Late at night.

In a dim alley, a frail figure curled up on the ground, getting beaten by a bunch of thugs. She tried to fight back, throat hoarse, but the second she moved, someone stomped her down hard.

One of them pressed his foot on her shoulder and kicked her viciously, forcing her face into the light—

One side still held stunning beauty, the other was a nightmare—severely burned and twisted.

“Damn! What the hell?! Flip her over, don’t let that freak face show—makes me wanna puke!”

“You sure she’s the one Dorian White married? The Ninth Master of the White family? The guy’s got everything, and he picked… this?”

“Who knows? Rich folks are weird. Anyway, quit yapping, finish her already so we can get paid!”

They moved to strike again.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed at the mouth of the alley.

A glamorous couple walked in, arms linked, looking way too polished for a place like this.

“Mr. White, Miss Yates! No need for you to come all the way—we got this handled. She won’t make it out alive tonight, promise!”

The thugs tried to flatter them.

Summer Yates struggled to lift her head, flames of hatred burning in her eyes.

“It’s… you?!”

Ivy Yates. Alexander White.

One was her stepsister—someone she once trusted blindly. The other, a man she used to love with all she had. Now, they were standing there, watching her get slaughtered like it was part of the plan.

“Why…?”

“Why?” Alexander stared her down coldly. “Dorian’s dead. You were just a pawn. Useless now.”

Ivy sneered. “Summer, since you’re dying anyway, might as well tell you the truth. We only kept you around to get to Dorian’s fortune. Now that he’s gone and the money’s in our hands, guess what? You’re no longer needed.”

Dorian White—Ninth Master of the powerful White family, the wealthiest man in the empire.

And yet, somehow, he’d been totally hung up on Summer Yates.

Ivy’s eyes glinted with undisguised jealousy.

But in Summer’s mind, everything shattered with one sentence.

“Dorian… died?”

She asked, barely above a whisper.

“Three days ago. Car crash. He died saving you. No one told you yet?” Ivy chuckled cruelly, waving her hand.

The blows rained down heavier than ever.

Summer’s vision blurred, her face pale as a sheet.

Dorian…

I’m sorry.

Tears streamed down, silent and hopeless. In the fog of pain, she thought she saw his image—cold eyes, strong presence—appearing, looking straight at her.

That was Dorian White—the Ninth Master, ruler of the oldest and most mysterious clan in the empire. Ruthless, untouchable… Her husband, in name only.

And he died because of her.

If only time could rewind, if only she hadn’t fallen for those two snakes, if only she hadn’t hurt Dorian…

—

A black car pulled to a sudden stop at a fork in the road. In the backseat, the girl jerked awake.

“Miss Yates, time to get out. Mr. White’s waiting just over there!”

Mr. Clarendon’s voice cut through the haze, snapping Summer out of her daze.

This place…

She instinctively touched her face—smooth, unscarred. Her eyes widened, taking in everything with disbelief.

Mr. Clarendon urged, “Miss Yates—”

“Keep driving!”

He blinked, stunned. “But the Ninth Master’s on his deathbed—why jump into that mess?”

“I said keep going. Take me to Imperial Court.”

Her voice was scratchy but firm, with a tremble she couldn’t hide.

No one knew how hard her heart was pounding right now.She suddenly remembered what day it was—this was the day Dorian White had just moved from the capital to Yangcheng for a year's recovery, and the very same day she moved into the Imperial Garden to marry him, as arranged by the agreement between her mother and the White family.

Just the thought of that man made her eyes sting.

Who would've thought that the one she always avoided, stayed away from, even betrayed, turned out to be the only person who truly cared about her?

She'd been scared of him, ran from him, and in the end, sold him out—dragging the high and mighty Ninth Master down into ruin. Yet it was him, who in the end, gave up his life to protect her...

Summer Yates fought back the tears threatening to spill.

In her past life, it was on this exact day that she got talked into running off with Alexander White by her stepsister Ivy.

Looking through the rearview mirror, her reddened eyes met Mr. Clarendon’s.

She knew he was one of Ivy’s people.

Startled, Mr. Clarendon stammered, “A-Alright, I got it!”

Her phone buzzed—Summer picked it up.

[Ivy: Summer, don’t worry about a thing. Just leave with Young Master White. I’ll handle the mess.]

Her eyes turned cold as she powered off the phone without hesitation.

The closer they got to the Imperial Garden, the more unsettled she felt.

Twenty minutes later, the car pulled up outside the mansion.

Upstairs.

A tall man sat quietly in a wheelchair, his deep, dark eyes fixed on the car that just came to a stop.

“Ninth Master, Miss Yates is here,” said Orlando Forrest beside him.

Dorian’s gaze lowered. “How many does that make this month?”

Orlando hesitated: “...The fourth.”

The fourth wife this month, ever since their Ninth Master came to Yangcheng and publicly announced his selection for marriage.

The first one lasted a week—dead.

The second made it two days—cracked.

The third didn’t even make it past the gate—screaming she'd rather jump than marry him.

The old madam had been pulling her hair out, so she dug up an old verbal engagement with the Yates family.

But hadn’t the Ninth Master already told the Yates patriarch to forget the engagement? How did this Yates girl still show up?

Knowing his master's reputation, most girls ran off as soon as they had the chance. Who’d willingly walk into hell?

“Let’s go. I’ll have a look myself,” Dorian said, his voice low and cool.

Downstairs.

Summer sat tense on the couch, her suitcase by her side, waiting nervously.

The private elevator chimed as it opened, making her heart leap. She instinctively turned to look.

Dorian White was wheeled out—he'd injured his legs in an accident lately and couldn’t walk.

He was tall and sharply handsome, but his pale face carried a sickly air, his whole presence dark and commanding.

Summer couldn't help but stand up too quickly, her eyes instantly wet. A wave of guilt nearly knocked the wind out of her.

Dorian’s brow tugged slightly, and in an instant, whatever interest he'd had vanished.

“Someone send Miss Yates back.”

Just another one forced to marry him. Dorian White didn’t need to stoop for women.

“Wait!” Summer panicked and rushed forward.

The man glanced over, his gaze unreadable. “What is it?”

He might not be able to stand, but the pressure he gave off was enough to make anyone breathless.

“I-I’ve already married you. I’m not leaving. I want to stay.”

Her voice was steady—no trace of hesitation.

She owed this man more than she could ever repay. If life had given her another shot, she wasn’t about to waste it. Leave? Not a chance.

The truth she learned before dying still hurt like hell.

The room went silent.

“Stay?” For a second, Dorian thought he misheard.

Women always acted like he was the plague. This was the first one saying she wanted to stay.

The spark in her pretty, clear eyes wasn’t fear—just nerves and… guilt?

He hated to admit it, but something about her words quietly tugged at his heart.

After a long, heavy pause, he finally said—