4. Dark Secret

​Sara woke up feeling as if her body had been shattered, a burning soreness lingering across her skin. On that vast bed, she was left entirely alone.

​The man who had shredded her dignity the night before was gone before dawn, leaving behind tangled sheets and her ruined wedding dress on the floor.

She tried to get up, but a sudden, violent tightness gripped her chest. She clutched her throat, her face turning deathly pale as her lungs refused to function properly.

​The trauma from the previous night had triggered a severe flare-up of her chronic chest condition. With what little strength she had left, she crawled onto the floor, reached for the small bag the guards had carelessly tossed aside the day before, and grabbed her inhaler. After three deep puffs, her air supply slowly returned, leaving her crying silently on the cold floor.

​At the same time, in the master study of the main manor, the atmosphere was just as cold as Sara’s bedroom.

​Damon stood by the large window, staring out at the estate grounds with a mug of black coffee in his hand. His jaw remained clenched, the remnants of last night's fury not entirely extinguished. However, a soft knock on the door instantly melted the heavy expression on his face.

​The door opened, revealing Iris being pushed in her wheelchair by one of his trusted maids. As the maid stepped back, Damon immediately set his cup down and took over the wheelchair with incredibly gentle movements.

​“Why are you up so early? The air is cold outside,” Damon said softly. It was a tone of voice Sara would probably never hear in her entire life.

​Iris looked up, her tear-filled eyes gazing at Damon with a perfectly crafted glimmer of anxiety. “I couldn't sleep. I... I was thinking about my sister. Did you treat her well last night? I don't want her to suffer because of me.”

​At the mention of Sara’s name, a flash of pure disgust crossed Damon’s eyes. He knelt before Iris, holding her cold hands.

​“Don't think about that selfish woman. She got exactly what she deserved,” Damon replied coldly.

​Iris turned her face away, squeezing Damon’s fingers as if she were bearing a heavy burden. “Don't break your promise. You mustn't tell my dad or Sara about Maya Sterling. Don't let them know I'm still alive in this crippled state. I don't want them to feel guilty.”

She began to sob quietly. “I... I don't want to be a burden to them. Sara is so beautiful and perfect. She deserves to live happily without having to take care of a paralyzed sister like me. Let them think I'm already gone.”

​Damon closed his eyes, his heart breaking at Iris’s profound kindness, which appeared so flawless in his eyes. How could a woman so pure be born into the same family as such wicked people?

​He had no idea that behind her bowed, weeping head, a faint smirk of victory curled on Iris’s lips. She knew perfectly well that the more she played the victim, the greater Damon's desire to destroy Sara would become.

​Only she knew that what she truly wanted was revenge against the father and sister who had abandoned her. That grudge could never be erased with mere apologies, and she would make sure they both got exactly what was coming to them.

​“I promise,” Damon whispered firmly, kissing the back of Iris’s hand. “Your identity will remain a secret. And I will make sure your sister pays for every tear you shed... with her happiness.”

​Of course, she knew that the happiness Damon meant was revenge. The man who doted on her would become her weapon to destroy the lives of Sara and their father.

​And that night, Damon returned to Sara’s room. Not to apologize, but to deliver the next round of torment.