The butler escorted Yasmine to the venue where the Romero family's press conference was being held.
At the center of the stage, Joaquin sat beside Annie, his expression sharp with warning. The moment Yasmine stepped into view, every light in the room turned toward her.
"I'm here today," she began calmly, "to publicly apologize to Dr. Schultz. For the misunderstanding I caused her, I sincerely apologize."
Annie descended from the stage, a faint, gracious smile curving her lips as she grabbed Yasmine's arm.
"Since you've apologized, let's put the past behind us."
Her voice was sweet, but her grip was cruelly tight—Yasmine tried to pull away, only to realize she couldn't.
"I need to use the restroom, come with me," Annie said with a smile.
"Then let Joaquin accompany you," Yasmine flatly replied.
Annie shook her head. "Joaquin still has work to do. I'll be fine as long as Yasmine takes care of me."
Dozens of eyes were watching. Under that pressure, Yasmine could only comply.
She waited outside the restroom on the second floor, arms crossed, when a masked man suddenly rushed toward her—a glinting knife in his hand.
Her breath hitched in terror. She spun toward the staircase to flee—only to find another man waiting there, a jagged scar slashing across his cheek.
The scarred man swung a baseball bat—
Crack!
Pain exploded across her forehead.
Yasmine staggered, clutching her head, her knees buckling.
Before she could rise, another blow landed brutally on her shoulder and abdomen.
"Someone... help... me..." Her voice trembled, fading to a whisper. Through her blurring vision, she thought she saw someone rushing up the stairs.
"What are you doing?!"
The shouting grew distant, muffled, until the world went completely dark.
"Yasmine! Yasmine, wake up! Don't be scared—I'm taking you to the hospital!"
When she opened her eyes again, the world was washed in sterile blue. Curtains, walls, light—everything blurred together. Pain rippled through every nerve.
"Yasmine... you're awake."
Joaquin's voice came faintly. He barely glanced at her before focusing on his phone, brows drawn tight.
"Yasmine, you went to the restroom with Annie. Where is she now?"
His tone was sharp, interrogative. Yasmine froze. So that was why he'd been waiting for her to wake up—not out of worry, but to ask about Annie.
"I don't know," she said coldly.
He frowned. "You're not lying to me, are you?"
Yasmine let out a hollow laugh. Seven years of marriage, and there wasn't a shred of trust left between them.
"Joaquin, I only found out today that you held the press conference here. I'm the one who got attacked. Are you sure the people who ambushed me weren't sent by Annie?"
His eyes widened, disbelief flooding his face. "Yasmine! Don't project your own malice onto everyone else!"
"The attackers were targeting you. But now she's the one missing—and you still have the nerve to suspect her? Have you no conscience at all?"
His voice broke into anger, trembling with outrage—not for Yasmine, but for Annie.
Yasmine's lips curved into a bitter smile. Of course. Annie would always be his pure, untouchable "first love." And she—Yasmine—was nothing more than a discarded rag doll, always to blame, never believed.
She'd already grown used to disappointment. So this time, she didn't bother explaining.
After a long silence, his voice softened. "Yasmine, I know you've been unhappy lately. Once her medication research is approved and hits the market, I'll take you and Janna abroad for a break, alright?"
Her gaze remained steady, empty.
He said the same thing every year. And every year, he broke his promise.
Now their daughter was seven—and she no longer believed a word he said.
At the door, Joaquin's fingers tapped furiously on his phone. His brows knitted tighter by the second. Then, suddenly, a message popped up on the screen—whatever it said made his face darken instantly.
