Everything you have, I want to take it all away!"
A bitter smile touched my lips. She'd succeeded.
From that rainy day onward, the rift between us only widened. Arguments replaced whispers of love. At first, Paul still tried to reason with me.
"She's your sister, Serena."
"I'm only kind to her because I care about you."
But when I snapped and smashed a gift he'd given me, his face darkened. The excuses stopped. Accusations took their place.
"Serena Whitmore, how can you be so vile?"
"Annie is frail—why can't you just yield to her?"
"You're so selfish. No wonder even your father hates you."
His words were poisoned needles, burying themselves in my heart. I didn't cry. I just stared at him, numb. The man who'd sworn to protect me was now using my deepest wounds to tear me apart.
Paul frowned at my silence, turned on his heel, and left.
After that, he began appearing publicly with Anna. When asked about their relationship, she'd smile shyly while Paul answered openly.
"I like her."
"We're together."
I withered, watching her dismantle my world piece by piece. She flooded my phone with photos of their dates, flaunting the gifts he'd chosen for her.
Serena Whitmore, you really are trash.
No matter what you want, I won't let you have it.
I read those messages over and over. Self-inflicted torture.
After graduation, Paul formally proposed dissolving our engagement.
"I was too young back then," he said coldly. "I've realized the one I love is Annie."
I didn't fight him. I numbly agreed. There's no point keeping a man whose heart belongs to someone else.
But fate—or a cruel scheme—intervened.
That very night, we were both drugged and locked in a hotel room. We woke up naked, disoriented, blinded by flashlights and camera flashes.
The scandal enraged the Gilbert patriarch. He demanded Paul take responsibility and marry me. Paul knelt in the ancestral hall for three days and endured dozens of lashes, but the old man wouldn't budge.
We were to be married.
From that day on, Paul's eyes held nothing but pure hatred for me.
On our wedding night, he didn't make love to me. He punished me. He tormented my body until dawn, venting his rage.
Just before darkness claimed me, my phone lit up with a message from Anna.
