On her 26th birthday, Jasmine Maddox gave herself an unusual gift—she filed papers to officially cut all ties with her family.

When the clerk asked why, she only said three things—"My parents are gone, and I have no relatives. Two months ago, the hospital diagnosed me with late-stage pancreatic cancer. The doctor said I won't live past the end of this month."

Ten minutes later, the process was finished. As she stepped out of the office, the giant screen in the central square was playing the engagement banquet of the Hudson and Walsh families.

Passersby stopped to watch, full of envy and admiration.

"The CEO of the Hudson Group and the heiress of the Walsh Group—what a perfect match! Look at those flowers. They must have been flown in from Europe. And that diamond ring must be worth millions. Mr. Hudson is spoiling her to death."

"I heard Zachary Hudson came from nothing. Before he met Nicole Walsh, he had a girlfriend who dumped him for being poor. She must regret that decision now."

Lowering her eyes, Jasmine hid the storm inside her and whispered to herself, "No. I never regretted it."

Without lingering, she walked over to the e-bike parked on the street.

Before cutting ties, she had already scheduled a sea burial for herself. With the endless horizon where the sky meets the waves, listening to the sound of the ocean, it felt almost like being 18 again, walking hand in hand with Zachary along the beach.

She knew she could never go back, never see him again. So even though the cost of a sea burial wasn't cheap, she had already put down a deposit.

She was still short on the balance, so she signed up as a delivery rider and planned to work until she saved enough.

But her health was failing, and after just a few orders, her vision blurred. Coming out of an alley, she crashed straight into a Rolls-Royce.

The loud bang echoed.

Thrown to the ground with her bike, she felt pain spread through her body before her heart froze in shock.

A tall man in a tailored suit stepped out of the Rolls-Royce. His polished leather shoes hit the ground in steady steps, each one weighing heavily on her chest.

"Jasmine, it's been a long time."

She lifted her gaze, lips parting as if to speak. A thousand words rose in her chest, yet not a single one made it out. All she could do was silently and tremblingly repeat Zachary's name over and over in her heart.

Zachary looked down at her, the eyes that once brimmed with tenderness now holding nothing but an icy emptiness, as though every trace of feeling had been erased.

His voice carried no warmth either.

"This car is worth 8 million dollars, and repairs will cost another 800,000. How will you pay?"

Jasmine hadn't even gathered her thoughts about seeing him again when his words detonated in her mind like a bomb. "I... I'm sorry... I don't have that kind of money."

He sized her up, and after a long pause, he said, "You have no money? Stay by my side and work until you've paid it back then."

Without another word, he opened the back door and shoved her inside.

The moment Jasmine got into the car, she realized there was already a woman with elegant makeup inside. In the rearview mirror, she glimpsed Nicole sitting in the front seat, Nicole's face tight with annoyance.

Nicole's eyes flickered when she saw Jasmine, though she quickly masked it with annoyance. "Zachary, we're supposed to be going out. Why did you bring your ex-girlfriend? Are you still hung up on her?" She gave him a playful shove.

Zachary caught her hand before she could fuss further, leaned down, and kissed her lips softly. "Behave. She hit my car. I'm just making her work off the debt. I don't need old flames. Especially not a gold digger like her."

Jasmine's chest tightened as she watched them kiss.

That was how he used to comfort her every time she was upset. He would kiss her and whisper her name.

Her father had died when she was very young, and her mother later remarried a drunken stepfather. At home, life was a constant state of fear—when he wasn't drinking, he was trying to grope her.

At school, Jasmine kept to herself, too afraid to talk to anyone, which only made her an easy target for rejection and exclusion from her classmates.

But in her sophomore year of high school, she met her salvation—Zachary Hudson.

He was the undisputed heartthrob of the school—top of the class, admired by teachers and students alike. Women who liked him were countless, and even Nicole, the prettiest girl in school, had once confessed her feelings to him.

But he didn't accept a single one of them. Instead, he fell for Jasmine—the invisible girl.

Zachary skipped class to buy her pads when she needed them, fought her stepfather to protect her, kissed her under the moonlight with ears burning red, and whispered, "Jas, I like you."

Afraid she'd be bullied in college, he left two SAT questions blank and gave up top universities just to attend the same one as her.

For four years, Zachary treated her like she was his world. At graduation, he knelt before her with roses, eyes full of love, and asked her to marry him.

Yet she crushed the roses he gave her beneath her heel, not only rejecting him but also humiliating him in front of the entire school. She had never spoken such cruel words before, and the first time she did, it was to the person she loved most.

She told him he was poor, that she was young and pretty, and wouldn't waste her best years on a life of hardship. She claimed she had already hooked up with a rich heir, that she had ignored his calls because she had been in his bed.

She said she was pregnant with Zachary's child, but had lost it during rough sex with the heir.

Then, she threw a hospital report of her miscarriage in his face.

That day, he said only one sentence, each word bleeding with pain. "Jasmine, someone like you will never know happiness."

She had laughed, answering, "Who cares about happiness? Money is what matters."

Then, she turned and left without looking back.

But where he couldn't see, Jasmine collapsed on the ground, whispering his name through sobs that tore her apart.

Zachary was right—she was never meant to have happiness.

That night, she hadn't answered his call, not because she was with a rich heir, but because her drunken stepfather had tied her to a bed and raped her.

She really had miscarried, but it was because of her stepfather.

When she woke, he threatened her. "I raised you all these years for this. Break up with your boyfriend and be mine, or I'll kill him."

At that moment, despair crushed her. She knew he meant every word.

She realized then that she had been born into the mud with no right to hope for a savior.

A man like Zachary deserved someone better. Letting him go was the only way to protect him.

The memories swirled like they were from a lifetime ago.

When she came to her senses, the car had already pulled up to a hotel.

At the entrance stood a massive birthday display, with a sketch portrait of Nicole.

Zachary helped Nicole out carefully, only sparing Jasmine a single cold order, "Tonight, your job is to drink in her place. 800 dollars per glass."

Jasmine stayed silent and simply trailed behind. It wasn't until they stepped into the hall that she realized many of their old high school classmates were there tonight.

Everyone raised their glasses to toast the birthday girl. Nicole smiled, responding graciously before glancing at Jasmine and speaking casually. "Let me introduce our new maid, Jasmine."

All eyes turned, and recognition sparked shock and disdain.

"Wait—Jasmine?"

"Didn't she dump Zachary back then just to chase after some rich heir and play the kept woman? So how is it that she's ended up reduced to being a maid? What? Got tossed aside now that she's past her prime?"

Hearing the jeers and taunts, Jasmine's face went pale, but she didn't fight back.

She only lowered her head, trying to hide the humiliation and fragility in her eyes.

Seeing her like this only emboldened them, just like in the old days when they bullied her.

Someone ordered dozens of bottles of liquor and forced glass after glass down her throat. Her stomach churned violently until she was vomiting blood in the bathroom.

Someone smashed a cake into her face, laughing at her disheveled appearance.

Another stuck out a foot, tripping her onto shattered glass, leaving her bleeding.

Some even went as far as to force her to crawl under their legs like an animal.

All night, she was degraded and tormented, reduced to nothing but a plaything for everyone's amusement.

Meanwhile, Zachary was across the room with Nicole, dancing with her, feeding her, and taking her pictures. He saw everything, yet he pretended not to see a thing.

By the end of the banquet, Jasmine was battered and broken, looking more like a vagrant from under a bridge than a guest at the party.

She staggered up from the floor. Her whole body was shaking from the pain, trembling like a leaf as she tried to make her way out. But after only a few steps, a wristband slipped from her wrist and clattered to the floor. Someone picked it up.

The moment they read the inscription, the atmosphere shifted.

"Holy shit! Isn't this from Queensboro Prison? Number 3593965... Jasmine, you've been in jail?"

The ballroom went dead silent.

Zachary, who had been keeping an eye on her the whole night, couldn't hold back anymore. He stormed over, grabbed Jasmine by the arm, and dragged her out into the hallway before she even realized what was happening.

They were so close now that she could clearly see it—in those cold eyes that had fixed on her since their reunion, there was suddenly a flicker of disbelief, even a trace of trembling.

"Why do you have a prison wristband? Have you been to jail?"

Jasmine didn't dare look at his face. Her chest felt crushed, overflowing with bitterness and grief.

"Answer me! Jasmine!"

She forced her eyes wide open and curved her lips into a careless smile, nodding lightly. "Yes. I went to prison.

"Back then, I fooled around with that rich heir for half a year and even slept with his friend. He dumped me for being dirty. After that, I found some old guy with money—he was old, sure, but still had energy. The only problem was that he hated protection.

"I got pregnant three times and had them all aborted. The doctor said I'll never be able to have kids again. When I asked him for money, he refused and tried to beat me. I accidentally killed him and ended up serving a few years in prison. So what?"

With every word she spoke, Zachary's expression grew darker, his face hardening into cold indifference.

He couldn't control the strength in his grip, his fingers digging into her hand until it turned purple. Through clenched teeth, he hissed, "Were you really that willing to sink so low?"

"Low? Please. People do what they have to for survival. I just wanted a taste of high society. Don't act like this is news to you."

Her calm tone snapped the last thread of his restraint. Rage consumed him, and his words came sharp, brutal. "Yeah. I always knew you were the kind of whore who would sell her dignity and self-respect for money! The biggest mistake of my life was ever loving a filthy woman like you. You deserve every bit of misery you've got—it's nothing but retribution!"

After unleashing years of pent-up anger, he flung her hand away and stormed off without looking back.

The moment his silhouette vanished at the doorway, Jasmine's tears finally broke free.

She crumpled to the floor, arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if that could hold together her shattering heart. The pain was so raw and suffocating, she thought she might pass out.

Those nightmarish memories came crashing back, swallowing her whole.

After breaking up with Zachary, she spent a month back home with her stepfather, waiting for news that Zachary had finally accepted the school's offer to study abroad. With him gone, out of her stepfather's reach, she thought it was safe to confide in her mother and begged her to run away together.

But her mother's reaction had been nothing like what she hoped. Instead, her mother lashed out, screaming hysterically that she was filthy and a disgrace for seducing even her stepfather.

The shouting woke her stepfather. When he realized she planned to escape, he grabbed a rope, determined to tie her down.

Everything after that blurred into chaos. All she remembered was blood. Her stepfather killed her mother, and in the struggle, she ended up killing him.

She was arrested, convicted of manslaughter, and sentenced to four years in prison.

By the time she got out, doctors told her she had late-stage cancer.

And now, at the very edge of her life, she found herself face-to-face with Zachary once more.

Jasmine couldn't tell if this was fate or a coincidence. But she knew one thing—since she had buried the truth from the start, she would take it to the grave.

It took her a long time to steady herself again.

In the days that followed, Zachary didn't come looking for her. She thought maybe he was too disgusted even to demand the 800 thousand dollars anymore.

That was, until one afternoon, when he suddenly texted her—ordering her to get to the hospital within 20 minutes.

Jasmine thought something had happened to Zachary and rushed to the hospital in a panic.

But when she arrived, he was standing in the hallway, head bowed, a cigarette between his fingers. His expression was unreadable.

Nicole stood beside him, her face streaked with tears.

"Zachary, Danica Gibson isn't just a housekeeper to me. She practically raised me. Now she's in kidney failure, and I have to save her.

"These past few days, I've noticed how distracted you've been, and I can't help but wonder why. The only change has been running into Jasmine. If you can make her donate a kidney to Danica, I'll believe you don't care about her anymore.

"You want to marry me, right, Zachary? Prove it then."

Only then did Jasmine realize why he had called her here.

Hearing her footsteps, Zachary raised his head. The moment their eyes met, he stubbed out the cigarette without thinking.

He walked toward her, his face hard as ice. "Donate a kidney to Nic's housekeeper."

Jasmine's teeth clenched, a sour ache spreading through her mouth, and her eyes glistened with tears. "And if I don't?"

Zachary knew she had always been terrified of pain.

He didn't answer. He only raised his hand.

Soon, a bodyguard came forward with a case, flipped it open, and revealed stacks of cash inside. Without a word, Zachary grabbed the bundles and threw them straight at her face.

Her skin reddened, split, and bled where the notes struck. She felt nothing because her chest ached as though something inside were slowly tearing apart.

She looked at the money scattered across the floor, swallowing back the anguish clawing up her throat.

Only after Zachary hurled the final bundle did he finally speak in a low and hoarse voice. "You love money so much, don't you? Here's 500 thousand dollars. Will you do it?"

To Jasmine, whether she kept that kidney or not didn't matter anymore. Her life was already slipping toward its end.

If this could at least preserve the image of her being vain and greedy, then she would play the part to the very end.

She forced a smile, every bit of strength wrung out of her. "If you had offered the money earlier, I would have agreed long ago."

That very afternoon, she was wheeled into surgery.

Right before the anesthesia took hold, she made one request to the doctor to keep her terminal cancer diagnosis a secret.

The procedure lasted eight hours, but she didn't regain consciousness until 3.00 a.m.

Pain radiated from her abdomen, drenching her in cold sweat.

She groggily opened her eyes, and all she could see was darkness.

The room lights were off, but she sensed someone standing at her bedside.

She wanted to ask for water, but stopped herself. Instead, she stared at the shadow.

After a long while, she heard Zachary's restrained, brooding voice. "Jasmine, you even gave up a kidney for money. So it's true, then. You left me back then for money. You had no other reasons, no circumstances beyond your control. Just as you said, you never loved me, right?"

Hot tears slid down her cheeks, soaking the pillow. She made no sound, only whispered, "Yes, Zachary. I never loved you."

He froze, his expression hidden from her. She only saw him walk away without a glance, leaving the room in deathly silence.

Cold pressed in from every direction, making her shiver uncontrollably.

Jasmine's foggy mind clung to one last thought, "When I die, will the morgue be this cold too?"

She stayed in the hospital for a week.

With no one to care for her and no money for a nurse, she dragged her aching body up and down the stairs—checking test results, changing dressings, washing up, and buying food.

Sometimes the nurses shared hospital gossip during rounds.

"Did you hear? That VIP suite upstairs? That's Ms. Walsh's housekeeper. She got a transplant, and Ms. Walsh treats her so well—she's got the best doctors on call 24 hours a day. I heard she's using imported meds, tens of thousands per pill."

"What are you saying? That's all Mr. Hudson's doing. He arranged everything just to please his fiancée. I even caught them making out a few times. They are glued to each other."

Jasmine listened quietly. Her chest felt heavy, but she felt relief more than anything.

She felt relieved that he wasn't stuck in the past like she was, that he had found the love of his life, and that he would have a warm, happy home.

Even if none of it had anything to do with her anymore, she still wished him well.

The day Jasmine was discharged, she finished the paperwork and walked out the door, only to see Zachary waiting.

He gave her a brief glance and said flatly, "Come with me tonight. I'll pay you 15,000 dollars."

She nodded quietly and got into the car without hesitation.

The ride was silent, heavy with tension. Leaning against the window, she fell asleep due to exhaustion.

Two hours later, she stirred awake. Night had already fallen. The car was parked in a garage, and Zachary sat beside her, his face shadowed beyond recognition.

Still groggy, she rubbed her eyes and murmured, "You didn't have to wait. You could have just woken me when we got here."

His hand stilled for a second before he picked up the laptop beside him. His tone was cutting. "Wait for you? Don't flatter yourself. I was working."

On the screen was a document titled "Wedding Schedule."

"The morning will be busy, so the wedding is set for 7:00 p.m. The roses for the wedding have to be flown in from Europe that same day; Nic only likes pink, white, and blue. The 989th draft of the diamond ring still has some details to adjust, all of which need to be finalized within three days."

A single wedding carried thousands of attention points, with hundreds of thousands of words spent refining every detail—enough to show just how much Zachary valued it and the care he put in.

Jasmine's chest tightened, and she lowered her gaze.

The car door opened. Zachary was about to lead her upstairs when his phone rang. He frowned at the number, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go keep Nic company at Room 208. If she asks, tell her I'm in a video conference."

She assumed it was another night of drinking on his behalf. Without a word, she went upstairs.

The moment she entered, she saw a circle of people laughing and playing drinking games.

She repeated Zachary's excuse to Nicole, then slipped into a corner and stared blankly at the floor.

Her daze was cut short when Nicole suddenly called out to her. "I lost. You take my punishment."

The group exchanged knowing smirks.

Nicole drew a card, glanced at it, and arched a brow.

"Truth or dare. Describe your last time with a man in full detail. Where did it happen, how old were you, what he looked like, what kind of positions, how long was it, how many times, and how it felt."

Color drained from Jasmine's face.

Her shoulders trembled. She clenched the hem of her clothes so hard her nails cut into her palms.

Seeing her reaction, everyone in the room burst into raucous laughter, voices urging her on.

She asked to drink instead, but no one agreed.

Nicole leaned close, pressing a folded paper into her hands. It was a forensic rape report.

Jasmine stared at those shocking words, her eyes widening instantly, as if struck by lightning.

"How... how did she get this?" she wondered.

Ignoring her meltdown, Nicole gave a faint, almost teasing smile and whispered in a voice meant only for the two of them, "I pulled this from the police archives myself. So you didn't dump Zachary because he was poor. You were raped, weren't you? You felt you weren't worthy of him.

"How noble of you. Since that's the case, just share every juicy detail of it, and I'll return this. Otherwise, I'll let the whole world know."

The naked threat yanked Jasmine back from the edge of collapse.

Someone dragged her into the seat. Her voice shook violently as she forced the words out. "The last time... it was at home. That man... he was 58, had a bushy beard, a face full of rough flesh. He pinned me... in the bathroom, tore my dress... from behind..."

Each word summoned a flash of horror in her mind.

Her scalp burned as she tugged at her own hair, her voice cracking with terror.

Those wounds that had never healed were ripped open again, exposing the twisted, decayed flesh beneath.

But to everyone else, it was entertainment. They howled and jeered.

"So you're into old men, huh? Did he keep you going all night until you couldn't talk?"

"With how slutty you are, one time couldn't have been enough. Bet you went back for more."

As their taunts echoed around her, her mind filled with powerless screams, blood-soaked sheets, the child she lost, and the knife plunged into the man's chest.

The coppery stench filled her nose again, her stomach twisting violently. She needed to get out.

However, Nicole was quick. She shoved another card into Jasmine's hand.

"Not so fast. I lost again. Dare this time. Go downstairs and confess your love to 18 men. After that, you can go home."

"Home." The word clung to her like salvation.

She bolted into the bar's main hall, clutching at strangers. "I like you," she blurted.

She repeated it 15 times to 15 different men.

The 16th time, a group of thugs cornered her.

Six or seven blond-haired guys leered at her with filthy eyes, yanking her clothes open as they sneered. "If you like us, why not have some fun with us?"

She struggled violently, screaming for help until her throat bled, but no one came to her aid—only the flashing lights of cameras captured it all.

Her dress hung in strips, her body sticky with sweat and greasy hands, and the nauseating faces were inches from hers.

The same nightmare that had tormented her for four years came crashing back, suffocating her.

Consumed by despair, she wanted to end it all. With her hands clawed and bloodied, she reached for the fruit knife lying on the floor. The moment her fingers closed around the handle, Zachary burst in like a maniac.

"Jasmine!" Zachary grabbed a wine bottle and swung his fists, striking the thugs and throwing himself into the scuffle.

The expensive suit was slashed by knives, leaving streaks of blood across his skin.

Champagne splashed onto his shoulders, shards of glass lodged in his collarbone, and the skin on his hands was torn open.

Covered in injuries, he seemed impervious to pain. He never took a step back. When Jasmine saw him fight with such reckless determination, the knife in her hand clattered to the floor.

The tears she had stubbornly held back—even at her lowest—finally broke loose.

And for a fleeting second, she saw him again as the boy of 16 who had once fought for her without hesitation.

Back then, when classmates were bullying her, he showed up with a group of people and beat up every one of the boys gossiping next door.

Desks were overturned, books scattered across the floor, and the classroom reduced to ruins. The quiet, studious boy had blood on his fists that day.

The once clean-cut boy, who had never fought before, looked drunk on blood. In front of everyone, he said only one thing. "She's under my protection. Anyone who touches her again has to come through me first."

And today, covered in blood and restrained by the bar owner, he still said only one thing. "How dare you mess with my woman! Do you think I'm dead or something?"

The moment Jasmine heard it, her heart tore in two.

Her mask crumbled. She broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

The sound of her crying doused Zachary like ice water. His rage fell away, and he spun toward her—only for Nicole to clutch him tightly.

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she cried out, "Zachary! You're 26, not 16! Do you even remember who your girlfriend is?"

His expression froze. It was as if his soul had finally returned to his body, leaving him momentarily stunned in place.

After a long silence, he wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry... I..."

He couldn't bring himself to speak. What could he even say? That he was pathetic? After all these years, he still felt a pang in his chest whenever Jasmine cried, and still couldn't restrain himself from protecting her when she was mistreated.

Fortunately, Nicole took a deep breath, didn't scold him, and regained her composure. With a choked voice, she calmly recounted the whole chain of events.

"We were playing Truth or Dare. She lost. Pulled a card that said she had to confess to 18 men. She said she liked watching guys take the bait, so she insisted. We told her not to mess with those thugs. She didn't listen. Even bragged about sleeping with a 58-year-old before."

The anger he had just smothered flared up again, blood surging backward through Zachary's veins. He looked at Jasmine in disbelief, every fiber of his being urging him to confront her directly and demand an answer.

But before he could make up his mind, the people from the private room came forward one by one to testify. They even played the recording of the shocking scenario Jasmine had risked everything to describe earlier.

When he heard those unthinkable words, the fragile thread of restraint that had hung in him for four years snapped completely. He tilted his head back, stared at the dazzling lights above, and suddenly let out a booming, unrestrained laugh.

The entire bar fell into a stunned silence.

Once the laughter finally drained the air from his lungs, Zachary carried Nicole over to Jasmine. His eyes, rimmed red from laughing, fixed on her with an intensity that could have shattered her. Every word he spoke seemed to claw at her, "Jasmine... you're damn incredible."

Once he finished speaking, he swept the coffee table aside and stormed out with his entourage. Unfinished drinks, fruit platters, snacks, and even game pieces spilled over Jasmine, drenching her completely.

She didn't say a word. All she felt was a sharp, wrenching pain in her chest, as if something inside her were being torn apart. The agony was so intense she could barely straighten her back. She slid down the wall slowly and weakly, burying her face in her chest and sobbing uncontrollably.

For the next four or five days, Zachary didn't contact her at all. She shut herself in her room, blocking out every bit of outside news and refusing to step out.

It wasn't until the landlord came knocking that she opened the door. Her face was pale and drawn.

"I'm sorry," she explained as she transferred the money. "I've been sick and forgot to pay the rent. I'll transfer this month's payment immediately. The lease ends at the end of the month anyway. I'm leaving New York, so I won't renew it."

When she finally lifted her head, Zachary was standing just five meters away. The madness from that day had vanished; now he was calm, cold, and distant. His gaze lingered on the tall tree outside the window, never meeting her eyes.

"Jasmine, don't think you can leave just like that. You still owe me a lot of money. Who said you could walk away? I'll give you five minutes. Be ready."

With that, he turned and walked away, ignoring the landlord's soft sigh behind him. "Ah, miss, I heard you've been ill with cancer, so I came by to check on you. Don't worry about the rent; consider it covered. If you need anything, just call me. Don't be afraid to ask."

After a quick wash, Jasmine went downstairs and saw Zachary crouched on the floor, tying Nicole's shoelaces.

Catching sight of her, Nicole curved her lips into a smile. "Zachary and I are going to sample dishes for the wedding banquet today. You can come along."

Jasmine said nothing, lowered her gaze, and got into the car.

The banquet hall stretched wide, with rows of tables set like a royal feast.

A bodyguard carried in a large case of cash and poured it out in front of her. "Mr. Hudson said for every dish you taste and review, you can take a stack of money."

Jasmine picked up the fork and stepped toward the first table. She froze.

It was piled with crabs—steamed, fried, sautéed, cooked every way imaginable.

She hesitated a moment, then moved to the following table.

The entire table was covered with shrimp—steamed, boiled, sautéed—prepared in every flavor imaginable.

The third table was filled with fish dishes, the fourth with oysters, and the fifth with octopus...

Out of the hundred tables, all piled high with seafood, Jasmine hadn't touched a single bite. She walked over to Zachary, hesitating before she finally spoke. "I'm allergic to seafood. I can't eat any of this. Maybe you should find someone else to test it."

Zachary's tone was flat. "These are Nic's favorites. We're not inviting you to the wedding anyway. Whether you're allergic or not doesn't matter. All you need to do is taste, take the money, pay me back, and disappear from our world."

Her hand trembled. Still, she dragged herself back to the table.

Nicole bit into a pear, clinging to Zachary's hand, her voice coy. "These pears are so sweet today. Try some."

He took the half she had already bitten and put it straight into his mouth.

Nicole's eyes widened in surprise. "You're eating my leftovers? Don't you have germaphobia?"

Zachary lowered his head, his voice slow and deliberate. "After all those kisses we've shared—tongue and all—you're really asking me that?"

Satisfied, she leaned into his arms, then shot Jasmine a smug, sidelong glance.

Jasmine kept her eyes forward, expression still.

She scooped up a spoonful and swallowed, but all she could taste was bitterness. The crab turned sour in her mouth, and the shrimp tasted salty. Nothing matched the flavors it should have.

By the time she forced down the dishes, angry red welts broke out across her skin, burning and itching like ants tearing at her flesh.

The bodyguard handed her notes on the food to Zachary. Seeing the rows of words—sour, bitter, salty, spicy—he nearly burst out laughing.

"Jasmine, what? You're so used to charming men for money that you thought mine would be easy too? A thousand per dish, and this is what you write? Start over!"

Jasmine wanted to explain, but her throat was so swollen that even breathing felt like a struggle, and not a sound came out.

So, she picked the spoon back up and forced more of that food she couldn't even swallow properly into her mouth.

Two hours later, she finished again. The paper still read the same.

His temper snapped. "Are you deliberately defying me? With that attitude, you won't get a cent!"

The thick menu slammed into her, knocking her off balance. Her weakened body hit the ground hard.

It felt like she was being plunged into boiling oil, her nerves and skin burning away.

Her head swam, her consciousness slipping.

Just before she blacked out, she heard his cold voice. "Still playing the martyr, huh?"

Then came a voice, edged with panic. "Jasmine, get up!"

She didn't know how long she was under. When her eyes opened again, Zachary was staring down at her, his gaze heavy, dark, restrained.

"The doctor says you've lost your sense of taste because of illness. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Jasmine's heart lurched, her mind going blank.

When she stayed silent, Zachary turned to his assistant. "Arrange a full medical check-up for her—"

"No need," she cut him off, her tone flat. "I lost my sense of taste years ago. Back when I hung around with those rich heirs, they made me take all kinds of 'special pills' so I could... entertain them better. After a while, I couldn't taste normal food anymore."

The veins in Zachary's forehead bulged. His voice was edged with fury. "You think that's something to brag about?"

She retorted, "Why not? If you're making money, what's there to be ashamed of?"

That snapped his control. He swept the bowl of oatmeal and medicine onto the floor with a violent crash. "You're not ashamed? Get down on your knees and lick it clean like a dog!"

The sight of the mess spreading across the tiles sent a wave of humiliation crashing over her.

She did not move. She only kept her head bowed, lips pressed tight.

His jaw clenched, his glare cutting into her. "So you do know that crawling on your knees for money is disgraceful? I thought you didn't have a bottom line."

Her lashes trembled. After a long silence, she lifted her head. "No. I was just thinking about the right price. Mr. Hudson, 500 bucks per lick. How's that?"

Then, without hesitation, she yanked out the IV, slipped off the bed, and knelt on the floor.

Like a dog, she pressed her tongue to the floor, swallowing oatmeal and bitter medicine mixed with dirt.

Seeing it with his own eyes, Zachary's breath caught, and he shut his eyes tight.

The pain in his chest was unbearable; at that moment, he wanted the whole world to just burn to ashes.

His fists clenched so hard his knuckles whitened, but no words came out. He slammed the door on his way out.

The moment it shut, Jasmine collapsed to the floor.

A violent nausea surged through her chest; clutching at her throat, she dry-heaved uncontrollably.

By the end, the floor was stained crimson with the blood she vomited.

She stared blankly at the glaring red, tears dripping down onto it—silent, soundless.

The next day, just as the allergic reaction on her body had barely subsided, she was taken to the villa.

Zachary's assistant had a huge crate of fruit carried in and dumped in front of her.

"Ms. Walsh wants to make some pastries herself, so Mr. Hudson told you to handle these by hand and clean them all."

Looking at the crate filled with durians, spiky chestnuts, jackfruit, and walnuts, Jasmine lowered her eyes.

She reached out and grabbed a chestnut; the sharp spines pierced deep into her palm, blood seeping through her fingers.

From dawn until night, she peeled without stopping. By the end, there was not a patch of intact skin left on her hands, only blood and torn flesh.

Zachary walked in hand-in-hand with Nicole. Looking at the blood-stained fruit, his eyes held not a shred of pity.

"Transfer her the money. The food's filthy now—feed it to the dogs."

On the third day, Jasmine was sent to the lakeshore to harvest pearls, soaking until her whole body was wrinkled.

On the fourth day, she was forced to wear a mascot costume and dance under the blazing sun, until she collapsed from heatstroke.

***

Day after day went by. Jasmine's savings had finally reached five million, but her body was nearly at its limit.

Jasmine went to the Hudson Group to see him for the last time.

"This is 1,000,000 dollars, to cover all the damages from the car accident."

"From now on, I owe you nothing."

Zachary looked up at her, but said nothing.

After waiting a long time for a response, she finally couldn't help herself and looked up at the man sitting in the president's chair.

Their eyes met, and after so long apart, it was the first time she didn't look away, but instead gazed at him greedily and endlessly.

He had really changed a lot.

The boy who once wore a blue and white school uniform, cold and aloof like a pine tree, had now become a man in a suit, steady and dignified.

He was successful and famous, drove a limited edition luxury car, had a beautiful fiancée, and everyone who saw him respectfully called him "Mr. Hudson."

He had everything.

How wonderful.

How wonderful, Zachary.

As she looked at him, a faint, moist smile appeared in her eyes.

Zachary finally spoke, "You're leaving me, and you're this happy?"

He seemed afraid to hear her answer. The next moment, he spoke again, and his voice actually began to tremble.

"Jasmine, have you ever, even for a day, regretted your choice back then?"

Regret?

No matter how many times she was asked, her answer was always the same: no regrets.

She was sorry, but she did not regret it.

She thought, "Zachary, maybe in the next life. In the next life, I want to be born into a clean, warm family, and then meet you again."

She didn't answer his question, just curled her lips: "Mr. Hudson is so successful now, you must not be short of money. Could you lend me 10,000 dollars? If you do, I promise I will never appear in your world again."

Hearing this, Zachary was stunned.

But after a moment, he laughed.

As he laughed, he leaned back in his chair and covered his eyes with his hand.

No one knew how long he laughed. When he finally opened his eyes to look at her, his eyes were red.

He pulled out a wad of cash from the drawer and threw it at her, speaking each word as if squeezing them out through his teeth.

"Jasmine, get out of my world forever!"

Jasmine curled her lips, bent down, and picked up the money from the floor one bill at a time.

It took her exactly five minutes and twenty seconds to pick up all the money.

And those five minutes and twenty seconds were the last moments in this life that she and her Zachary spent alone together.

It was beautiful, hard to let go, but she had to leave.

Just as she was about to stand up, Zachary's phone suddenly rang.

"Mr. Hudson, something's wrong. Ms. Walsh accidentally fell down the stairs and is bleeding heavily. Please come to the hospital right away."

Hearing this, Zachary's expression changed. He grabbed his coat and car keys and rushed out.

Just as he was about to step out of the office, she couldn't help but call out to him again.

"Zachary."

But this time, he was too busy going to see his fiancée. He didn't look back at all, disappearing completely from her world.

She blinked, and tears fell from her eyes.

"Congratulations on your wedding."

"And, goodbye forever."

Jasmine walked out of the Hudson Group building, took a cab straight to the sea burial agency.

After paying the final balance, she was about to return to her rented apartment when suddenly, a screech of brakes sounded in her ears.

Her pupils contracted slightly, and in the next second, her whole body was struck by an out-of-control truck and thrown more than ten meters away.

With a loud bang, she heard the sound of bones breaking.

Her internal organs shifted in her chest, and bright red blood gushed from her mouth, ears, and nose.

But she didn't feel any pain, only that her soul was floating lightly up to the sky.

Slowly, she merged with the crimson clouds.

Her eyelids felt as heavy as lead, but Jasmine still had a trace of consciousness, able to hear the chaotic sounds around her.

Someone walked up to her, opened her eyes to look at her dilated pupils.

"You brought this on yourself. If you die, don't blame me."

When she regained consciousness again, she felt herself being lifted onto a stretcher and sent to the hospital.

All around her were noisy voices—doctors, nurses, passersby.

"Dr. Sullivan, what should we do? This patient has lost too much blood, but today Mr. Hudson's fiancée is also hospitalized with massive bleeding. For her safety, Mr. Hudson has taken all the blood in the city."

"A life is at stake. Hurry and call Mr. Hudson to see if we can get a little blood. This patient was hit so badly, it's a tragedy."

She was briefly conscious for a moment, and soon heard that familiar voice coming from the loudspeaker.

It was Zachary.

After the doctor explained the situation, he refused almost without hesitation.

"No, my fiancée needs this blood. I'll have my assistant send 1,000,000 dollars over. You can get blood from another city to save her."

"Mr. Hudson, our patient is bleeding heavily and is in late-stage cancer. She definitely won't last until the blood arrives. You..."

"Then don't save her! She's going to die anyway! I just want my fiancée to be safe!"

He shouted these words harshly, then hung up the phone without mercy.

Hearing the beeping tone, Jasmine managed a faint smile on her face.

In the last ten seconds of her life, she seemed to hear the alarm of the heart monitor.

Soon, terrified voices echoed around her, but she could no longer hear or see anything. All she felt was the slight itch as warm blood slid over her skin.

Blood pooled beneath her, gathering like water, gently supporting her body.

She closed her eyes, and it was as if she could hear the sound of ocean waves.

Zachary, it's wonderful. She's going to sleep forever beneath the sea.

Her words became a prophecy.

We will never meet again.