Chapter 3

"Elara, you might belong to Julian, but this is Seraphina's turf."

Linda blocked my path at the boarding gate of the *Nirvana*. She dangled a piece of fabric that barely qualified as a bunny suit, wearing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"You know Seraphina's friends are here tonight. They all know about... the past. To prove you're not stuck-up and are truly sorry, Seraphina thinks it would be best if you served the guests."

"I figure you can swallow your pride for the sake of patching things up, right?"

I stared at the humiliating costume and turned to leave.

"What? Cold feet?" Linda leaned in, her voice dropping to a hiss. "Your dying father's medical bills depend entirely on Julian. Walk away now, and Seraphina gets upset. If she whispers in Julian's ear... well, you do the math."

I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms. For Dad, I had no choice.

Changing into that degrading outfit, I walked onto the deck with a champagne tray. The biting sea wind sliced right through the thin fabric.

Julian was sitting on a sofa in the center of the crowd, nursing a drink. He looked distracted, his eyes constantly darting toward the entrance.

When he saw me appear in that getup, his pupils contracted instantly. His grip on his glass tightened until his knuckles turned white.

"Who told her to wear that?!"

Julian shot up, his face thunderous. He stormed over, already unbuttoning his suit jacket as if to cover me. "This is ridiculous! Whose idea was this?"

For a split second, my frozen heart felt a spark of warmth.

But before he could reach me, Seraphina tugged at his jacket from her wheelchair.

"Julian... don't blame Elara..." She looked up with teary eyes, her voice trembling. "She insisted. She said she wanted to punish herself for how she treated me back in school... to atone..."

"Plus, everyone is watching. If you protect her now, they'll think you don't care about my suffering... that you're shielding the arsonist."

Julian stopped dead in his tracks.

He looked at me, torn between heartache and doubt, but the word "atonement" seemed to trap him.

His hand, holding the jacket meant for me, froze in mid-air. Finally, he gritted his teeth and put the jacket back on.

"If she chose it herself..." He turned his head away, refusing to look at me, his voice muffled as if he were trying to convince himself.

I stood in the freezing wind, watching his hand retreat. The tiny spark of warmth in my chest instantly froze into ice.

He believed her.

Even with a lie this pathetic, he chose to believe Seraphina. He chose to sacrifice my dignity to uphold his twisted sense of "justice."

The next hour was pure torture.

I wove through the crowd with the drinks, feeling the rich kids' gazes sticking to me like slime.

"Well, well. Isn't that the high-and-mighty Miss Vance?"

"I heard she'll do anything for cash. Is it true?"

The mockery was endless. I gritted my teeth, praying for this farce to end.

Julian sat in the corner, drinking sullenly. Although Seraphina kept pestering him, I could feel his gaze locked onto me, filled with a hidden anxiety.

Whenever some guy tried to get too handsy with me, Julian would slam his glass down and glare daggers at them until they sheepishly backed off.

He thought that was enough. He thought that was "protection."

He didn't know that his silence was the cruelest cut of all.

"Ah!"

Suddenly, someone stuck a foot out to trip me.

I lost my balance and crashed heavily onto the deck. Expensive champagne splashed everywhere. Shards of glass sliced into my palms and knees, and blood pooled instantly.

"Hahaha! What a show!" The crowd erupted in laughter.

The trust-fund brat who tripped me stepped up to humiliate me further. "Clumsy bitch. You got my shoes dirty. Lick them clean..."

"Enough!"

A furious roar cut through the laughter.

Julian couldn't take it anymore. He shoved Seraphina aside and charged over, knocking the brat away to shield me.

"Back off! Who gave you permission to touch her?!"

His eyes were bloodshot, like a lion provoked. In that moment, he forgot his "punishment," forgot his revenge plan. His instinct was just to protect me.

He crouched down, looking at my bloody hands with panic and heartache. His hands shook as he reached out to help me up. "Elara... does it hurt? Come on, let's get you patched up..."

Seeing him like this, a lump formed in my throat. I almost cried from the sheer weight of the grievance.

"Owww... my leg! It hurts! It feels like it's breaking!"

A blood-curdling scream came from behind us.

In his rush, Julian had pushed Seraphina too hard, and her wheelchair had slammed into a table corner.

Julian's hand, reaching for me, froze instantly.

"Julian... my leg! It hurts so much..." Seraphina wailed hysterically.

The concern in Julian's eyes twisted into agonizing conflict. He looked at me, then back at the sobbing Seraphina.

A few seconds of deathly silence passed.

Finally, under my desperate gaze, he slowly pulled his hand back.

"...Clean yourself up."

He couldn't even look me in the eye. His voice was hoarse. After dropping those cold words, he turned and scooped Seraphina up into his arms. "Don't be scared. I'm calling the doctor! It's okay, I'm here..."

I sat among the broken glass, watching his retreating back as he carried her away in a panic.

The laughter around me started up again, but I couldn't hear it anymore.

I couldn't feel the pain in my hands. I only felt a gaping hole in my chest, with the cold wind rushing through it.

As he carried Seraphina past me, I heard the brat ask, confused, "Julian, why were you so nervous about the waitress?"

Julian paused.

To hide his slip-up and comfort the trembling girl in his arms, he gritted his teeth and spoke with a tone that sounded almost self-flagellating.

"Care? Impossible."

"She owes Seraphina a life. This little bit of suffering is just her penance. When she's paid her debt and learned how to be a decent human being, I'll give her a way out."

"For now... let her suffer."

Penance. A way out.

Those words hit like a sledgehammer, shattering the last illusion I had of him.

It turned out that his moment of instinctive protection was just a "mistake" in his eyes. He needed to strangle his love for me to honor his so-called justice.

I picked myself up off the deck. I didn't bandage my wounds. I didn't look at anyone.

Dragging my bleeding leg, I walked off the yacht, step by step.

The jeers grew louder, but I was deaf to them now.

My heart was dead.