The second year of their marriage was also the year Joanna Gunther hated Carlos Bowden most.

On his birthday, she found out she was pregnant. Then she did only two things.

The first was to go to the hospital for an abortion.

The second was to have the unformed embryo preserved and give it to him as a birthday gift.

She watched as Carlos opened the box, his eyes suddenly reddening.

Joanna smiled and said, "Happy birthday. Do you like your present?"

For the first time, Joanna saw his always-cool, self-possessed mask peel away.

Carlos carefully closed the box. Before Joanna could react, he shoved her down onto the table.

Her body sank into the cake, sticky-sweet frosting smearing across her skin.

Carlos's eyes grew redder, his breathing ragged. "Joanna, that was your child too! Is that why you hate me so much, because of that case?"

Joanna's breath caught, but she forced down the ache in her chest and smiled. "Yeah, Carlos, I hate you. You destroyed my family. Why should you get to be happy when I'm not?"

Carlos's grip on her tightened, then he yanked up her skirt and forced himself inside her, without a word or any tenderness.

His voice was low. "This is the price you'll pay for what you did."

Joanna screamed in pain, her nails digging deep into his back.

They clung to each other, locked in a struggle with no love, no mercy. Even as they left each other battered and bruised, neither let go.

But it hadn't always been this way between her and Carlos.

Once, they'd been happy. Once, they were the golden couple everyone envied, seemed perfect for each other.

Carlos was the orphan her family had sponsored, growing up alongside her.

In Joanna's memory, they'd never been apart for more than a month.

Carlos was reserved, cold to everyone—except her.

If she complained about being tired, he would crouch in front of her without a word and carry her home on his back.

When she stained her pants during her period, he would silently clean them for her.

When she fell ill, he would skip important math competitions just to take her to the hospital.

Joanna fell for Carlos, as if it was written in the stars.

Later, Carlos got his dream job at the prosecutor's office. The first money he earned went to her family, as a generous thank-you gift.

He even held her hand, knelt before her parents, and swore, "I promise to protect the Gunther family, to protect Anna, for the rest of my life."

Even when Mileena Rosner, an intern at the prosecutor's office, gazed at him with adoration again and again, Carlos never wavered, always kept his boundaries. "Sorry, I have a fiancée."

Until the night of Joanna's wedding, when Mileena, crying, accused Joanna's father, Hudson Gunther, of rape and took him to court.

Carlos promised her he would clear Hudson's name.

Joanna believed him.

But at the crucial moment in the trial, Carlos submitted security footage showing Hudson helping a drunken Mileena into a room.

The court convicted Hudson of rape, sentencing him to five years in prison. Hudson fainted on the spot. The Gunther family's century-old home was seized, and Joanna's mother, Dolores Gunther, died resentful and heartbroken.

Joanna's entire world collapsed.

She ran through pouring rain, soaked to the bone, to confront Carlos, only to find Mileena sitting in the living room wearing Joanna's pajamas.

Carlos, who rarely cooked, emerged from the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up.

Joanna's mind went blank, icy dread seeping into her bones, so cold she could barely breathe.

She went wild, smashing everything she could get her hands on.

Carlos watched her calmly the whole time, then delivered his final verdict.

"The verdict reflects justice. The law doesn't lie. You need to accept that.

"Leena has suffered severe psychological trauma because of Hudson. The Gunther family owes her. As your husband, I have to take responsibility for her."

Because of this so-called debt, Carlos abandoned Joanna again and again at Mileena's word.

Joanna tried to find other defense attorneys, but under Carlos's pressure, no one dared touch Hudson's case.

Over these two years, the love she'd once felt was completely replaced by hatred.

Their relationship turned from sweet to toxic, each unable to stand the sight of the other.

Thinking of it now, the pain in her heart and body made Joanna's tears fall uncontrollably.

Her hatred surged up again when she looked at his face. She bit down hard on his neck, wishing she could tear him apart.

"Are you done yet?"

Carlos shoved her away, clutching his bleeding neck. He lost interest and quickly dressed.

Joanna wiped the blood from her lips, her smile wicked. "Not even close."

Carlos's brow furrowed, but his phone rang when he was about to speak.

He glanced at the caller ID, a softness flickering in his eyes.

"What is it, Leena?"

On the other end, Mileena's trembling sobs came through. "Carl, I dreamed about that night again. I'm so scared. Can you come over and stay with me?"

Carlos looked at Joanna, still sprawled on the table, bruised and battered, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

But in the end, he grabbed his jacket and soothed Mileena as he walked out. "I'll be right there."

Joanna was left behind, discarded like a piece of trash.

Only when the door slammed shut did she finally let herself cry.

This would be the last time she ever shed tears for him. From now on, Carlos Bowden would never stir her heart again.

Joanna forced herself to dress through the pain, then opened her phone and replied to the message. "Have you made up your mind?"

"I've made up my mind, Leonel. I accept your terms. In 15 days, I'll crash the wedding. You help me get my dad out, and I'll help you escape your arranged marriage."

The moment her message was sent, a notification popped up at the top of the screen—"Leonel is typing..."

It was as if he'd been waiting for her all along.

"As you wish. I'll be waiting for you on the Amalfi Coast. Don't let me down."

Reading that crisp, commanding reply, Joanna's lips twisted in a bitter smile. Her heart felt completely dried out and numb.

How absurd.

When everyone else had turned their backs on her and she'd fallen to rock bottom, the only hand reaching out was her lifelong nemesis, Leonel Lankford.

The man she'd once called "devious and cunning" right to his face was now the sole accomplice in her plan for revenge.

She shut off her phone, exhaustion crashing over her like a tidal wave.

Especially where he'd been so rough with her—the pain still burned.

That night, Joanna slept fitfully.

Her dreams were a chaotic swirl, tangled with the noise and confusion of her wedding day.

When she woke, the sky outside was a dull, gray haze.

She wiped away the traces of tears from the corners of her eyes, her gaze hardening with resolve.

She got up, dressed quickly, pulling a high-neck sweater over her neck to hide last night's wild evidence, her face pale as she stepped out the door.

Today was Dolores's memorial.

The cemetery always carried a damp, lingering chill.

Joanna placed a bouquet of pure white lilies at Dolores's grave—her mother's favorite flower.

She knelt down, fingertips brushing the photo on the headstone.

"Mom, I'm here to see you.

"Don't worry, I'm fine...really.

"I'll get to the bottom of what happened to Dad. I'll make sure he walks out with his head held high. Everyone who owes our family—I won't let a single one off the hook.

"Watch over me, wherever you are."

As soon as her words faded, she heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind her.

She turned to see Carlos, still in his prosecutor's suit, not even changed.

And right beside him, also dressed for court, was Mileena. Joanna felt a wave of nausea.

She didn't bother to hide her disgust. "Get out."

Carlos paused, silent, and simply bowed his head to the grave.

But as he bent down, Joanna shot to her feet and swung her arm with force.

Smack!

The beautifully wrapped bouquet went flying, scattering across the ground.

Joanna's eyes were cold and sharp as blades, fixed on Carlos and Mileena.

"What the hell is this, Carlos? You show up at my mom's memorial, bringing the flowers she hated most, and dragging in the person she despised? Are you trying to make sure she never rests in peace?"

Carlos's brow furrowed, his voice low. "The flowers are from Leena. She meant well. It's just a bouquet, Joanna. Why make a scene..."

"Just a bouquet?"

Joanna cut him off, her voice dripping with disbelief and scorn.

Memories surged, unbidden—

There was a time when Carlos knew every little thing about her family.

Dolores was allergic to most flowers, but lilies were the exception. Carlos always remembered, even reminding the florist to take special care. Every time Dolores received flowers, she'd laugh and tease.

"With a boy as thoughtful as Carl, Anna, you'll be spoiled rotten when you marry him."

Joanna had believed she'd be the one Carlos cherished most. Reality had proven her wrong.

Not only had he destroyed her family with his own hands.

He could now dismiss everything with a casual, "just a bouquet."

Mileena tried to hide the satisfaction in her eyes, speaking carefully, "Ms. Gunther, I'm sorry. I just... I truly wanted to pay my respects to Mrs. Gunther."

Her fake sincerity snapped Joanna out of her memories.

Thinking of Mileena's accusations in court, Joanna stood up. "Fine."

She grabbed Mileena's shoulder, and as Mileena shrieked in terror, Joanna shoved her down, hard.

Her knees slammed into the cold ground.

The move was quick and ruthless, without a hint of hesitation.

Mileena screamed in pain.

"Stop!"

Carlos's face darkened, scooping Mileena up and checking her for injuries.

When he looked back at Joanna, his voice was sharp with reproach. "She just wanted to apologize. Do you have to act like this?"

Joanna was shoved aside, stumbling before she caught herself.

She pushed a hand through her messy hair, standing with a careless posture.

"Mr. Bowden, are you deaf? She asked to apologize.

"I just helped her show a little more 'sincerity.' What's wrong with that?"

"You..."

Carlos's jaw clenched, veins standing out as he glared at her.

He picked up the trembling Mileena and tossed out a warning before leaving.

"Joanna, don't keep making things worse."

Joanna didn't look back. She knelt again, gently touching the warmth left on the ground with her fingertips.

A smile bloomed on her pale face. "Mom, did you see that?

"This is just the beginning.

"I won't let a single one of them walk away from what they did to us."

After saying her goodbyes to Dolores, Joanna headed straight to the passport acceptance facility.

She'd had all her documents ready for ages—just one final step remained.

With her passport in hand, she drew a deep breath. At least now, the way out was open.

By the time she got home, it was already late. Joanna quietly began packing her things.

She hadn't brought much, and even less could go with her. Only that battered family photo gave her any comfort.

Maybe Carlos was busy comforting the shaken Mileena, because for three days straight, he didn't come home.

The rare peace let Joanna sleep soundly for once.

Early in the morning, her phone rang, shrill and urgent.

Carlos's cold voice came through the receiver, emotionless as ever. "The assessment on Leena's forehead injury is in. It might leave a permanent scar.

"Joanna, you need to compensate her for the injury you caused."

Joanna leaned against the headboard, scoffing at his words. "Compensate? Mr. Bowden, are you requesting this as my husband or informing me as a prosecutor?"

There was a brief silence on the other end.

Then his voice dropped, even colder. "She has the right to sue you for intentional harm."

"I'd welcome it."

A faint, vivid smile curled Joanna's lips.

"I'll wait for the summons. And I hope you'll preside over the trial yourself—just like you did for my father.

"Let me see, one more time, how Mr. Bowden can—sacrifice his own for the sake of justice."

"Joanna!"

At last, Carlos's voice cracked with barely contained fury.

"Do we have to talk to each other like this?"

"An eye for an eye, Carlos. That's all." Her voice was soft but sharp as shattered glass. "This is exactly what you taught me."

She hung up.

A rush of satisfaction surged in her chest, quickly drowned by a deeper emptiness and fatigue.

She had never imagined, back when she'd married him so full of hope, that things would turn out this way.

But fate had other plans—his love for her had slowly leaked away, given piece by piece to someone else, while she was left covered in scars.

Any trace of vulnerability was quickly buried. Joanna lay back down and, to her surprise, drifted off again.

It was evening before a heavy gaze startled her awake.

She opened her eyes to find Carlos sitting on the sofa by her bed, his face lost in shadow, unreadable.

Only his deep-set eyes glinted sharply in the dim light.

Carlos rarely lost his temper, but for Mileena, he'd made an exception time and again.

"After what you did, you can still sleep?"

Joanna sat up, hugging the comforter, her smile lazy but her eyes cold.

"If my enemy's miserable, I sleep like a baby."

Carlos's brow furrowed. He seemed to be holding something back, then handed her a phone.

On the screen was security footage from the cemetery—the moment she forced Mileena to kneel. The clip was edited perfectly, stripped of any context.

The comments below were vicious.

"Evil woman, hope she dies horribly!"

"Poor Leena, bullied by this psycho."

"Mr. Bowden, divorce her already."

"The Gunther family is rotten to the core, and the daughter's no better."

The backlash was spreading fast. Some were even digging up her personal info, calling for her to be "canceled."

Carlos rubbed his brow, his voice weary. "This is blowing up. I've set up a press conference for you to apologize.

"Tomorrow, you'll publicly apologize to Leena. It's the only way to minimize the damage."

Joanna looked up at him, steady and silent.

Watching him use his favorite tools—public opinion and the law—against her, for another woman.

He'd used that same icy logic to send Hudson to prison.

When she'd begged for an explanation, he'd looked down at her, remote and unyielding. "Anna, Hudson broke the law; he must be punished. You still have me."

But he'd never kept his promise to be her shield.

"What if I won't?" she asked quietly.

Carlos stood, his tall frame radiating pressure as he stepped closer to the bed. "Joanna, do you really have to tear this family apart?"

Joanna let out a laugh, as if she'd just heard the world's biggest joke, meeting his gaze without flinching.

"Carlos, you started this."

"You're the one who tore my life apart," she thought to herself.

His jaw clenched, eyes dark and dangerous.

They stared each other down for several seconds before Joanna's lips twisted into a cold smile and her tone shifted.

"...Fine. I'll apologize."

With her deal with Leonel almost due, she couldn't let anything jeopardize her plan to get Hudson out.

"But I have one condition." Joanna walked to the desk, pulled out a document she'd prepared long ago, and slapped it down in front of him.

"Sign it."

Carlos hesitated, but didn't even glance at the contents—he signed his name at the bottom in one swift motion.

"Is that good enough?"

Joanna picked up the agreement, watching the usually meticulous man ignore the details just to force her into an apology.

She swallowed the bitter taste rising in her throat and nodded lightly. "I'll be there on time tomorrow."

With that, she gathered her things and went upstairs.

Carlos worried she might pull something else, but the next day at the press conference, Joanna arrived right on schedule.

Only then did he finally relax.

Flashbulbs popped as reporters lined up, cameras ready.

Joanna stepped onto the stage in a simple black dress.

She picked up the microphone, scanning the crowd with a calm, steady gaze, finally landing on Carlos.

He was watching her, eyes steady, waiting for the victory and submission he'd always expected.

Joanna spoke into the mic, her voice steady. "I admit, I did something wrong to Ms. Rosner."

Carlos's brow eased just a little. But her next words made his expression change in an instant.

She smiled, dazzling and defiant, like a thorn that refused to bow to any storm, and spoke each word clearly.

"But she deserved it."

The silence lasted less than a second before a tidal wave of chaos crashed over the entire conference hall.

Shouts, insults, accusations, the frenzied snapping of cameras—all of it swelled together in a deafening uproar.

Joanna's voice rang out again, clear through the microphone, reaching every corner of the room.

"And let me say this one more time—my father, Hudson Gunther, is not a rapist!"

That line was like cold water splashed into boiling oil, instantly igniting an even greater storm.

"Ms. Gunther, how can you be so sure? The court already ruled—are you saying there's something we don't know?"

"Do you think the law is a joke, something you can twist however you want?"

"How can you smear a victim like this? Doesn't your conscience hurt?"

Joanna stood at the eye of the hurricane, letting out a derisive laugh. Her gaze locked onto the male reporter who'd been shouting the loudest, and she suddenly hurled her microphone straight at him.

Bang.

Her voice was quiet, but every person in the room heard it, crystal clear.

"I'm down, and out now; my life is already wrecked.

"But if anyone dares slander my father in front of me again, I won't mind taking a few of you down with me."

Born the cherished jewel of the Gunther family, even with her world in ruins, the pride and fierceness in her bones blazed through in that moment.

She swept her gaze across the crowd—no one dared meet her eyes.

Without another word, she walked off the stage, her figure resolute and solitary, leaving the chaos behind.

She'd barely taken a few steps when a strong hand clamped down on her wrist, making her gasp in pain.

Carlos's voice was tight, forced through clenched teeth. "Joanna, what the hell are you trying to do?"

Joanna yanked her arm free, rubbing her reddened wrist, lips curling in a faint, mocking smile. "What am I trying to do? Apologizing. Didn't you hear, Mr. Bowden?

"Of course, that's only if I'm actually in the wrong."

Carlos lowered his voice. "Do you realize what you've just done?"

Joanna shrugged, her smile cold. "Carlos, what do I have left to lose?"

She looked past him, eyes landing on Mileena, trembling as reporters swarmed around her.

"If you've got time to interrogate me, maybe go comfort your so-called innocent intern—the one you're so determined to protect.

"Don't keep her waiting."

Without waiting for a response, Joanna turned and strode toward the exit, not wanting to spend another second trapped in this mess with him.

Outside the hall, she flagged down a cab and rattled off her destination: the courthouse.

She carried the divorce papers Carlos had signed the night before.

Once the process was done, she stood outside the building.

There was no relief, no regret—just a hollow emptiness she couldn't even name.

Ending this marriage was harder than she'd thought. Letting go of Carlos was even tougher.

But it didn't matter. She wasn't afraid of pain anymore.

She walked slowly toward what used to be "home," when her phone buzzed—a notification from social media.

She opened the app and saw Mileena's latest Instagram post.

A candid shot of Carlos at his desk, captioned, "First time learning the ins and outs of a trial—so much I don't understand, but Carl's been so patient with me.

"He says the purpose of law is to protect justice. I think he's my justice and faith—just one word from me and he'll come running."

Joanna stared at Carlos's focused profile in the photo. There was a time when that gentleness and patience belonged only to her.

She smirked, took a screenshot. Then she logged into her own account and posted it with the caption, "Perfect match."

Imagining the storm this would stir up, Joanna felt a flicker of satisfaction.

She pushed open her front door, and the scene inside was even more "spectacular" than she'd expected.

Carlos was there, of course, and Mileena was curled up beside him on the sofa, eyes red and swollen.

As soon as Joanna walked in, Mileena instinctively shrank behind Carlos.

He gently patted Mileena's back. Then he looked up at Joanna, his disappointment and exhaustion plain to see.

Joanna's tone was flippant, "Wow, couldn't hold back any longer, huh? Finally brought her home?"

Carlos's brow furrowed. "Enough, Joanna. Leena has always been innocent. She's done nothing wrong."

Joanna stared at them, her voice icy. "Mileena's innocent? Carlos, you really are blind in every way that counts."

Carlos shot to his feet. "Joanna, I don't want to fight. Leena has a counseling appointment soon—she's not doing well."

His gaze bore into Joanna, judgmental and unyielding.

"Your emotions are unstable, too. You're going with her for therapy."

Joanna stared at Carlos as if she'd just heard the most absurd joke in the world.

"Carlos, are you insane, or am I?"

Carlos's brow was knotted tight, his patience clearly worn thin.

"This isn't up for debate. Look at yourself—you need a professional evaluation and counseling."

He didn't give her a chance to argue. Once everything was arranged, he brought her straight to the counseling center.

The door closed behind them, leaving only her and Mileena in the room.

The moment they were alone, Mileena's fragile, pitiful facade vanished. A smug smile curled on her lips. "So, how does it feel? Not so easy to swallow, huh?"

Joanna lounged back on the sofa, barely lifting her eyelids. "Better than you, at least. I don't have to fake being sick 24/7.

"Isn't it exhausting? Always showing off the scraps I throw away."

Mileena's face twisted with rage. "Joanna, do you really think you're still that high-and-mighty heiress of the Gunther family?

"Let me spell it out for you—nothing ever happened with your dad. I stole his sperm. I faked the evidence. I wanted him locked up. I wanted your family destroyed!

"I've hated watching you act like you're above everyone for years.

"Well, look at you now. Your dad's a rapist, your mom's dead, and you're nothing but mud under my feet!"

The years of pent-up hatred made Joanna's mind buzz. Without thinking, she raised her hand and slapped Mileena hard across the face.

Smack!

The sharp crack of the slap echoed in the quiet room.

Almost instantly, the door burst open.

Carlos stood in the doorway, his face thunderous.

Mileena grabbed his arm, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Carl... I just wanted to talk things out with Ms. Gunther, try to make peace... I don't know why she hit me again..."

"Carlos, did you not hear that?"

Joanna pointed at Mileena. "She just confessed—it was all her! She set up my dad, faked everything, and she's been playing sick!"

Carlos looked at Joanna's frantic expression, his brow furrowed.

"That's enough."

He cut her off, his voice icy. "The evidence is clear. The verdict stands. How long are you going to keep lying to yourself?"

"When will you finally accept that your father—my mentor—is a rapist?"

The words sliced through Joanna like a blade of ice, shattering her last defenses.

She stared at him in disbelief.

"Carlos... is that what you've thought all along?"

Carlos looked away, refusing to meet her eyes.

He spoke to the doctor outside in a low, authoritative voice. "She's extremely unstable, with clear signs of aggression and delusional thinking. She needs immediate treatment."

Mileena chimed in sweetly at just the right moment. "Carl, Professor Thornton on the third floor is the best at handling cases like this. Why don't we take Ms. Gunther upstairs?"

Carlos glanced at Joanna, then finally nodded, weary. "Fine."

Joanna was forced to her feet.

Carlos started to follow, but his phone rang. Listening to the call, his brow furrowed.

"Carl, go ahead and take care of it," Mileena said, letting go of his arm.

Carlos hesitated, shot Joanna one last look, then turned and hurried away.

Two burly orderlies grabbed Joanna and dragged her upstairs.

She quickly realized that "the third floor" wasn't any kind of counseling suite, but a cold, clinical torture chamber.

She couldn't break free. They strapped her down tight to a metal chair, belts cinched around her wrists and ankles.

Mileena entered, picked up the electrodes, and in the next instant, a jolt of electricity shot through Joanna's body.

"Aaagh—!"

Pain and numbness wracked her, her vision swimming with black spots.

"Remember—your father is a rapist."

"No!" Joanna bit her lip until she tasted blood.

Mileena upped the voltage, repeating in her ear, "Your father is a rapist."

Joanna gritted out, "No!"

Her father was the best man in the world. He could never have done something so vile.

Another surge of electricity tore through her...

Again, and again.

She lost track of how many times she was shocked, her consciousness flickering between agony and haze.

Mileena stood back, savoring the spectacle. "Why fight it? Just say 'he is,' and I'll make them stop."

Joanna forced her head up, her breath ragged. "You... come here... I'll say it..."

Thinking she'd finally won, Mileena leaned in, triumphant.

At that moment, Joanna summoned every last ounce of strength and kicked Mileena hard in the stomach.

"Ah!"

Mileena screamed, collapsing to the floor.

Seizing the opening, Joanna wrenched one hand free, fighting through dizziness and pain, and lunged for the door.

But the handle wouldn't budge.

"Grab her!" Mileena shouted, clutching her abdomen, her face twisted in fury and pain.

The orderlies charged.

Just as they were about to seize her again, Joanna spun around and hurled herself straight at Mileena, tackling her toward the glass window.

"Mileena, I always take my revenge!"

The window shattered.

Locked together, the two women fell from the third floor.

When Joanna woke again, she was in a hospital.

The sharp scent of antiseptic stung her nostrils, dragging her back from the depths of darkness.

"You're awake?"

The doctor checked her over as he spoke. "Falling from the third floor and only breaking a leg—you're incredibly lucky."

Joanna tugged at her cracked lips, trying to smile, but it pulled at the wound on her forehead, making her wince in pain.

Lucky?

All she felt was regret—regret that she hadn't dragged Mileena down to hell with her, regret that she'd ended up injured and lost to that woman's hands.

After the doctor left, the door to her hospital room opened quietly.

Carlos walked in, a trace of fatigue barely visible in his expression.

Joanna turned her head away, her voice weak and hoarse but thick with mockery. "What an honor, Mr. Bowden. Did you come to see if I was finally dead?"

Carlos stepped to the bedside, his gaze lingering on her leg encased in a heavy cast and her pale, haggard face.

For a split second, something flickered deep in his eyes—so quick she almost thought she imagined it.

"Anna, even if you refuse therapy, you shouldn't have resorted to something so extreme.

"Do you realize the chaos your little stunt caused? The chaos here at the hospital, the trouble for... everyone?"

His eyes dropped to her bandaged foot, and his tone darkened.

"Leena tried to protect you—she broke her fall with her hand. The doctors say... she might never regain use of it."

Mileena protecting her—what a performance. Joanna almost had to admire Mileena's acting skills.

"If you're here to lay blame, you can leave. I'm not interested in hearing it."

She didn't want to waste another ounce of energy on this man, didn't want to explain a thing.

She'd spent years explaining, repeating herself over and over, only to meet his cold denial every time.

It takes strength to love or hate someone. She was tired. Now that her father's case had a glimmer of hope, she didn't want to say anything more.

But Carlos didn't leave.

Instead, he picked up ointment and cotton swabs from a tray nearby, dropping the subject. "Your leg wound needs to be dressed."

As he approached, Joanna instinctively tried to pull away. "Don't touch me!"

Carlos ignored her, gripping her injured foot and carefully unwrapping the bandages.

His fingers were warm, but his hold was firm—unyielding.

Joanna struggled, but it only made his grip tighter and sent fresh pain shooting through her wound.

Carlos, mistaking her reaction for pain, did what he used to do when they were in love—he gently blew on her scraped and twisted foot.

"It'll be over soon."

The familiar gesture stunned Joanna, her eyes stinging with sudden tears.

Why? Why did he show her kindness while hurting her at the same time?

Why did it have to be like this?

The stark contrast between their past happiness and this brutal present made her hate surge all over again.

She suddenly lowered her head and bit down, hard, on his shoulder.

Carlos's body tensed, a muffled groan escaping him.

But his hands didn't falter, not even for a second—he continued his work with steady precision.

"It hurts, I know. Just hold on." His voice was low. "Next time, don't hurt yourself just to fight back."

Joanna clamped down harder, the taste of blood spreading in her mouth, but memories kept flooding in.

Once, when she got hurt, he'd frown at her, gently scolding her for being careless as he tended her wounds.

She'd always ask why he was so careful, that she wasn't afraid of pain.

Carlos would kneel in front of her, face serious. "But I can't bear it."

He'd always indulge her—letting her tuck her icy feet under his shirt in winter, shivering but still warming them with his hands...

Letting her wear his suit and mess up his perfectly organized study...

All those fragments of warmth she'd tried to forget came rushing back.

She stared at the blood seeping through his shirt from her bite, and for a moment, something stirred in her numb heart.

Joanna couldn't help but let go.

In that dazed moment, Carlos finished taping the last piece of gauze and finally looked up at her.

His eyes settled on her face, calm and unreadable.

Then, in a voice so composed it bordered on cruel, he said, "Leena's right hand—the nerves are severed. She'll need a tendon transplant if she wants any hope of recovery."

He paused.

"Anna, you should donate one of your tendons to her."

Carlos's words landed like a slap, shattering any trace of tenderness she'd felt.

So even his fleeting gentleness was for that woman, never for her.

Joanna could only laugh at the irony.

How could she—after everything—still be moved by this man's touch, by his so-called kindness?

She let out a hoarse, scornful laugh, each word sharp and unyielding.

"Carlos, you must be dreaming. I'd rather lose both hands than give Mileena a single finger!"

Carlos's brow furrowed, but his movements stayed gentle. "This isn't up for discussion. You hurt someone, and this is the price you pay. You don't get a choice.

"I'll schedule the surgery for three days from now. You won't feel a thing."

Three days—the exact day she planned to crash the wedding.

As he spoke, he pulled back the covers and climbed onto the bed, slipping his arm beneath her neck and pulling her tight against his chest, just like all the times they'd tangled together before.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be, okay?"

Joanna stiffened, struggling with all her strength, but her injured leg and weakness made it pointless.

His embrace had once been her warmest refuge; now it felt more suffocating than any restraint.

"Let me go!"

Carlos only held her tighter, his chin resting on her hair, his voice tinged with rare exhaustion.

"This is the last time. After this, I won't get involved with Leena again. We'll... start over."

His voice was low, almost hypnotic, painting a picture of a future she could almost believe.

Joanna stopped fighting, frozen in his arms like a stone.

"Go back to how things were?" She thought to herself.

She bit down on the bitterness rising in her chest.

"Carlos, do you remember the vow you made to my parents on our wedding day?"

Carlos's body tensed, silent for a moment before he answered quietly, "I remember. I promised to protect the Gunther family, to protect you."

Joanna thought of Carlos from two years ago—awkward with words, but his eyes had always been full of affection.

But he'd broken that promise with his own hands, leaving her family in ruins, leaving her battered and bleeding.

Carlos saw the mockery in her eyes, and something inside him collapsed. Before he could speak, his phone rang in his pocket.

No need to guess who it was.

Joanna's sarcasm shifted. "Carlos, you want us to go back? Spend just one day with me here—no visitors, no calls—and I'll agree."

Carlos's hand hovered over the phone, hesitation flickering across his face.

Joanna watched him, neither moving, as if awaiting judgment.

She knew he couldn't do it.

The phone rang again and again, until Mileena sent a message threatening suicide. Sure enough, Carlos released her and climbed off the bed.

"Anna, that's someone's life—I can't ignore it. After your surgery, we'll talk.

"Whatever you want, I'll give you."

Just like always, he turned and left.

Joanna couldn't help but laugh, her voice trailing after him. "You can't give me what I want.

"We'll never go back. I'll soon be someone else's wife."

Carlos, I gave you a chance—you're the one who wasted it.

Her last words were barely a whisper, as if she were talking only to herself.

Joanna gathered herself, hesitated, then messaged the man across the ocean.

"Something happened. Come get me as soon as possible."

The reply was almost instant, short and direct as ever, "Location. Time."

Joanna sent the hospital address and a time.

"Wait for me."

With that, she finally felt at ease and focused on recovery.

Carlos didn't come for the last two days. Today was her surgery—her deadline to leave.

He rushed in just before she was wheeled to the operating room.

Joanna smiled at him. "Carlos, there's just one thing I want to say."

"What is it?"

She glanced back, lips curved. "I regret marrying you."

Before he could respond, she turned away and entered the operating room.

Carlos's heart sank as the doors closed. He opened his mouth to speak, but only pressed his lips together.

It didn't matter. After this, he'd devote himself to her—they'd find their way back, somehow.

What Carlos didn't know was that, as Joanna entered the operating room, the back exit to the emergency stairs was quietly opened.

She slipped through the heavy door, and under the blinding sunlight, a sleek white sports car rolled up to meet her.

The window slid down, revealing a strikingly handsome face—sharp, a little wild.

Leonel took in her battered state, one brow raised, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

He opened his arms, his voice lazy but commanding. "Idiot, look what you've done to yourself...

"Come on. I'm here to take you—let's go crash a wedding."