My Obsession, His Apathy I stood outside Julian Blackwood’s bedroom door, my fingertips digging into my palms. Suppressed moans and the crisp shatter of glass filtered from inside. Pushing open the door, I saw Julian half-reclining on the bed in the dim light. His tie was loose, his shirt unbuttoned to his chest, revealing reddened skin. Sweat plastered his fringe to his forehead, his breathing was heavy, and a thick, primal desire swirled in his eyes. But the moment he looked up and saw me, those eyes instantly turned cold. “Get out.” His voice was hoarse, yet it carried an undeniable authority. I didn’t move. My voice was barely a whisper: “Uncle Julian, you’ve been drugged. I can help you…” Before I could finish, Julian seized my wrist, his grip so fierce it felt like my bones would shatter. The desire in his eyes had been replaced by fury, his voice as cold as ice: “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” I looked up at him, my eyes red-rimmed: “I do.” “I failed to raise you properly all these years.” He released me, his tone laced with bone-deep disappointment. “You’ve gone astray, developed these disgusting fantasies.” Disgusting. The word was a knife, plunging savagely into my heart. My face went pale, as if I’d been slapped hard, my cheeks burning, yet I stubbornly refused to leave. But the next second, Julian, right in front of me, picked up a photo of Scarlett Vance. She was his first love, a stunning, graceful woman who was a globally renowned pop sensation. Julian’s gaze lingered on the photo, the coldness in his eyes gradually replaced by another emotion. His thumb gently stroked Scarlett’s face, his breathing growing heavier. I froze, watching as his other hand unbuckled his belt. The movement was practiced and controlled, as if he’d done it countless times. My heart clenched painfully. He’d rather find solace with a photo of Scarlett than touch me. Julian closed his eyes, then suddenly picked up his phone and dialed. “Scarlett, come over.” His voice was deep and tender, a tone I’d never heard him use before. He hung up, and when he looked at me again, the warmth on his face vanished instantly: “Mr. Henderson, take Miss Evans to The Vault.” I gasped, my pupils constricting: “Uncle Julian… no!” I hated the dark, I hated enclosed spaces, especially that room. My parents’ urns were kept there. But Julian was unmoved. Mr. Henderson silently gripped my wrist, dragging me towards the door at the end of the hallway. I struggled, looking back, but only saw Julian’s cold, unyielding back. “Bang!” The moment the door slammed shut, darkness swallowed everything. I curled up in the corner, trembling uncontrollably. My parents’ urns sat in the center, chilling me to the bone. Just beyond the wall, in the bedroom, violent sounds erupted. 2. The creaking of the bed, a woman’s soft moans, a man’s low gasps. Scarlett had arrived. I clamped my hands over my ears, but the sounds seeped in everywhere. I bit down hard on my lip, tears streaming silently down my face. I remembered ten years ago, when my parents died in a car crash. Everyone had pointed fingers, calling me a jinx, but Julian had taken me in, spoiling me into the city’s most celebrated little princess. Julian had been an orphan brought back by Old Master Blackwood on a whim, enduring endless cold shoulders in the Blackwood family. They were polite on the surface but called him an illegitimate child behind his back; even the servants dared to boss him around. As an adult, he’d left the Blackwood family without hesitation. He started Blackwood Enterprises from scratch, carving his own empire in the business world with the most ruthless tactics. Those who once looked down on him now needed to book an appointment months in advance just to see him. No one expected him to adopt me. When my parents died and all my relatives were busy trying to exploit me, it was he who brought this helpless little girl home. He bought me the most expensive art supplies, hired the best teachers for my painting. When I was writhing in pain from my period, he flew back overnight from abroad, personally preparing me soothing tea. When I received my first love letter, he coldly forced the boy to transfer schools, and from then on, no one dared to approach me. His control over me bordered on the pathological, yet on some nights, he would wipe away the cream from my lips with his thumb, his gaze dark and unreadable. I thought it was love. A young girl’s heart was irrevocably caught. I had been infatuated with him for ten years, confessing my feelings 999 times. Each time, Julian pushed me away harshly, punishing my foolish infatuation. Until Scarlett Vance, his first love, a pop sensation, returned to the country. Julian began to stay out frequently. When he occasionally came home, he always carried the scent of rose perfume. He stopped caring about my art exhibitions, stopped asking about my life, and even… deliberately let me hear his intimate moments with Scarlett. The first time, I fainted outright. The second time, I hid outside the door, crying until I couldn’t breathe. The third time, I stood numbly in the hallway, listening to the sounds from inside, my heart turned to ash. And now, I was locked in here, listening to the man I loved being intimate with another woman. I bit my hands until they bled, but it was barely a fraction of the agony in my heart. Night passed, and dawn broke. The door to The Vault was pushed open, and blinding light streamed in. I knelt in the corner, my face streaked with tears, my hands clamped over my ears. Julian carried Scarlett past me. Scarlett’s body was covered in bruises, and she had passed out. He didn’t spare me a single glance, walking straight to the bathroom to personally clean her. I swayed to my feet and returned to my room. From a drawer, I pulled out a diagnosis report. Stage IV stomach cancer, one month at most. I stared at the paper and suddenly smiled. “Uncle Julian, as you wished.” “I won’t cling to you anymore. Soon, I’ll leave, disappearing forever.” 3. My packing was slow. I carefully placed each art supply into the box, my fingertips tracing the paints and brushes, every single one personally chosen by Julian. Now, they would never be used again. I planned to spend my final days quietly abroad. In my next life, I never wanted to be tangled with Julian Blackwood again. I expected to cry, but my eyes were dry and aching; not a single tear would fall. My phone rang just then. “Uncle Julian” flashed on the screen, my fingers trembled slightly, but I finally pressed the answer button. “Seven tonight, The Grandview Hotel.” Julian’s voice came through the receiver, cold and devoid of warmth. “Scarlett and I are having our engagement party. You must be there.” I remained silent, my nails digging deep into my palms. Blood oozed from between my fingers, but I felt no pain. “Mia, obey.” His tone was an unyielding command. “…Okay.” I whispered my assent, then hung up. I knew I had to give up completely. The ballroom of The Grandview Hotel glittered with lights, guests smiling, chatting, and toasting one another. I stood in a corner, watching Julian, with Scarlett on his arm, walk step by step towards the central platform. Scarlett wore a vibrant red gown, radiant and beautiful, her smile so bright it seemed to illuminate the entire night. Julian was in a black suit, his expression stern. Yet, when his eyes met Scarlett’s, they softened, a rare sight. “They look so perfect together…” “Scarlett Vance waited for Julian Blackwood for so many years, and she’s finally getting her happy ending.” “I heard Julian didn’t marry all these years just to wait for her to come back.” The whispers around me drilled into my ears, every word like a blunt knife, slowly carving away at my heart. Yes, Scarlett’s love was grand and known to all. And mine? My love had to be hidden deep within, even speaking it aloud was a sin. “Mia, why are you alone over here?” A syrupy sweet voice sounded, and I looked up to see Scarlett approaching me with a glass of champagne. A victor’s smile played on her lips. “Congratulations.” I said softly, my voice so calm it felt unfamiliar even to myself. Scarlett extended the champagne to me: “Have a drink, to wish Julian and me well.” I shook my head: “I’m allergic to alcohol.” Scarlett’s smile faltered, but she wouldn’t let it go: “Just one glass, it won’t do anything. If you don’t drink it, you’d be disrespecting your future sister-in-law.” I pursed my lips, my gaze involuntarily drifting towards Julian not far away. He was surrounded by a group of guests, and he seemed to have noticed the commotion here. But he only cast a cold glance, then looked away. “Obey.” His lips formed the word silently. My heart sank heavily. He knew. He knew I was allergic to alcohol, that even a drop would quickly bring out a rash, make my breathing rapid, and could even lead to shock. But right now, he only cared about Scarlett’s mood. I smiled silently and reached for the glass. But just as my fingers touched the rim, Scarlett suddenly cried out, “Oh dear!” and stumbled backward. The massive champagne tower crashed down. Glass shattered on the floor, fragments scattering, champagne drenching me. My body was cut by the shards, blood trickling down my calves, while Scarlett merely scraped her finger. “Scarlett!” Julian noticed the commotion and rushed to Scarlett without hesitation, catching her in his arms. “How could you be so careless?” He murmured, comforting Scarlett with a tenderness I’d never heard from him. So that’s how Julian acted when he loved someone. He had always been cold towards me, never even willing to smile. A cold breeze swept through, the champagne-soaked dress clinging to my body. Many gazes, both overt and covert, were now fixed on me. Contemptuous, mocking, malicious stares poured over me. Only Julian’s was missing. He looked only at Scarlett with tender concern. The wound on my leg burned, but it was barely a fraction of the agony in my heart. I stood there, mortified, my whole body trembling slightly. Scarlett looked at Julian with feigned vulnerability, “Julian, my hand hurts so much…” Julian looked up, his gaze falling on me, his voice sharp and cold: “When did I ever teach you such vile tactics?” His expression was grim, he looked at me like a stranger: “Don’t think I didn’t see it, you pushed Scarlett just now. Drink this entire champagne tower as an atonement to Scarlett.” My pupils constricted slightly, my fingertips trembling. An entire champagne tower, dozens of glasses. If I drank it all, I probably wouldn’t survive. “Julian Blackwood, are you insane?!” My best friend, Chloe Adams, rushed over, shielding me. “She’s allergic to alcohol, it could kill her!” Julian scoffed: “I am her guardian; it’s only right for me to discipline her. Did the Adams family not teach you manners?” Chloe seemed to have her throat clutched, unable to make another sound. Julian Blackwood was untouchable in North City, his influence absolute. No one dared cross him. I pushed Chloe away, shaking my head slightly. I walked to the champagne tower, picked up the first glass, and tilted my head back, downing it in one gulp. My throat felt like it was on fire, my stomach churning. But I was expressionless, and picked up the second glass. One glass, two glasses, three glasses… My skin began to flush red, my breathing became rapid, and my vision blurred. But I didn’t stop, not until I had emptied the entire champagne tower. As I finished the last glass, my vision was already blurry, my legs gave out, and I collapsed. Before completely losing consciousness, I heard Julian Blackwood’s icy voice: “I’m so disappointed in you, Amelia Evans.” “It seems The Vault didn’t make you give up that disgusting idea.” But I no longer had the strength to argue. Darkness swallowed my consciousness, leaving only a cacophony of voices and a fading heartbeat in my ears. 4. When I woke, my head throbbed. I struggled to open my eyes, and as my vision gradually cleared, I realized I was lying in a familiar room. Julian was sitting by my bed, propping his head with one hand, eyes closed, seemingly asleep. There were obvious dark circles under his eyes, and his shirt was wrinkled, clearly indicating he hadn’t slept all night. My heart gave a sudden tremor, and a warmth surged through me. I remembered times past, when I was sick, Julian would sit by my bed just like this, never leaving my side. Memories flooded back. When I was ten, I had a high fever that wouldn’t break. Julian flew back overnight from abroad, personally feeding me medicine and coaxing me to sleep. His palm was warm and dry, gently patting my back, his voice deep and tender: “Mia, be a good girl. You’ll feel better after the medicine.” When I was fifteen, I broke my leg at school. Julian dropped all his work, picking me up and dropping me off every day, carrying me down long hallways. His back was broad and strong, and as I lay on it, listening to his heartbeat, I felt incredibly safe. These memories made my eyes well up. It was these warm memories that had me trapped, tightening the ropes, suffocating me to the point where I couldn’t imagine a world without him. A slight vibration interrupted my thoughts. Julian’s phone lay on the bedside table, its screen lit up, SnapChat messages popping up one after another. His phone was never locked, and my gaze involuntarily fell on the screen. It was Scarlett’s messages. “Julian, when are you coming back? I miss you.” “I can’t sleep without you.” “Oh, by the way, did you check on her today? How is she?” “Don’t punish her, she’s just a little girl being jealous, my hand hurts but it’s really nothing.” Her tone was self-righteously forgiving, she was unilaterally forgiving me. But she was the one who knocked over the champagne glasses. Julian had replied to every single one of her messages. Julian, who was always so busy in front of me, too busy to ever have time, could reply to Scarlett’s every message. My fingers curled slightly, my chest felt like something had sharply stabbed it. I continued to scroll down, and the last message made my blood run cold. Julian had written: “Today she dared to push you; who knows what trouble she’ll cause later. I can’t afford to be embarrassed by her.” “I’ve already decided to send her to The Horizon Academy for a few days.” Scarlett asked again: “Are you sure you want to?” This academy, disguised as a “reform school for troubled youth,” was actually a notorious facility where the elite sent their inconvenient children. Once admitted, all contact with the outside world was cut off until they were “reformed.” “If I can’t control her twisted thoughts, it’s better to let professionals handle it.” Julian’s reply was brief and cold: “I only took on this burden for the shares anyway. Just like keeping a pet cat or dog.” Scarlett offered a few half-hearted words of persuasion, and seeing that Julian was serious about sending me to the academy, she ended the conversation, satisfied. My breathing stopped. I felt as if I’d plunged into an ice cave. All the warm illusions of these years shattered in that instant, like a glass tower crashing down. They pierced me, leaving me bleeding and heartbroken. So that was it. All his kindness over the years was merely a calculation for my parents’ inheritance. He watched me grow up, only to suddenly withdraw all his tenderness. Hot and cold, always condescending. All of it because, in his eyes, I was merely a dispensable pet. 5. Tears streamed silently, my stomach churned, as if a fire was burning inside. I dug my nails into my palms, blood oozing from between my fingers, but I felt no pain. “Seen enough?” A cold voice suddenly cut through the air. Julian had woken up at some point and was staring at me with cold eyes. There was no hint of panic or guilt in his gaze, only disgust and indifference. He reached out and retrieved his phone, his movements swift and decisive. My lips trembled, I wanted to say something, but no sound came out. Julian stood up, looking down at me, his voice devoid of warmth: “I’ve done more than enough for you. Your jealousy towards Scarlett is sickening.” I finally found my voice, my throat raw as I yelled: “I didn’t set Scarlett up! I never did!” Julian scoffed, saying nothing, but his eyes were filled with cold mockery. He didn’t believe me. He never believed me. Julian turned and left, the door slamming shut, making my eardrums ache. I was alone in the room again, tears flowing like a broken dam, unstoppable. I curled up on the bed, as if to ward off the icy despair in my soul. I don’t know how much time passed. I tremblingly picked up my phone, compulsively opening Scarlett Vance’s Ins account. I used to secretly look at it; it was filled with Scarlett and Julian’s daily romance, every photo, every caption exuding sweetness and showmanship. For Scarlett’s casual remark, “I want cake from the west side of town,” Julian drove across half the city in the middle of the night to buy it. To make Scarlett smile, Julian spent a fortune at an auction, commissioning a private fireworks display for her. The internet was filled with envious comments. “Mr. Blackwood spoils Ms. Vance rotten!” “I heard Ms. Vance studied abroad back then, and Mr. Blackwood didn’t marry for years, just waiting for her.” “So sweet!!” Today, however, the comment section wasn’t praising a fairytale romance, but filled with vicious curses. They were all asking: Amelia Evans, why doesn’t she just die? My fingers trembled so violently I almost dropped the phone. I didn’t know what had happened, so I clicked on the trending topics. A glaring headline immediately caught my eye: “Blackwood Heiress Accused of Jealousy and Setting Up Scarlett Vance, On-Site Video Exposed!” It was last night’s scene. The video was cleverly shot, the angle intentionally misleading. In the footage, the moment I reached out, Scarlett stumbled backward, and the champagne tower crashed down. Anyone watching would think I had pushed her. At the same time, Scarlett posted a victim-playing message on her Ins: “I never expected something like this to happen at my engagement party… my hand is hurt, it’s so painful. But I don’t blame her, she’s still young, it was just an impulsive act.” At the end of the text, she added: “I understand a young girl’s feelings, but such affection is ultimately wrong.” The post was accompanied by a photo of her bandaged finger and a love letter. It was my naive confession to Julian when I was eighteen. He actually showed that to Scarlett. I twitched my lips, feeling only immense irony and ridicule. Even more glaring was Julian Blackwood’s comment: “I’ll handle it.” Those brief words, four of them, instantly ignited the fury of netizens. The comment section exploded. “Holy hell! She actually has *those* kinds of thoughts about her own uncle?!” “That’s disgusting, this is incest, right?!” “No wonder her parents died young, she has no upbringing!” I scrolled through my phone, my fingertips trembling over the words “twisted obsession.” I clicked on the trending topics. The hashtag #AmeliaEvansJulianBlackwood was followed by a blazing red “trending” icon. The page was filled with black and white images of me, like mocking funeral portraits. My fingers trembled as I scrolled, every comment like a knife, cutting me deeply. I tried to explain, but as soon as I typed a few words, my account was reported and banned. My private messages were filled with curses and insults. 6. I put down my phone, my stomach churning, a metallic taste rising in my throat. I bit my lip hard, swallowing the blood. The hospital room door opened, and the doctor walked in, holding my test results, his brows furrowed: “Miss Evans, your condition has worsened. Stage IV stomach cancer is already fragile, and you drank so much alcohol…” He paused. “Moreover, your depression has worsened significantly, and you need to start chemotherapy immediately. Last time, why did you ask me to keep it from Mr. Blackwood? Your current situation…” I gave a desolate laugh: “No need.” “But your family—” “What’s the point in telling him now?” I interrupted the doctor, my voice as faint as a fallen leaf. “Anyway, I’m leaving soon.” The doctor looked like he wanted to say more but finally sighed: “Chemotherapy can prolong your life…” “I don’t like chemotherapy.” I shook my head, touching my straw-like hair. “It’s too ugly. Just let it be.” The doctor gave me a helpless glance, then turned and left, as if I were already a corpse. I stayed in the hospital for a few days; no one visited except my best friend, Chloe Adams. Julian’s phone was unreachable; I even suspected I’d been blocked. Until the fifth day, Chloe called, her voice urgent: “Mia, something terrible has happened!” “Your parents’ headstone… it’s been vandalized.” My breath caught in my throat. “Those people surrounded your parents’ grave, holding protest signs, taking photos, saying they wouldn’t leave until you publicly apologized to Scarlett Vance…” She tremblingly opened her SnapChat. The hashtag #MyParentsGravesite was blazing across the trending topics. In the video, my parents’ joint headstone was defaced with red paint, “Failed Parenting” scrawled across it, and offerings to the dead were kicked and scattered. The voice on the other end of the phone blurred, leaving only a sharp buzzing in my ears. My gaze fell on the bedside table, where a family photo sat—my parents hugging a young me, all smiles. And now, where they lay buried, they couldn’t even rest in peace. I mechanically hung up the phone, slowly got out of bed, and changed into my only clean clothes. 7. As I left the hospital, the sky was so overcast it felt like it was pressing down on me. I hailed a taxi and gave the address of the cemetery. Soon, I arrived at my destination. Media vans were parked outside the cemetery gates, and a crowd of people holding up their phones gathered there, as if waiting for something. I pulled my hat low and quietly slipped in through a side entrance. From a distance, I saw the crowd. They held banners that read “Amelia Evans Apologize,” and some shouted through megaphones, their voices piercingly loud in the silent cemetery. At my parents’ grave, red paint covered the words “Jinx,” and their photos were slashed beyond recognition. Offerings lay scattered, and the flowers were trampled to pulp. I stood frozen, my legs heavy as lead, unable to take another step. My stomach twisted in pain, and cold sweat drenched my back. The crowd spotted me and instantly swarmed forward. “Bitch! You finally dared to show your face?!” “Hurry up and apologize to Scarlett Vance!” “How could your parents raise a daughter like you? They deserved to die early!” Amidst the harsh shouts, someone shoved me. I staggered backward, hitting the cold headstone, and blood immediately streamed from my forehead. I looked up at the defaced photos of my parents, and my tears finally broke free, a torrent. “Apologize!” The crowd shouted in unison, phone cameras aimed at my pale face. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My gaze swept over the crowd, landing on a distant tree. Julian Blackwood stood there, watching coldly. My last sliver of hope completely shattered. In that moment, I suddenly laughed. I laughed until my whole body trembled, until tears streamed down my face, laughed so hard that the crowd exchanged glances, calling me “crazy.” Under everyone’s watchful eyes, I slowly knelt down. “I’m sorry…” My voice was barely audible. The crowd fell silent for a moment. I lowered my head, my fingers digging into the ground, blood seeping from under my nails. “When I was ten, my parents died in a car accident…” My voice trembled. “Before they left, they held me tight and told me not to be scared…” My tears splattered on the ground. “Mom would knit sweaters for me, Dad would secretly buy me candy… They never thought I was a jinx.” My throat tightened, as if something was blocking it. “They loved me so much… truly loved me…” Someone scoffed: “What are you doing, playing the victim? Do you think that’ll make up for what you did to Scarlett?” I didn’t look up, just continued: “If you hate me, come at me… please, don’t disturb my parents anymore… they didn’t do anything wrong…” My voice grew weaker, as if it could break off at any moment. “I’m sorry…” I suddenly raised my voice, tears mixing with blood as they flowed down. “I’m sorry!” I cried out again, my voice hoarse beyond recognition. A few scattered voices still jeered: “What a pathetic act!” “Do you think this will clear your name?” My vision began to blur, and my stomach burned. “I’m sorry…” I cried out once more, my voice utterly broken. Suddenly, I retched, a large mouthful of blood spewing out. The blood splattered on the ground, a shocking red. My body swayed, my vision spun, and I collapsed heavily. My whole body ached. In my ears, there were chaotic shouts of alarm, someone yelling “Call an ambulance,” and others scoffing, “She’s such a good actress.” My consciousness gradually faded, and before I completely sank into darkness, I seemed to see Julian Blackwood pushing through the crowd and rushing towards me. His face was filled with a panic I’d never seen before, his brows furrowed, his lips trembling as he called my name. I thought, this must be a hallucination. How could my Uncle Julian show such an expression for me? Darkness consumed me. 8. When I woke, everything was stark white. I moved my fingers with difficulty and found a needle in the back of my hand, blue-green bruising visible under the skin. The hospital room door suddenly opened, and Julian Blackwood strode in. His face was grim, and he held a piece of paper, his knuckles white from his grip. My gaze fell on the paper, and my pupils constricted sharply. It was my stomach cancer diagnosis. “What is this?” Julian’s voice was ice-cold, as he flung the paper onto the bed. The sheet fluttered lightly onto the covers, and my heart sank. I had never imagined he would find out. I had planned to leave quietly, without alarming anyone. I forced down my panic, looked up, and spoke calmly: “It’s exactly what you see.” A faint flicker of hope sparked in my heart. Perhaps he would feel sad for me for just a second? Even a momentary flicker of emotion would be enough to bring me some comfort in my final moments. However, Julian scoffed, then suddenly raised his hand and slapped me hard. “Slap!” The sharp sound echoed in the room. My face snapped to one side, a fiery pain instantly spreading across it. I froze, my ears ringing. “Still lying to me.” Julian’s voice was filled with disgust. “You’re perfectly fine. If Scarlett hadn’t specifically brought in an expert to examine you, I would have really fallen for your trick.” I felt like I’d plunged into an ice cellar, my face deathly pale. I slowly turned my head, my eyes filled with disbelief as I looked at Julian. In his eyes, I was such a liar, someone who would even use cancer to play the victim? My heart grew completely cold, and tears streamed silently down my face. A sudden metallic taste filled my throat, and I coughed violently. A mouthful of fresh blood gushed out, staining the pristine white bedspread. Julian’s pupils constricted sharply, his gaze fixed on the blood I had coughed up. Before him, I was skeletal, my face gray and withered, as if a gust of wind could scatter me. A flicker of hesitation crossed his mind, but it was quickly suppressed by reason. He thought of Scarlett. She was kind and gentle; she had donated a kidney for his illness all those years ago, waited for him for so long, and now she was being framed. He couldn’t soften because of my pathetic act. “Because of what you did at the cemetery, Scarlett’s reputation is now very poor, caught in a media storm.” Julian said coldly. “She was so depressed she wanted to commit suicide. If I hadn’t found her in time, you would have to atone for her your entire life!” My heart felt like it was being sliced by a knife. When I was being cyber-bullied, did Julian worry for me even for a second? Now that Scarlett suffered a minor grievance, he was rushing to accuse me. “I told you, I didn’t do it.” My voice was hoarse, filled with shattered despair. “You don’t believe me. Do you want me to kneel again?” Julian’s anger ignited instantly. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so strong it felt like my bones would be crushed: “Unrepentant! Just because you like me, you would frame Scarlett like this. Julian Blackwood can’t afford to be embarrassed by you!” I suddenly laughed, a desolate and desperate laugh. I violently flung his hand away, yelling with all my might: “I don’t like you! I haven’t liked you for a long time!” Julian froze. My eyes held none of the usual infatuation, only cold detachment and shattered despair. In that instant, his heart felt as if something had pierced it, but it was quickly replaced by anger. “Good, very good.” He sneered, turning towards the door and shouting, “Guards!” Two bodyguards immediately pushed open the door. “Take her to The Horizon Academy.” Julian’s voice was unquestionable. “Release her when she admits her mistake.” My breath hitched, and my body trembled uncontrollably. The Horizon Academy, that place rumored to break people, body and soul. Once inside, all contact with the outside world was severed until one was “reformed” to their liking. The bodyguards stepped forward, grabbed my arms, and roughly dragged me off the hospital bed. The IV needle was ripped out, and blood immediately welled up on the back of my hand. I didn’t struggle; I just stared fixedly at Julian, my eyes terrifyingly vacant. “Julian Blackwood.” My voice was as faint as a fallen leaf. “If one day you know the truth, will you regret it?” Julian frowned, but didn’t answer. The bodyguards dragged me out, my figure so frail it seemed I could vanish at any moment. The hospital room door slowly closed. Julian stood there, a sudden, inexplicable irritation welling up in his heart. He glanced down at the blood-stained bedsheet, his brows furrowed. A moment later, he took out his phone and dialed Scarlett Vance, his voice instantly softening: “Scarlett, it’s handled… Don’t worry, I’m here.” On the other end of the line, Scarlett’s voice was tearful: “Julian, those people online are saying such terrible things… I can’t take it anymore…” “I’ll be right there.” He forced himself to look away and strode out of the room. In the hallway, medical staff hurried past with a medicine cart, no one noticing the grim-faced man. Julian walked to the elevator, pressed the button, but the image of me coughing blood kept replaying in his mind. The elevator doors slowly closed, swallowing his figure. 9. When I was dragged into The Horizon Academy, it was already dark. The iron gate slammed shut behind me, emitting a dull clang. My wrists were roughly held by bodyguards, and I was stumbled into a pitch-black room. “Get in.” A bodyguard coldly tossed the words, then slammed the door shut. Darkness swallowed everything. I curled up in the corner, trembling uncontrollably. I didn’t know what would happen next. Footsteps sounded outside the door, followed by a blinding flashlight beam directly onto my face. “Amelia Evans?” A middle-aged man’s voice echoed, his tone filled with condescending scrutiny. I struggled to look up and saw a cold, indifferent face. It was Director Thorne, the head of the academy. “I hear you have inappropriate feelings for your uncle?” He scoffed. “Not very old, but quite bold.” I didn’t answer, just bit down hard on my lip. Seeing my silence, Director Thorne sneered and turned to the person behind him: “Take her to the Rehabilitation Chamber.” Two burly men immediately stepped forward, grabbing my arms and dragging me out. The Rehabilitation Chamber was a cramped room, its walls lined with electroshock devices and restraints. I was forced into a chair, my hands and feet firmly bound by leather straps. “First rehabilitation session, just to make you recognize reality.” Director Thorne looked down at me. I was strapped into the electroshock chair, and currents repeatedly surged through my body, the intense pain almost making me lose consciousness. Again and again, until I completely passed out. The days that followed plunged me into hell. I was confined in a sunless room, given only a bowl of watery gruel each day. If I didn’t cooperate with the “rehabilitation,” even that meager food was withheld. Once, I was so hungry I couldn’t bear it, and I trembled as I crawled towards the door, only to be kicked over by a guard. “Want food?” The guard sneered. “Crawl over here and bark like a dog.” My stomach cramped, and my vision blurred. I bit my lip hard, but eventually, driven by hunger, I slowly crawled over. “Woof…” My voice was so weak it was barely audible. The guard laughed loudly and casually tossed a piece of moldy bread onto the floor. “Eat it.” I tremblingly reached for it, but just as my fingers were about to touch it, another foot stomped hard on my hand. “Beg me.” I trembled all over from the pain, tears hitting the ground, but I stubbornly refused to speak. The guard sneered, adding more pressure. My fingers were almost crushed, but I clenched my jaw, refusing to beg. Finally, the guard released his foot, bored, and walked away, cursing. I curled up on the ground, trembling as I picked up the dust-covered bread and slowly shoved it into my mouth. My stomach churned, but I didn’t dare to vomit. Because if I threw up, I would truly have nothing left. Two weeks passed, and I was gaunt, a shadow of my former self. My eyes were vacant; no matter how much they hit or cursed me, I was like a soulless shell, unresponsive. Director Thorne finally panicked. “What’s wrong with her?” he frowned, asking his subordinate. “Don’t know, she’s been like this for two days, not eating, not drinking.” Director Thorne impatiently waved his hand: “Find someone with medical knowledge to check her.” Soon, a man in a white coat walked in. After a brief examination, his face changed. “She already has stage IV stomach cancer. Now her body has completely collapsed. I estimate… she won’t last much longer.” Director Thorne paused, then sneered: “Julian Blackwood clearly doesn’t want her. He didn’t even come to pick her up for his wedding tomorrow. He probably won’t ever think of her again.” He pondered for a moment, then waved his hand: “Give her some medicine, just don’t let her die here.” The subordinate nodded: “What about after that?” Director Thorne glanced at my dying form and said blandly: “Once Ms. Vance is satisfied, we’ll ‘take care’ of her.” Their conversation clearly reached my ears. My pupils constricted slightly, but I didn’t even have the strength for fear. They would kill me. And I didn’t even have the strength to resist. Everyone left, and the room plunged into darkness again. I curled up in the corner, freezing cold. I could no longer cough up blood, my breathing so shallow it seemed it could stop at any moment. Would I die? I hugged my head, trembling incessantly, muttering to myself: “I was wrong… I was wrong…” I didn’t know what I was wrong about, but if I didn’t admit it, those people would hit me, they wouldn’t give me food. In a daze, I seemed to feel a warm hand gently caress my hair. My body trembled, thinking it was those people. I instinctively recoiled, incoherently repeating: “I was wrong… I’m sorry…” But the voice was silent for a long time, finally sighing softly and saying to me: “Mia.” “Let me take you away.” 10. On the eve of the wedding, Scarlett Vance’s social media was practically flooded. She posted over a dozen Ins updates, each meticulously curated with photos. From the delicate lace details of her wedding dress to the dazzling facets of her diamond ring, everything announced the upcoming wedding of the century to the world. “Tomorrow, I’ll be Mrs. Blackwood, thank you for all your blessings!” The post was accompanied by a side profile of her in her custom wedding gown, the shattered diamonds on the skirt shimmering in the light. The comments section was filled with envy: “This is a true high-society wedding!” “Mr. Blackwood’s devoted husband image holds strong!” “Scarlett Vance must have saved the galaxy in her last life!” Scarlett looked at the continuously rising popularity with satisfaction, then tapped her finger and posted another update: “Our wedding will be live-streamed tomorrow. Everyone is welcome to witness our happy moment~” Meanwhile, Julian Blackwood stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, expressionlessly looking at the constant stream of notifications on his phone. For the past two weeks, he had been distracted. Marrying Scarlett was something he had planned for years, yet now that the day was truly here, he felt an inexplicable emptiness. “Julian, do you think this wedding dress looks good?” Scarlett’s voice drifted from the walk-in closet, interrupting his thoughts. Julian looked up and saw Scarlett emerge in a magnificent wedding gown, the crystals on the skirt glittering blindingly in the light. “It’s beautiful.” He replied mechanically, his gaze involuntarily drifting outside the window. In a haze, he seemed to see eighteen-year-old me. That year, I had secretly tried on his white shirt, laughing like a child who had stolen candy. “Uncle Julian, do I look good in your clothes?” The girl’s voice was clear and sweet, with a hint of playful charm. “Julian? Are you listening to me?” Scarlett frowned, displeased, and waved her hand in front of his eyes. Julian snapped back to reality, suppressing the strange emotion in his heart: “Sorry, something came up at the office.” Scarlett pouted, then turned to look in the mirror, not noticing his suddenly dark expression. Julian walked onto the balcony and lit a cigarette. In the swirling smoke, he remembered when I was fifteen, how I had secretly tried his cigarette out of curiosity and choked, tears streaming down my face. He had been furious and swatted my hand. But later that night, he had quietly gone to my room to apply medicine. The young girl, with red-rimmed eyes, had said: “Uncle Julian, I was wrong.” What had he replied then? “Mr. Blackwood, Miss Adams is here again.” Mr. Henderson’s voice interrupted his memories. Julian frowned: “Tell her to leave.” “She said…” Mr. Henderson hesitated. “If she doesn’t see you today, she’ll cause a scene with the press.” Julian’s eyes instantly turned cold. In the reception room, Chloe Adams had red eyes, and rushed towards him as soon as she saw him: “Julian Blackwood, where did you take Mia?!” “That’s none of your business.” “How can you be so heartless? You raised her yourself, you—!” Chloe’s voice almost tore. “Don’t you know she…?” “Enough!” Julian cut her off sharply. “What kind of charade are you two planning now?” Chloe stared at him, then suddenly smiled: “You’ll regret this.” Julian looked at her coldly: “I never regret anything.” Chloe left, but not before throwing one last sentence back: “You’re just banking on her loving you.” “Have you ever considered what if one day, she completely disappears and never comes back?” Julian’s heart sank suddenly. For some reason, he remembered the several missed calls he had received from a funeral home these past few days. His time was precious, and he never answered such nuisance calls. No, that’s impossible. He forced himself to calm down. It had been two weeks; Mia must have reflected enough at the academy. Tomorrow was his wedding to Scarlett, it was time to bring me out. He wanted me to witness his marriage, to completely sever those inappropriate feelings. After that, he would give me the best life, compensate me well. Julian picked up his phone and dialed his subordinate: “Go to The Horizon Academy and bring Miss Evans out. Bring her to the wedding tomorrow.” After hanging up, his phone rang again. It was that funeral home number again. Julian’s finger hovered over the answer button, but he didn’t press it. “Julian! Come try on your suit!” Scarlett called from upstairs. He ultimately did not answer that call. The next day, the wedding venue was breathtakingly luxurious. The entire hotel was booked, from the entrance to the ceremony hall, overflowing with imported roses, their scent so dense it was almost suffocating. Media stood with long lenses and microphones on either side of the red carpet, flashbulbs popping incessantly. Scarlett, linked arm-in-arm with Julian, walked down the red carpet, her radiant smile and long train trailing behind her. Julian walked beside her, his expression impassive, his gaze occasionally sweeping towards the entrance. Why hadn’t Amelia Evans arrived yet? “And now, will the bride and groom please exchange rings.” The emcee’s voice brought his thoughts back. Julian mechanically picked up the ring, just about to place it on Scarlett’s finger, when his phone rang again. It was the funeral home. This time, as if by a strange impulse, he pressed the answer button. “Mr. Blackwood, Miss Evans…” He didn’t hear the rest, because the doors of the ceremony hall were suddenly flung open. Mr. Henderson stumbled in, his face streaked with tears, clutching a small box tightly in his arms. The butler, steady as a rock for decades, now looked like a helpless child, crying so hard he could barely stand. The entire hall erupted in murmurs, and live broadcast cameras swung to capture the unexpected interruption. “Sir…” Mr. Henderson choked, barely able to form a complete sentence. “Miss Mia… she…”
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