Chapter 5

Stella's POV

Just as my bare feet touched the cold ground, ready to leave, the door swung open again. I looked up and saw Elena Miller strolling inside.

Elena had changed into a tweed Chanel skirt suit and high heels. Her makeup was flawless, with no trace of the weak, fragile patient who supposedly needed a transfusion for "anemia."

Clutched in her hands was an old, dark red velvet box with frayed, faded corners.

My pupils shrank violently.

That was the heirloom box my father had left behind. I had kept it hidden carefully in the bottom-most drawer of my bedroom at the mansion.

"What are you doing with my things?" My voice was cracked and hoarse. I lurched forward, lunging to snatch the box back.

Elena took an effortless step back, gracefully dodging my reach.

"Don't get so worked up, Stella," Elena smirked with open mockery, her manicured fingers stroking the faded velvet.

"I just stopped by the villa to grab you some fresh clothes, and I accidentally saw this box lying on the floor. I figured I'd bring it along for you. Who would have thought that behind those cheap rags you wear, you were hiding a treasure like this?"

"Give it back," I hissed, glaring at the box, my breathing turning ragged.

Inside that box was no expensive jewelry; it held a miniature wooden violin carved by my father before he passed away. My father had been a poor carpenter. That tiny wooden violin, barely the size of a palm, was carved out of scrap wood over several sleepless nights.

It was the only piece of my father I had left in this world.

Ignoring my warning, Elena popped the metal latch right in front of my face.

The miniature violin, glowing with the dull sheen of aged wood, lay quietly on the satin lining.

Elena extended her perfectly polished nails, plucked the wooden violin from the velvet, and held it up to the light, inspecting it like garbage.

"And here I thought it was some priceless antique. It's literally just a scrap piece of wood," Elena sneered, tossing it lightly in the air once or twice. "Is this kind of trash really worth hiding away like a crown jewel?"

"I said, give it back!" Panicking, my body swayed from the sudden blood loss, but I threw myself forward with every ounce of strength I had left.

Right as my fingertips were about to brush the wood—

Elena met my eyes, a venomous curve tugging at her crimson lips. Then, she casually loosened her grip.

"Oops. Slipped."

*Crack!*

The wood smashed against the hard hospital tile, letting out a dull, brittle snap.

The neck broke completely in two. Several fine wire strings snapped with a ping, splinters spraying across the floor. The little violin that carried every drop of warmth from my childhood was shattered into pieces.

I froze on the spot.

I stared blankly at the snapped neck on the floor. A deafening ringing filled my ears, and a taut, fragile string in my brain snapped entirely.

"You did that on purpose..." I lifted my head, my once-clear eyes instantly laced with terrifying crimson veins. I shoved both hands forward, slamming them violently into Elena's shoulders. "Who gave you the right to break my father's things?!"

The shove carried all the furious adrenaline my dying body could muster.

Elena leaned right into the momentum, letting herself crash heavily onto the floor. Almost the second she hit the tiles, she unleashed a piercing, bloodcurdling shriek, tears bursting forth like an open faucet.

"Ah! It hurts! Stella, why did you push me?!"

Heavy, frantic footsteps echoed down the hallway outside.

The door was kicked open with tremendous force, and Nicholas burst into the room.

The first thing he saw was Elena curled on the ground, clutching her wrist and weeping pitifully. Then, his freezing gaze swept straight toward me.

"Nicholas... I only wanted to return her box. She didn't want my kindness, which is fine, but then she shoved me..." Elena whimpered on the floor, trembling all over, playing the helpless victim to perfection.

Nicholas’s face instantly darkened to a terrifying pitch.

He closed the distance in two strides. Without asking a single question, without a shred of patience to hear my side, his hand shot out and clamped down on my arm like an iron vice.

The grip was monstrously strong; I could literally hear the fragile bones in my forearm groaning under the pressure. Agony shot straight up my arm, radiating through my entire body.

"Apologize." Nicholas towered over me, his voice as sharp and cold as an ice pick.

The pain drained what little color remained on my face, cold sweat beading on my forehead. I didn't struggle. I just fixed my bloodshot eyes onto Nicholas, my voice shaking with raw fury and despair: "She smashed my father's heirloom!"

"I didn't mean to..." Elena sobbed from behind him. "She fumbled it when she grabbed for it, Nicholas, I swear it was an accident!"

Nicholas glanced at the broken wood on the floor. His brow didn't even twitch.

I knew that in his eyes, it was nothing more than a piece of cheap, worthless wood. And here I was, daring to lay hands on a delicate woman who had just suffered from "anemia" on my account, all over a piece of trash.

"I won't say it again." Nicholas tightened his grip even further, as if intending to grind my bones to dust. "Apologize. Don't make me lose my temper."

I stared up at the man before me.

This was the man I had loved and looked up to for four years. He didn't care about the truth. The moment Elena shed a single tear, I deserved to be trampled underfoot, ground into the dirt right alongside my father's final memory.

Pushed past the threshold of pain, a bizarre laugh slipped from my lips.

It was a pale, hollow laugh, carrying the absolute, chilling finality of a heart that had completely died.

"How do you want me to apologize?" I asked softly.

Watching the faint smile on my lips, Nicholas’s voice turned even more merciless: "On your knees. Apologize."

The hospital room dropped into a tomb-like silence.

Elena’s sobbing hitched for a split second, a flash of sadistic glee sparking in the depths of her eyes.

I didn't say another word.

I looked into Nicholas's cold, emotionless eyes, and slowly, inch by inch, I bent my knees.

*Thud.*

My knees slammed hard against the freezing, unforgiving floor tiles, landing directly beside the shattered wooden violin.

No fighting. No crying. I was as meek and compliant as a marionette whose strings had been cleanly cut.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Miller," I said, keeping my head bowed, my voice entirely flat without a single tremor.

Silent tears slipped from my eyes, dripping one by one onto the floor, splashing across the fractured neck of the wooden violin, soaking the pale wood into a dark, bruised hue.