The words felt like a physical blow. Clara leaned heavily against the doorframe, her knuckles white as she struggled to stay upright. Her blood seemed to turn to lead in her veins.

"Vivian... my father is dead," Clara whispered, her voice trembling with raw agony. "You escaped justice, you took everything. Why won't you let him rest in peace?"

Vivian’s lips curled into a mocking, razor-sharp smile. "If you hadn't been so stubborn about that appeal, Julian never would have adopted you. He wouldn't have let you crawl into our lives. Since you were the one who made the mistake, your father has to be the one to pay the price."

With a sharp flick of her wrist, Vivian blew a high-pitched whistle.

The wolfdog’s jaws snapped shut, tearing into the specimen meat with a sickening wet crunch.

Fury, cold and blinding, surged through Clara’s soul. She bared her teeth and lunged at Vivian, her hand raised. "I’ll kill you, Vivian! I’ll kill you!"

Before her palm could connect, a brutal force slammed into her shoulder, throwing her across the room. Clara hit the floor hard. The scabs on her back tore open instantly, and she felt the warm, metallic dampness of blood soaking through her shirt again.

Vivian collapsed into Julian’s arms, trembling like a frightened bird. "Julian, I was just trying to check on her wounds... I don't know why she attacked me!"

Julian looked down at Clara, his eyes like pits of frozen ash. "Clara, I thought the discipline room would change you. Instead, you’ve become even more vicious. You are beyond saving."

Ignoring the fire in her back, Clara looked up at him, her eyes wide with a desperate, hollow hope. "Julian... tell me the truth. Where is my father’s body?"

Julian stiffened. A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with a wall of righteous anger. "He was cremated years ago. You know that."

"Clara, your father has been dead forever," Vivian chimed in, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Julian has raised you for six years. You'd think even a dog would have learned some loyalty by now. Why do you keep digging up the past?"

Clara let out a jagged, broken laugh. There was nothing left—no hope, no love, only the cold embers of a scorched soul.

"Julian Pierce," she rasped, "I hate you. With every beat of my heart, I hate you."

Julian’s face turned a deathly shade of grey. "I gave you everything. I made you a queen in this city. If you’re going to be this ungrateful, then don't blame me for being heartless."

He turned to the guards behind him. "The lady is mentally unstable. She’s hallucinating and violent. Take her to the asylum. Don't bring her back until she learns how to apologize."

Clara’s eyes widened in horror. "I’m not crazy! Julian, you can’t do this!"

But Julian didn't look back. He swept Vivian into his arms and walked upstairs, his silhouette cold and unyielding.

The nightmare began. At the asylum, Clara was strapped to a cold metal bed. The glint of a needle was the last thing she saw before her consciousness fractured. Day after day, she was forced to swallow pills that clouded her mind, drifting through a fog of chemical torment.

"Let me out! Please!"

In the windowless room, she clawed at the door until her fingernails were torn and bloody. Then, the door creaked open. A nurse entered, wielding an electric baton.

"Miss Lim said that if you can't be a good girl, we have to teach you a lesson."

The current ripped through Clara’s abdomen, seizing her muscles and shattering her senses. But in a moment of the nurse’s negligence, Clara found one last spark of will. She lunged, scrambled past her, and ran into the hallway.

Security swarmed. Clara found herself cornered at a stairwell. She looked at the window, climbed the sill, and didn't hesitate.

Julian was just entering the hospital gates when he saw a fragile figure swaying on the second-story ledge. His heart stopped.

"Clara, NO!"

She looked at him once—a gaze of absolute, chilling indifference—and jumped.

Julian sprinted, catching her broken, limp body before she could hit the pavement. "Clara, I’m sorry! I’m taking you home, okay? Please, just stay with me!"

Clara’s hand fell weakly to her side. Her eyes were glazed, as distant as the stars. "I don't have a home... I never did."

When Clara woke again, she was back in the Pierce mansion.

Julian was there instantly, his voice shaking with a terror he couldn't hide. "Clara, you nearly killed me. If I hadn't caught you..."

Clara pushed him away, her touch as cold as marble. "Thank you for your concern,

Uncle

."

The title "Uncle" made him flinch as if he’d been struck. He convinced himself she was just throwing a tantrum. "I promise, Clara. I’ll never send you away again."

The door swung open, and Vivian floated in, a vision of bridal white. "Julian, the wedding is in three days! The dress just arrived—come see if you like it."

Julian looked at Clara, who remained as still as a statue. "Rest, Clara. I’ll be back later."

As soon as they left, Clara turned to the calendar on her desk. Three days.

The day before the wedding, the peace was shattered. Julian stormed in, his face contorted with rage, and grabbed her by the arm.

"Why did you spike Vivian’s milk?"

Vivian stood behind him, her face swollen and red with an allergic reaction. "Clara, I know you’re unhappy, but to drug me and tear my wedding dress the day before the ceremony? You’re trying to destroy my life!"

Clara stared at them, her voice flat. "I didn't do it."

Julian’s grip tightened, his eyes flashing. "The maids saw you! You were the only one who went into her room! How can you still lie?"

He threw her hand back, letting her tumble to the floor. "You’ve become a disappointment, Clara."

"Lock her in the attic," he barked at the butler. "Don't let her out until the wedding is over. I want to see what other 'tricks' she has up her sleeve when she’s behind a locked door."

"I didn't do it!" Clara screamed as they dragged her away. "Check the cameras, Julian! Just check the cameras!"

But Julian didn't listen. He swept Vivian into his arms. "I’m taking you to the clinic. I promise, tomorrow you will be the most beautiful bride in the world."

The attic was freezing. Clara curled into a ball, a broken doll in a dark corner. Outside, the house hummed with the joyful energy of wedding preparations. No one remembered the girl in the dark.

In the early light of dawn, as her spirit began to fray, her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:

[I’m here to take you home.]

Clara looked at the screen, and for the first time in years, she felt a glimmer of hope. She went to the window, saw a man standing silently in the shadows below, and broke the glass.

Downstairs, the ceremony was in full swing.

Julian held Vivian’s hand, about to slide a diamond ring onto her finger. Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass echoed from above. A sharp, phantom pain pierced Julian’s chest, making him gasp.

"Julian, focus," Vivian whispered, pulling his hand back. "It’s our wedding."

He nodded, forcing his focus back to the ring. But then, the speakers that were supposed to play the Wedding March hissed with static. A familiar voice filled the hall:

"Julian, you’ve really outdone yourself... Framing Clara for pushing Vivian... faking a miscarriage just to throw her in a cell... that was cold."

The guests gasped. Julian’s face drained of color. The stress and the shock triggered his failing heart. Blood surged in his throat, and he collapsed, a crimson stain spreading across his white tuxedo.

The wedding turned into a bloodbath of scandal. At the hospital, the doctor shook his head. "Mr. Pierce needs a transplant immediately. There is no other way."

Julian struggled to sit up, handing the doctor a document. "The donor... it’s already arranged. Vivian handled it."

At that moment, his assistant burst in, face pale. "Sir... the donor Vivian found... the records were falsified. There is no heart."

Panic finally set in. Julian’s world began to crumble.

"Mr. Pierce," the doctor said urgently, "the only hope left is the artificial prototype Miss Joy developed. It’s the only thing that can save you now."

Julian grabbed his phone, his fingers trembling as he dialed Clara’s number.

But the call didn't go through. He had been blocked.

Clara Joy was gone.