Then, Night pinned the leader of the group to the ground, raining down punch after punch without a shred of mercy. He beat them until they were bloodied and bruised, their cocky attitudes replaced by desperate pleas for for-giveness.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Knightley! We were wrong! Please, have mercy and let us go!"

"Get out! If you ever dare to show your faces near her again, consider yourselves warned!"

His thunderous roar, fueled by pure rage, sent the men scrambling away in a state of sheer terror.

The stairwell was crowded with onlookers drawn by the commotion.

Ignoring the prying eyes, Night knelt to help Selene up. "Are you hurt?"

Selene collapsed into his arms, weeping like a wilted lily. "I sprained my ankle. It hurts so much..."

Night’s expression darkened. He swept her up into his arms and pushed through the crowd to leave as quickly as possible.

In his haste to protect the woman in his arms, he braced his elbow and accidentally shoved Clara, who was standing nearby, to the ground.

Her head struck the hard edge of a stone step, opening a jagged wound. The sudden spray of blood startled the surrounding crowd.

"You're bleeding from the head! Quick, someone call an ambulance!"

Clara’s face contorted in agony as a cold sweat broke out over her body.

Warm blood seeped through her fingers and dripped onto her eyelashes, feeling as heavy as lead.

She watched Night’s retreating figure—he didn't even look back once. A profound bitterness filled her mouth.

Once, when she had cut her finger while making soup for him, he would worry for hours, insisting on calling a doctor for fear she might be left with a scar.

She used to tease him for overreacting, but he would lean down, kiss her hand, and whisper tenderly, "Clara, you are the person I cherish most in this world. When you’re hurt, I feel the pain more than you do. Now that our lives have improved, you don't need to do these things anymore. Your hand needs to wear the ring I’m going to give you; a scar wouldn't look right."

Now, she was bleeding, and he was blind to it.

And the ring he had promised her was already adorning someone else’s hand.

The ambulance rushed Clara to the hospital.

She handled the registration, the consultation, and the pharmacy alone. It was late at night by the time she finally made it home.

That night, the throbbing pain kept her from closing her eyes. She tossed and turned, unable to find rest.

Night did not return home at all.

The next morning, as she dragged her exhausted body out of bed to change her dressings, she saw Selene’s latest post.

It was a video of Night kneeling on the floor, gently massaging Selene’s foot and applying ointment.

Clara watched it several times, her eyes rimmed with red, until she finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.

When she woke up again, the world outside was dark.

Her phone was vibrating incessantly on the pillow. The moment she answered, Night’s voice barked out an address.

"Lanting Riverside, Suite 703. Get here now."

Clara hesitated for a moment before getting out of bed.

After washing up, she made her way there.

As soon as she pushed open the door to the private suite, the first person she saw was Selene.

Selene’s eyes were red, and she looked as pitiful and vulnerable as a frightened rabbit.

Night sat there staring at Clara, silent, his face masked with an inscrutable, heavy expression.

The room remained silent for a long time until Clara finally couldn't help but speak.

"Why did you call me here? What is this about?"

Night sat up straight, his hands clasped in front of him in a posture of natural authority.

"Clara, those thugs from yesterday—did you hire them to cause trouble for her on purpose?"

Clara froze in her tracks.

She instinctively glanced at Selene and caught a fleeting glimmer of triumph in those eyes.

In an instant, she understood: this was likely a play directed and performed by Selene herself.

She let out a self-deprecating laugh. "It wasn't me. I don't know them, and I have no interest in doing such a thing."

Night’s expression did not soften at her explanation.

He lowered his gaze, his voice calm yet cold. "Clara, the moment Selene decided to abandon me years ago was the moment I moved on from her completely. You’ve been with me for seven years; you should know who holds my heart now. The Young family has fallen on hard times, and anyone can try to kick them while they're down, but it shouldn't be you. You don't need to make things difficult for her for my sake."

Hearing this, Clara felt a violent jolt in her chest.

She couldn't help but remember the nights he spent venting his agony in the dark, the moments she spent running from one doctor to another seeking a cure, the silent, hollow look on his face when he was misdiagnosed and told he would never see again...

The golden boy of the city had lost his sight entirely for the sake of one girl.

And yet, all those desperate days and nights—seven whole years of devotion—were now being brushed aside by him as if they were nothing.

Finally, her mind drifted to that marriage certificate bearing the official seal of him and Selene. Tears blurred her vision. "Yes, we’ve been together for seven years. How am I only now realizing who is truly in your heart?"

At her words, Night’s eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you mean by that?"

Clara shook her head, a self-mocking smile playing on her lips. "I mean, I am just the daughter of a servant. What power or connections could I possibly have to find a group of men to harass a high-born lady?"

Even though she had laid the truth out plainly, Night clearly didn't believe her.

Clara felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. She took a deep breath and gave up on explaining further.

"Since you don't believe me, let’s get straight to the point. What do you want me to do?"

Night rubbed his temples. "Apologize, Clara. When you do something wrong, you have to say you're sorry."

At that moment, Selene, who had been playing the victim in silence, finally spoke up.

"An apology isn't necessary. If you’re truly sorry for what you did, just drink these bottles of wine, and we’ll call it even."