Summer’s heart plummeted. A sense of impending doom seized her.

The thing she cared about most...

"Don't you love playing the violin most?" Ethan approached her step by step, his gaze cruel. "Didn't you always dream of getting into Berklee and becoming a soloist? You missed it once because of prison; now, you'll never have to play again!"

At that moment, Summer felt as if her entire world had collapsed.

"No! Don't! I beg you! Don't ruin my hands!!"

"I didn't set the fire! Skylar framed me! Ethan, believe me just once! Just this once! Please!"

Summer shook her head desperately, tears streaming down her face. She tried to back away, but the bodyguards Ethan brought pinned her shoulders down firmly.

She was truly begging him; she would have knelt if she could.

These hands were all she had left. They were her only connection to the proud, radiant Summer Woods of the past, the only evidence that she could still believe in a shred of hope in this world.

Seeing her face covered in tears, something in Ethan's heart twinged with an inexplicable sting, but the pain was gone in an instant.

"Summer Woods, when you do something wrong, you must pay the price!" Ethan looked at her with cold eyes. He stepped forward personally and grabbed her right wrist. Then, he looked at Julian. "Julian, what are you waiting for? Hold down the other one."

Julian froze for a second.

He looked at Summer. She was covered in tears, her eyes filled with total despair and pleading.

He had seen that look once before.

Three years ago, when she was being taken away by the police, she had looked at him the same way, crying, "Julian, believe me, I really didn't push her."

He didn't believe her then.

What about now?

"Julian!" Ethan urged sharply, his tone impatient. "Think about Skylar! Look at what she's done to Skylar!"

Julian closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he moved to Summer’s other side and gripped her left wrist.

His grip was lighter than Ethan's, but just as firm.

"Summer," he said softly, his voice somewhat raspy. "This is a lesson you deserve."

A lesson you deserve.

Summer looked at Julian—the man she had loved for over a decade, the fiancé who once said he would protect her for a lifetime. Right now, he was personally holding her down to push her into hell.

She suddenly stopped crying.

Her tears had run dry. Her heart was dead.

A heavy iron hammer, carrying the sound of whistling wind, swung down with force!

"Ah—!!!"

The crisp sound of bones shattering, accompanied by Summer's heart-wrenching, almost inhuman scream, echoed through the entire hallway!

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Every single finger on her left hand endured the same torture.

By the time it was her right hand's turn, she could no longer scream. Her throat was already hoarse, her body twitched uncontrollably from the agony, and her consciousness flickered between clarity and fainting.

Julian felt her hand trembling violently in his palm. For a brief moment, he wanted to let go, to hold her, to say "enough."

But he didn't.

He looked away, forcing himself not to look at her tormented face.

When the final blow ended, her entire body went limp. Ethan and Julian finally let go.

Summer looked down at her mangled, bloody hands, her eyes terrifyingly vacant.

Then, she laughed.

A low, raspy laugh squeezed out of her throat, sounding worse than any crying.

Ethan knit his brows. "What are you laughing at?"

Summer raised her head, looking at him, then at Julian.

"I'm laughing at myself," she said, her voice so light it seemed it would break at any moment. "I'm laughing that I still held onto illusions... I'm laughing because I thought you two might at least... at least remember a tiny bit of our past affection..."

Her gaze fell upon her ruined hands, and her laughter gradually turned into a whimper. "It's fine now... everything is gone... truly... nothing is left..."

After the last word, her vision went black, and she lost consciousness completely.

Chapter Eight

When she woke up again, she was alone in the ward.

She wanted to lift her hand to look, but the moment her arm moved, a piercing pain shot through her.

"Don't move."

A gentle voice spoke. Summer turned her head and saw a doctor in a white coat standing by the bed, holding a tray for changing dressings.

"The wounds on your hands were just treated," the doctor said while carefully unwrapping the gauze. "The bones have been reset and fixed with plaster. However..."

He paused, looking up at her. "You play the violin, don't you?"

Summer’s heart sank.

She looked at the doctor, her lips moving, but no sound came out.

The doctor sighed. "There are multiple comminuted fractures in your phalanges. We did our best, but I'm afraid you won't be able to play the violin anymore."

Unable to play the violin.

Five simple words.

Summer stared blankly at her hands for a long, long time.

So long that the doctor had finished changing the dressing, reapplied the plaster, and packed up to leave.

So long that the sky outside turned from dim to pitch black.

Then, she began to cry.

It wasn't a hysterical scream, but a silent, desperate weeping.

Large tears fell one by one, hitting the snow-white sheets and spreading into dark patches.

Her mouth was open, trying to make a sound, but only broken whispers of air could escape her throat.

When she was seven, Ethan gave her her first violin.

Back then, he was a gentle and patient brother, teaching her hand-over-hand how to hold the bow and press the strings.

He said, "Summer’s hands are so beautiful; she’s a natural at the violin."

At twelve, she performed on stage for the first time, her fingers trembling with nerves.

Julian sat in the front row, smiling and applauding for her. After the performance, he gave her a bouquet of sunflowers and said, "I'll come to listen to every one of Summer's performances from now on."

At fifteen, she won her first national gold medal.

Ethan was so happy he picked her up and spun her around; Julian stood to the side, smiling and taking photos.

At eighteen, she received an audition invitation from Berklee.

She excitedly told everyone. Ethan patted her head and said, "My sister is the best." Julian hugged her and said, "When you go to America, I'll fly to see you every month."

Then Skylar came back.

Then everything changed.

Those promises, that tenderness, the pampering and indulgence she thought would last a lifetime... it turned out they were all so fragile.

So fragile that a single, unverified accusation was enough to shatter them completely!

Over the next few days, Summer remained lying in the ward.

Ethan and Julian didn't come to see her even once.

Occasionally, nurses would come in to change her dressings, and she would hear bits of news from their chatter.

"That Miss Skylar Woods in the VIP ward is so lucky. Two such handsome men accompany her every day."

"Yeah, I heard the burns on her back are recovering well. She might not even have scars."

"How is it possible to have no scars? Such a large area... but the Woods family is rich. They hired the best plastic surgeons and used the most expensive medicine. She’ll probably recover seventy or eighty percent."

"That’s still very good. As for the one over here..." The nurse lowered her voice. "With her hands damaged like that, I'm afraid they're ruined for good."

"Shh, keep it down..."

Summer closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep.

Only after the nurses left did she open her eyes, staring at the monotonous white of the ceiling.

No scarring.

That's good.

Skylar wouldn't lose anything.

She was still the most pampered princess of the Woods family, with a brother’s protection and a fiancé’s love. She would continue to live a life surrounded by adoration.

What about her?

She had lost her home, her dreams, and now even her hands.

How fair.

A week later, the swelling in Summer’s hands subsided a little.

The doctor said she could get out of bed and walk around, but the finger braces would have to stay on for another month.

That afternoon, she wanted to use the restroom. Just as she pushed open the door of the stall, she heard a familiar voice.

"Sister, what a coincidence."

Summer’s whole body stiffened.

She turned around and saw Skylar standing at the sink, touching up her makeup in the mirror.

She was in a hospital gown, but she had an exquisitely crafted cashmere cardigan draped over her shoulders. Her face was lightly made up, and her complexion was so good she didn't look like a patient at all.

"I heard your hands are ruined?" Skylar turned around, eyeing her up and down with undisguised triumph. "What a pity. You'll never be able to play the violin again, will you?"