"Aah..."

Hazel bit down on her lip, a low moan escaping her throat as a searing heat burned from deep within her. The pain—sharp and relentless—snaked through her like venom, coiling in places she couldn’t name.

“No... please...” she whispered, her body slick with sweat, eyes squeezed shut as if that might make it stop.

The man above her gripped her waist tighter, his rough breaths rasping against her ear as he moved with primal force.

The night stretched endlessly.

---

Agonizing pain shot through Hazel as she tried to turn over. Her limbs felt bruised and battered, like she'd been run over by a truck. A sharp sting between her legs made her gasp in silence.

Just as she tried to open her eyes, a sharp slap landed on her cheek.

Smack!

"Hazel! You’ve gone too far!" shrieked a piercing voice.

Dazed, Hazel opened her eyes wide to find herself face-to-face with Clare.

Clare. Her half-sister.

Hazel pushed herself up on trembling arms. The silk sheets slipped from her shoulders, revealing a trail of red marks across her chest—evidence of what had happened the night before.

"What are you doing here, Clare?" she asked hoarsely.

Clare's face twisted with rage as she hurled a handful of photos at her. "You filthy whore! How dare you do something so disgusting?!"

The photos slapped against Hazel’s face and scattered across the sheets. She blinked hard, picked one up—and her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.

It was her.

Naked.

Underneath a man whose face was shadowed but unmistakably chiseled.

"No... No, this can't be..." Her breath caught as flashes of the night before rushed into her mind. She looked down, seeing the reddish bruises peppered across her chest.

That wasn’t a dream?

That man... could it really have been Theodore?

Clare’s fiancé?

Her stomach turned. The raw ache between her legs answered the question she was too afraid to ask aloud.

She tried to gather her thoughts, but panic clouded everything.

Last night, her friend Ivy had called her in tears, claiming she’d been dumped and needed a drinking buddy. Hazel rushed over to the bar without hesitation. Drinks were poured fast and strong, and after just a few glasses... everything blurred to black.

What happened after that?

She didn’t know. But now... she could guess.

Clare loomed over her, fury in her eyes—though behind it flickered a hint of triumph she quickly masked. A few crocodile tears welled up as she raised her hand again and struck Hazel once more.

"How could you do this to me, Hazel? Everyone knows Theodore is my fiancé! You slept with him! What do you want me to do now?!"

Hazel didn’t fight back. She just lowered her head and took the hits. After a long silence, she said bitterly, "I’m sorry. I... I have no excuse."

What could she say? The evidence was damning. And regardless of how it happened—drunk, drugged, or set up—it didn’t change the fact that she had crossed a line.

Clare saw the submission in her sister’s eyes and smirked inwardly.

Pathetic. This idiot didn’t even realize she was just a pawn in someone else’s game.

Clare had ruined her own body with reckless choices in her teenage years. She couldn’t have children anymore. And without heirs, how would she hold her place in the powerful Sinclair family?

That’s where Hazel came in—her perfect surrogate. Half-sister, same bloodline, and stupidly easy to manipulate.

Wiping away her fake tears, Clare lowered her voice to a honeyed tone. "Hazel... as horrible as this is, there’s one way to fix it. You know how important our family’s partnership with the Nangongs is, right? Mom would be devastated if that alliance fell through."

Hazel raised her head slowly, wary and confused.

"I won’t tell her what happened," Clare continued, smiling coldly. "But in return, I need you to do something for me."

Hazel stiffened. "What do you want?"

Clare leaned in, eyes gleaming. "I want you to have Theodore’s baby."

Hazel reeled. "What?! Are you insane?!"

What kind of twisted idea was that?

"You don’t want to?" Clare’s mask dropped completely. Her eyes turned sharp, vicious. "If you refuse, I’ll make sure these photos are all over the internet by sunset. I’m sure your college friends would love to see what kind of slut you really are."

"You...!" Hazel’s voice trembled with fury.

She had known Clare could be cruel, but this... this was something else entirely.

"You know me," Clare said, flipping through the photos with smug satisfaction. "Do you really think I won’t do it? These aren’t the only copies. If Dad finds out, he’ll throw you out. And Mom? She’ll follow. No one wants a disgrace in their house."

Hazel clenched her fists so hard her nails bit into her palms.

She was being backed into a corner—and Clare knew it.

Clare smirked. "I’m not asking, Hazel. You’re going to do it. Whether you like it or not."

With that, she turned on her heel and strutted out of the hotel room.

Hazel sat frozen on the edge of the bed, trembling with rage and shame. Her thoughts spiraled. She was only a sophomore in college. How could she possibly bear a child for someone she didn’t even love?

But those photos...

There was no way out. At least, not yet.

For now, she had to play along. Pretend to obey. Then, when the time was right, she’d find the backups—and destroy every single one.

---

Elsewhere, inside a luxury penthouse...

Theodore watched the security footage on his laptop with narrowed eyes. His gaze, as sharp as a hawk’s, missed nothing.

So it had all been orchestrated by Clare. No doubt her power-hungry mother had a hand in it too.

But the real victim? Hazel.

Foolish, innocent Hazel.

She didn’t even realize her own mother had sold her out.

A flicker of heat stirred in him as he remembered the night before—the way her body moved, the way she tasted...

He exhaled sharply, pushing the thought away.

Picking up his phone, he made a call. "Put the deal with Eleanor’s company on hold for now."

"Understood," came the swift reply from his assistant, Rob, though he couldn’t help wondering—why was his boss suddenly targeting his future mother-in-law?

---

Hazel stumbled into the Belmont family estate, every bone in her body aching. The elegant garden spread before her like a postcard, but to her, it was nothing more than a gilded cage.

This place had never been her home.

She was just a guest here. A placeholder. Nothing more.

From the moment Eleanor—the woman who had married her father—started turning a blind eye to Clare’s cruelty, Hazel had known she would never be truly accepted.

She lowered her eyes and swallowed her bitterness. Her steps were unsteady, her legs weak as she made her way inside.

No one greeted her.

The maids passed her like she didn’t exist. Cold, dismissive.

She was used to it.

Step by step, she climbed the staircase, aiming to confront Clare again—but just as she reached her door, a voice floated through the gap.

Eleanor’s voice. Cold. Icy.

“You’d better start behaving. If the Sinclair family finds out what you did in the past, not even I can protect you.”