As she spoke, Natalie turned and started walking toward Rosalie again. Lillian's heart dropped. She weakly reached out a trembling hand. "W-What are you doing ... " Natalie pulled out a triangular bayonet and stood over Rosalie. Then she glanced back at Lillian with a cold, twisted smile. "Just letting you feel what it's like ... to lose someone you love." And with that, she drove the bayonet straight into Rosalie's body. "No!" Lillian cried out in desperation, but she was barely conscious from the beating—bones broken, body wrecked. She couldn't move, couldn't stop it. All she could do was beg. Natalie didn't even look her way. She yanked the bayonet out, then plunged it in again. Same method she used on Jacob—avoid the vitals, make every strike a fresh wave of agony. Let the blood drain slowly, or let the pain finish her first. Natalie kept stabbing, each thrust fueled by everything she'd buried inside. It felt right. And yet, even as death closed in, Rosalie wasn't afraid. Maybe it was because Grayhound Sect had already broken her. Maybe it was pride. Maybe she just refused to let Natalie win. She clenched her jaw through the searing pain, then actually laughed. "Natalie ... I'm not afraid to die! What can you even do to me?" Her breath came ragged, but her eyes burned with spite. "At least my name sounds elegant. Refined. Not like yours—so plain, so common ... Dad gave me a name that meant I'd always be above you. From the start!" Natalie paused, staring down at her.Yeah. She remembered the name. She remembered the moment she first heard it, and how it told her exactly where she stood in Jacob's eyes. But she didn't care anymore. She'd already carved her answer into his chest. Natalie raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Oh? So you think your name came with some kind of cosmic advantage?" Rosalie lay there, weak and broken, still trying to hold her head high like she was some kind of noblewoman. Natalie let out a short, mocking laugh. "If you're so superior, then why is it you've still lost to me in every way?" That hit Rosalie right in the gut. "What do you mean lost? I'm better than you! I've always been better!" Natalie tilted her head, amused. "Oh yeah? In what way?" Rosalie's lips moved, but nothing came out. Natalie smirked and answered for her. "Hmm ... well, when it comes to shamelessness, you've definitely got me beat a thousand to one." Rosalie's breathing turned erratic, fury rising in her chest. Natalie kept going, casually twisting the knife—verbally, for now. "Character? You're worse. Skill? Still worse. Looks? Honestly, you're painfully average." She turned to glance at Cassian, who stood nearby like a damn statue—stoic, sharp, untouchable. "And if we're talking luck? Yeah, even there I've got you beat." Natalie looked back down at Rosalie, eyes gleaming. "Face it, Rosalie. You're so jealous of me, it's driven you completely insane." The words weren't crude, but every line landed like a blow to the throat. Rosalie shattered. Tears streamed down her face—hot, bitter, angry. Why?Why the hell is it like this? It wasn't supposed to be like this! Natalie saw the cracks in her bravado, the defiance finally draining away, replaced by grief and raw humiliation. That was all she needed. She raised the bayonet and, in one swift motion, drove it straight into Rosalie's chest. "Die in despair." Rosalie locked eyes with Natalie. In them, she saw a fierce confidence and unshakable resolve, something she had never possessed herself. She'd thought that as long as she wasn't afraid of dying, Natalie couldn't hurt her. But she'd still lost—completely and utterly. When Natalie saw that Rosalie had died with her eyes still wide open, she finally relaxed. Damn. That girl had almost gone out like some tragic martyr, all defiant and dramatic. In her last life, Rosalie had mocked her endlessly—head held high, voice dripping with smug cruelty, while Natalie was at her lowest. Now? This was justice. Natalie yanked the triangular bayonet out and pulled out an alcohol wipe, carefully cleaning the blade. That woman's body looked like a damn toad, covered in sores and who knows what kind of disease. Just in case, she'd have to run the knife through fire later, get it properly sterilized. Lillian had watched her daughter die—watched her die with eyes wide open, full of pain—and now she tried to scream, but only a broken sob came out. The pain was too much. Every inch of her body hurt. And now even her heart ached, slow and heavy. Natalie saw the tears streaming down her face and felt a rush of satisfaction. She smiled as she walked toward her, step by step. "How's it feel? Losing someone you love?"She looked down at Lillian, towering over her sobbing frame. "What's there to cry about? Your daughter was trash. My mother, though? She was one in a million. Rosalie wasn't even worthy to die for her." Lillian's eyes flew open, filled with fury. Somehow, the pain in her voice sharpened into something clear and fierce. "Rosalie wasn't trash! She was sweet, smart, and obedient! Not like you—always rebellious, even your own father didn't want you!" Oh, so now she was trying to use that word to cut deep? Natalie let out a low laugh. She wasn't that desperate little girl anymore—the one who waited by the door, hoping her dad would come back for her. Jacob meant nothing to her now. He didn't deserve to stir even a flicker of emotion. Natalie stared down at Lillian, unbothered. "Didn't you just treat me as your savior a minute ago? What happened—changed your mind already? No more bowing?"