"Simon, open those damn squinty eyes of yours and take a good look—was I bullying your precious Lizzy, or was she setting me up?" Lily's mocking tone snapped Simon out of his daze. Then her words registered—she'd just insulted him. His face darkened instantly, anger flaring in his chest. He was about to bite back when he noticed her hand moving—fast—right toward his face. He frowned, ready to bark at her to back off. He wasn't the kind of man who got seduced by any woman throwing herself at him. But then he saw what she was holding. A phone. The cracked screen flickered, barely holding the image—but even through the spiderweb of damage, Elsa's face was unmistakable. Wild. Furious. Unhinged. The video showed her tearing Lily's handmade wedding dress apart piece by piece, her eyes sharp and vicious. And then—without warning—she drove a pair of scissors straight into her own palm. Simon's eyes flew wide. For a full second, he couldn't even breathe. No. That couldn't be right. To him, Lizzy had always been pure sunshine—soft, gentle, the girl who'd once saved him from the darkest moment of his life. He still remembered the wreckage. The two of them trapped under concrete, the air heavy with dust and fear. Two endless days with no food, no light, no hope. He'd been ready to give up. But she never did. She kept talking, whispering to him in that hoarse, broken voice, keeping him conscious, keeping him alive. She'd even sung, voice raspy, but still somehow smiling. Rolling in the Deep, of all songs. To him, Lizzy had always been light. Kindness. Hope. But now… now he was staring at a version of her he didn't recognize.Someone who glared like a cornered animal. Someone who would stab herself to frame another woman. Before he could fully process it, Lily's voice sliced through the silence. "As you can see, she stabbed her own hand. I never touched her. My conscience is clean." She tilted her head, her voice dripping with derision. "So tell me, Simon—are you still going to make me apologize to your dear Lizzy?" "I..." For once, Simon Bale—aristocratic, composed, perfect—looked genuinely thrown. He hadn't expected this. He'd been wrong. Lily snatched her phone back, her tone cold and final. "Since you know the truth now, get out of my room." Her voice sharpened. "Out. Just seeing you and Elsa disgusts me. Do me a favor and stay the hell out of my life." Simon didn't move. His gaze lingered on her face, something strange flickering in his expression.Her forehead was bleeding again. Crimson streaks ran through her lashes and across her temple, stark against her pale skin. She didn't look ugly. She looked fragile—like cracked porcelain. There was blood on her lips too. And just now… those lips had brushed his cheek, soft as silk. Simon froze, heat rushing through him before he could stop it. Horrified by his own thoughts, he jerked back a step. He had misunderstood her, yes—but that didn't change the past. Lizzy was pure. If she'd snapped like this, it must've been because Lily had pushed her too far. "Lily, you didn't hurt her, so I won't punish you today." His tone was icy again, distant. "But if you ever dare to hurt her again, I'll make you regret it. Consider that your only warning." He turned on his heel and strode out, slamming the door hard behind him. The sound echoed through the room, scattering the bloodstained scraps of silk still clinging to the floor."Freak," Lily muttered, glaring at the closed door. Even after seeing the truth, he still took Elsa's side. She hated him for it—hated the hypocrisy, the arrogance, the blindness. Without sparing another thought for the wreckage around her, she gathered the torn dress and sent the video to John on WhatsApp. She wasn't trying to win him back. She just couldn't stomach seeing justice twisted into lies any longer. … At the hospital, Elsa's wound had been cleaned and bandaged. The moment she was wheeled into her private room, John's mind drifted elsewhere— to Lily's bleeding forehead. He reached for his phone, ready to tell Wayne to take her to the hospital, when a new message popped up. From Lily. He opened it—and froze.It was the video. Elsa, tearing apart the wedding dress. Elsa, stabbing herself. He stared at the screen, his heart pounding, his throat tightening with every frame. Back at the hotel, he'd refused to believe Lily. Called her vicious. Disgusting. Pushed her to the ground. And now— now he saw the truth. Guilt hit him like a blade twisting between his ribs. He could still see the look in her eyes when he'd carried Elsa away—hurt, cold, bitterly disappointed. He couldn't sit still. John shot to his feet, snatched up his keys— "John!" Elsa's trembling voice stopped him. She reached out, pale fingers catching his wrist. Her eyes shimmered with tears. "You're going to her, aren't you? My hand… it hurts so much. Don't leave me, please." John turned to her slowly. For the first time, there was no warmth in his gaze—only exhaustion. "Lily recorded everything," he said quietly. "She didn't hurt you, Elsa. I saw it. You destroyed the dress. You stabbed yourself. Why?" His voice cracked, disbelief and anger colliding. "Why would you ruin something she made with her own hands? Why would you frame her like that?" Elsa's face went chalk-white. She hadn't expected Lily to record her. Lily, you witch! She'd spent so long faking being sick—popping meds just to cough up blood—just to get him to feel sorry for her. There was no way she was gonna let him go back to Lily now. Panic flickered through her chest—but she forced herself to stay composed. No tears would save her now unless she used them right. She bit her lip, tears welling up again, trembling like a fragile rose in winter."Yes," she whispered, voice breaking. "Yes, I framed her. I did something horrible—something I swore I'd never do. But I did it because I love you, John. Because I can't share you—not when my time is running out." Her lashes fluttered, tears falling like pearls. "John, you must think I'm disgusting now. You probably hate me. But if you really don't want to see me again…" She smiled faintly, heartbreakingly. "I'll disappear. Right now." As the words left her lips, a thin line of blood slipped from the corner of her mouth—slow, deliberate, pitiful.