Gilded Days Cannot Bring Back Old Shadows

“Ms. Sanders, what are you doing? Your engagement party with Mr. Foster is about to start. The guests are all waiting!” I pushed the makeup artist's hand away, staring at my paper-pale reflection in the mirror as a wave of nausea washed over me. She was still babbling, “Look at this wedding dress, Ms. Sanders. It's so beautiful. Mr. Foster had it custom-made in Paris—” “Throw it away,” I interrupted her, standing up and picking up my suitcase. “What?” I turned around just in time to see Julian Foster push open the door and walk in. Dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, his brow instantly furrowed at the sight of my casual clothes. “Scarlett Sanders, what kind of scene are you making now?” I smiled faintly, walked over to him, and pulled the engagement ring—stained with years of humiliation—out of my pocket. I slipped it gently into his suit breast pocket. “Julian,” I said. “The 999th test. You may consider yourself the victor.” Then, I walked around his stiffened body and out the door without looking back. Behind me, his furious roar echoed through the room: “Scarlett! If you leave, don't you dare come back!” I didn't look back. Because I knew that this time, I would never go back. Scarlett Sanders' POV The Sanders family villa, the study. Smoke curled in the air. My father, Arthur Sanders, sat behind his desk. He stared at me standing straight before him, his brow furrowed as his fingers, holding a cigar, trembled slightly. “Scarlett, tell me the truth. What ridiculous reason did Julian use to call off the engagement this time?” Arthur's voice carried a mix of suppressed rage and heartache. I lowered my eyes, my long lashes veiling the emotions swirling in my gaze. My voice was calm, completely devoid of feeling. “Dad, it wasn't him this time. I was the one who called it off.” At those words, Arthur bolted upright. The cigar slipped from his fingers onto the edge of the ashtray, burning a pungent trail of smoke. He stared at me in shock, his lips parting and closing for several seconds before he could construct a coherent sentence. It was no wonder he was so startled. In all of New York's high society, everyone knew that Scarlett Sanders, the heiress of the Sanders family, was the one person Julian Foster could never shake off. Some media outlets had even used phrases like “though born into a wealthy family, she cannot change her submissive nature” to describe me. Because Julian had already called off our engagement publicly three times. The first time, Julian complained that my gown was too bright, calling me attention-seeking, and canceled the engagement banquet on the spot. The second time, using the excuse that I had exchanged a few extra words with another man, he called me shameless and threw the engagement ring into the ocean. The third time, he didn't even bother giving a reason; he simply didn't show up on the day of the engagement, leaving me alone to face the ridicule of a room full of guests. Yet every single time, as long as Julian crooked his finger, I would brush off every hurt, swallow my humiliation and cling to him once more. my eyes filled with nothing but love. Looking at my father's shocked face, a dull ache throbbed deep in my chest, but it quickly faded into dead silence. The only reason I had tirelessly endured Julian's humiliation wasn't that I lacked self-respect. It was because on that freezing, rainy winter day, right after my mother died and I felt my entire world collapsing, a sixteen-year-old Julian had held a black umbrella over me and draped his warm coat over my trembling shoulders. That was the darkest moment of my life, and Julian was the only light that filtered in. Because of that companionship, I viewed him as my salvation, my god. I was willing to throw away my dignity time and again for him, even trampling my own pride into the dirt. But as it turned out, even a god could drive a person to the brink of despair. “Scarlett, have you really thought this through?” Arthur walked over, placing his hands on my shoulders, his voice strained. “Are you truly... ready to let him go?” “I have.” I looked up, my eyes clear and free of any hesitation. How could I not have? My mind involuntarily drifted back to the scene at Julian's birthday party three days ago. That day, filled with joy, I had brought some homemade cream of mushroom soup to the Foster villa to find him. But when I pushed open the door, there was none of the lively celebration I had anticipated. In the spacious living room, Julian sat on the sofa. Right beside him sat Chloe Summers, the girl-next-door type he kept around, wearing an oversized men's dress shirt. When he saw me walk in, Julian didn't even raise an eyebrow. He merely tossed a crumpled white bedsheet, stained with a pungent, musky scent, to my feet. “You came at the perfect time,” Julian's voice was as cold as ice shards. “Chloe was a virgin, and she bled last night. This sheet is highly meaningful, and I don't trust anyone else to wash it. Clean it, by hand.” At that moment, the thermos in my hands crashed to the floor. The scalding soup splashed onto my feet, but I couldn't feel the burn. I stared at the jarring sheet, then at the prominent hickeys on Chloe's neck, and finally at the almost sick anticipation in Julian's eyes as he waited for me to lose my mind and break down. And in that exact second, the temple of worship I had built for Julian in my heart crumbled to dust. Faced with such absolute disgust, any lingering love was thoroughly eroded. “It's good that you've realized. It's good!” Arthur looked at my calm expression, his eyes welling with tears as he nodded repeatedly. “I'll arrange for you to go abroad right away, to leave this place. We won't stay in New York anymore. Go abroad and start fresh!” “Okay.” I stood up, holding my father's trembling hands. “Give me a month. I'll leave in a month. I need to handle all my personal affairs here myself before I go.”Scarlett Sanders' POV Leaving the Sanders estate, I drove back to the hillside villa where Julian and I used to live together. As I pushed open the door, traces of our shared life still lingered in the house. Our slippers sat side-by-side at the entryway, matching mugs rested on the table, and even the scent of fir, Julian's signature cologne, seemed to drift through the air. Without lingering, I walked straight into the bedroom, pulled out two massive suitcases, and began packing my things. Clothes, jewelry, books... I only took what belonged to me. I didn't touch a single thing that bore any trace of Julian. As night fell, the villa's front door was suddenly kicked open from the outside. “Julian, slow down...” A whiny, delicate voice drifted into the living room, accompanied by the heavy stench of alcohol. Chloe stumbled in, half-draped over a completely wasted Julian. Hearing the noise, I dragged a packed suitcase out of the bedroom, my cold gaze sweeping over the two tangled figures. When Chloe saw me, a flash of smugness and provocation flared in her eyes. She deliberately helped Julian lie down on the sofa, then stood up, smoothed her messy hair, and swayed her hips as she swaggered over to me. “Packing up, Ms. Sanders?” Chloe giggled, covering her mouth, though her eyes were dripping with venom. “Actually, you don't have to leave in such a hurry. Even though Julian loves me, he's not heartless. If you're willing to stay and work as a maid, I wouldn't mind having you around.” I stared at her blankly, as if looking at a clown. Refusing to entertain such low-class baiting, I grabbed my suitcase and made to leave. “Stop right there!” Furious at being ignored, Chloe stepped in front of me to block my path. Then, right before my eyes, she slipped her hand down the collar of her low-cut dress. After a disgusting bit of groping, Chloe pulled a sparkling diamond ring from the lining of her low-cut dress. It was the exact engagement ring Julian had placed on my finger when he proposed years ago. Now, coated in Chloe's sweat and cheap perfume, it emitted a nauseating, decadent stench. “Recognize this, Ms. Sanders?” Chloe shoved the ring in my face, grinning widely. “Julian said it's a waste to have this worthless ring on your hand. He wants to see me melt it down... to make a nipple piercing out of it. Don't you think Julian is so creative?” Boom— My stomach churned violently as a wave of intense, physical nausea instantly overwhelmed me. I shoved Chloe aside, rushed into the adjacent bathroom, and leaned over the sink, dry-heaving violently. I retched so hard it felt like my chest was tearing apart, as if I were throwing up my very organs alongside my ten years of feelings for Julian. The commotion outside the bathroom woke Julian on the sofa. “Scarlett Sanders,” Julian's voice was deep and sinister, carrying his typical air of condescending judgment. “What kind of scene are you throwing now?” I turned on the faucet, splashed cold water onto my face, and grabbed a paper towel to wipe my mouth. Walking out, I looked at the man sitting on the sofa. “I'm sorry to inform you, Scarlett,” Julian said, looking at my pale face with a cruel smirk. “You failed to pass my 99th test. This engagement is off.” A test. Another test. I stared at him quietly, his past words echoing in my mind. Having been abandoned by his biological mother as a child, Julian was deeply traumatized. He trusted no one and believed in no genuine affection. Thus, he had created a twisted rule: he would subject me to 1,000 tests. If I showed any sign of flinching, dissatisfaction, or anger in any single test, I failed. The punishment for failure was calling off the engagement. To feed off my unconditional love, he tormented me endlessly, even cheating repeatedly to provoke me with other women. He watched me lose my dignity time and again in public, watching my life turn into a wretched mess because of him. He probably thought that as long as I could endure it, it meant I would never leave him. Looking at Julian's smug face, so certain that I would cry, beg, and kneel at his feet to plead for the engagement like before, I suddenly found it incredibly absurd. I took a deep breath, and my clear, cool voice echoed through the empty living room: “Fine. I agree to call off the engagement.”Scarlett Sanders' POV “What did you say?” Julian snapped his head up, his smug, teasing eyes instantly narrowing. He glared at me as if he had just heard something entirely unbelievable. In the script he had written in his head, I was supposed to burst into tears, throw myself at his feet, and beg him for another chance. How could I say “agree” in such a calm, almost relieved tone? “I said, I agree to call off the engagement,” I repeated, looking him dead in the eye. “Julian, we're done.” Julian's breathing instantly grew heavy and ragged. “Scarlett Sanders, who do you think you're playing hard-to-get with?” Julian bolted upright, lunging forward to grab my wrist. His grip was so tight it felt like he might crush my bones. “Have you forgotten how you used to beg me like a dog? Stop acting so high and mighty!” Despite the agonizing pain in my wrist, I didn't struggle. I simply stared at him as if he were a complete stranger. “Let go.” That cold, lifeless gaze seemed to pierce Julian's pride. Just as he was about to blow up, Chloe spoke up from the side. “Julian, don't be mad.” Chloe walked over and wrapped her arm around Julian's in a fake show of comfort, though her eyes locked onto my flat stomach. “Ms. Sanders threw up so hard just now... Could she be pregnant with someone else's kid and in a rush to find a husband, which is why she's calling off the engagement?” Those words were like a drop of water splashed into a vat of boiling oil. Julian's pupils dilated instantly as a wave of sheer malice surged in his eyes. He glared at me. “You're pregnant? Whose is it?!” He didn't give me a chance to explain. Then again, his pathological paranoia never required proof. All he knew was that whatever belonged to him—even if it were just a dog—was never allowed to be tainted by another man's scent! “You're a psychopath!” I violently shook off his grip, turning to leave. “Stop her!” Julian barked. The bodyguards waiting outside rushed in immediately, pinning me down. “Take her to the hospital,” Julian ordered, his voice cold as a venomous blade. “Now! Find out if she's pregnant!” My eyes widened in pure shock. I looked at the man I had loved for ten years in utter disbelief. “Julian, you're insane! This is an insult!” I struggled violently, but it was useless. Half an hour later, I was forced into a gynecological examination room at the hospital. The cold instruments, the glaring surgical lights, and the strange looks from the doctors and nurses stripped my dignity away layer by layer, grinding it into the dirt. When I finally walked out of the hospital entrance clutching the negative pregnancy report, what awaited me wasn't an apology from Julian, but a barrage of flashing cameras and a tidal wave of reporters. “Ms. Sanders, we heard you came for a late-night gynecological exam. Was it because Mr. Foster discovered your messy private life?” “Ms. Sanders, did Mr. Foster call off the engagement again because you cheated on him?” “Ms. Sanders, how do you respond to being labeled a slut by New York's high society?” Malice, ridicule, and insults pelted me like a rain of bullets. My face was paper-white, my fingers gripping the medical report so tightly that my nails dug deep into my palms. Julian's car was parked not far away. He sat inside, watching coldly as the reporters swarmed around me, leaving me helpless and stranded. Only when I was on the verge of being knocked down by the crowd did Julian finally open his car door. Flanked by a squad of bodyguards, he walked over and pulled me into the vehicle. The door slammed shut, cutting off the noise outside. Julian looked at my pale face and sneered. “I saw the report. Good to see you're still obedient enough not to cheat behind my back.” I closed my eyes, refusing to spare him even a glance. “But,” Julian suddenly leaned in, squeezing my chin. His voice was freezing. “Just because you didn't cheat this time doesn't mean you won't in the future. Scarlett, I want you to write a letter of commitment. Swear you will never betray me, that you will belong only to me for the rest of your life — or face death.” He pulled out a pre-printed document and a pen from the side and tossed them onto my lap. “Sign it, and I'll act as if tonight never happened. I'll consider that you passed the 999th test.”Scarlett Sanders' POV There was a deathly silence inside the car. I looked down at the preposterous “letter of commitment” on my lap. Every word printed on that sheet mocked my ten years of stupidity and cheap devotion. Suddenly, I laughed. It was a faint, soft laugh, but it carried absolute finality. Under Julian's slightly bewildered gaze, I picked up the letter of commitment, gripping the edges with both hands— “Riiiiip!” The sharp sound of tearing paper was deafeningly loud in the confined space. Once, twice, thrice. Without any expression, I shredded the commitment letter into tiny pieces. Then, raising my hand, I hurled the paper confetti straight at Julian's handsome but distorted face. “Julian, do you not understand plain English?” I said, watching the fragments rain down. My voice was entirely flat and cold. “I said, I am calling off the engagement. From this moment on, whether you live or die has absolutely nothing to do with me.” “Scarlett!” Julian lost it completely, the veins on his forehead bulging. He lunged forward, wrapping his hand tightly around my throat, and glared at me with pure venom. “Fine! Great! Don't you dare regret this and come begging me later!” He shoved me away violently, roaring, “Get the hell out of my car!” Without a second of hesitation, I pushed open the door and stepped out into the freezing, late-autumn night. I heard him slam his fist against the steering wheel before barking a furious order to the driver, “Go! Nobody helps her!” ... Two days later. I received word from a friend that one of my mother's early paintings, *Sunflowers*, which had been lost for years, was going up for auction tonight. My mother had been a moderately well-known painter before she passed, and this piece was one of the few relics she left behind. I dug out all my credit cards and emptied my savings accounts to pull together enough cash, then took a cab to the auction hall. The moment I stepped into the grand, glittering auction hall, my steps came to a sudden halt. In the VIP section not far away, Julian Foster sat clad in a bespoke suit, leaning back lazily against his seat. Chloe Summers, draped in a gorgeous haute couture gown, clung to him bonelessly, snuggling into his chest. Seeing me, Chloe's eyes lit up, and she intentionally raised her voice. "Oh my, isn't this Ms. Sanders? Well, look at that. After being kicked out by Julian, you actually still have money to spend in a place like this?" Hearing her words, Julian Foster turned his head. The moment he saw me, a faint, barely perceptible trace of smugness flashed across his eyes. I gave them a cold sweep of my eyes, said nothing, and walked straight to a secluded seat in the back row to sit down. The auction began shortly after. I had absolutely no interest in the initial bidding items—until the auctioneer pulled back the red cloth, revealing the passionately colored painting, *Sunflowers*. "Starting bid: one million." "One point five million," I raised my paddle immediately. "Two million," a sweet, cloying voice followed immediately. I turned around to see Chloe holding up her paddle, looking at me with a smirk of provocation. "Three million," I gritted my teeth. "Five million," Chloe followed up without a moment's hesitation. Then, she turned to coo sweetly to Julian, "Julian, the colors in this painting are so hideous. How about we buy it just to hang it in the bathroom?" Julian stroked her hair affectionately. "As long as you like it." The price skyrocketed, quickly surging past ten million. My palms were slick with cold sweat. I only had twelve million left in my bank account. This was my last remaining card to play. "Twelve million," I called, raising my paddle. My voice was already trembling. Just as Chloe was about to bid again, Julian suddenly pressed his hand down over hers. "That's enough." Julian looked at my pale face. Thinking I had been pushed to the brink of despair, his lips curled into a patronizing sneer. "Let her have it. Next week is my birthday. She's spending every last cent of her savings on this painting for no other reason than to give it to me as a birthday present, hoping to use the chance to beg for my forgiveness." Chloe pouted and lowered her paddle. "Twelve million, sold!" At the sound of the gavel strike, my tight-strung nerves finally relaxed. I walked briskly backstage to complete the payment and transfer procedures, cradling the painting carefully in my arms. The moment I stepped out of the back room, Julian and Chloe blocked my path. Julian looked down at the painting in my arms, his brow furrowing in disgust. "Twelve million for this piece of trash? Scarlett Sanders, your taste is getting worse by the day. A cheap thing like this isn't even worthy of being my birthday present. But since you've shown such sincerity, I suppose I can reluctantly accept it." With that, he reached out to grab the painting. I took a sharp step back, evading his hand, and clutched the painting tightly against my chest as if guarding a priceless treasure. "You've misunderstood." I looked at him, my gaze as cold as if I were looking at an absolute fool. "This painting isn't a birthday gift for you." Julian's hand froze mid-air, his expression instantly darkening into a scowl. "Not for me?" He narrowed his eyes, a dangerous chill radiating from him. Chloe immediately chimed in, "Oh my, Julian, if Ms. Sanders didn't buy it for you, then who did she buy it for? Could it be for the man who got her pregnant? Using Julian's money to support another man... Ms. Sanders is truly generous, isn't she?" "Shut up!" I snapped, glaring at Chloe. But those words had already ignited Julian's jealousy and rage. "Not giving it to me? Then don't even dream of giving it to anyone else!" Julian lunged forward, violently snatching the painting from my arms. "No! Julian, give it back!" I screamed in terror, desperately clawing to get it back. But a man's physical strength was far too much for me. Julian pinned me down with one hand, and with the other, gripped the edge of the canvas and ripped it apart without a shred of hesitation! *Riiip—* The sturdy canvas was torn clean in half. The sunflowers left behind by my mother were instantly torn to pieces, ruined. I froze on the spot, all sound choking in my throat, leaving nothing but a desperate, dead silence. I stared blankly at the ruined canvas fluttering to the floor. The last spark of light in my eyes died completely.Scarlett's POV The vast backstage area of the auction house fell dead silent. The torn *Sunflowers* lay quietly on the cold floor like two useless rags. The frayed threads along the edges curled up hideously, as if silently protesting the senseless violence that had just occurred. Julian dusted off his hands as if he had touched something filthy. Looking down at my stiff, frozen body, his lips curled into a wicked sneer. "Since it wasn't a gift for me, then this trash has no reason to exist. Scarlett Sanders, you brought this on yourself." With that, he turned around ruthlessly, threw an arm around Chloe—who was snickering at his side—and strode out of the auction house. I didn't chase him, nor did I cry. Like a puppet that had lost its soul, I slowly knelt down, carefully gathered the two torn halves of the painting, and cradled them in my arms. The vibrant yellow of the canvas stung my eyes. This was the last shred of warmth my mother had left me, yet I had brought it straight to the devil. "Ms. Sanders..." An auction house staff member approached me, looking highly uncomfortable. "The gavel has fallen on this piece. Even though it has been destroyed, according to our policy, you are still required to pay the twelve million dollars." "I know," I said, my voice terribly hoarse, completely flat. I numbly followed the staff to complete the payment. The balance in my bank account was instantly wiped clean. Before leaving, I paused and looked at the security camera in the corner of the lobby. My voice was frighteningly calm. "Please copy the surveillance footage of the hallway from just now and give it to me." The staff member hesitated for a second, but under my hollow, dead gaze, they nodded anyway. Clutching the bag containing the USB flash drive and the ruined painting, I went back to the Sanders estate. In the study, Arthur Sanders looked at my paper-white face, heartbroken beyond measure. He pushed a brand-new passport and visa toward me, his voice gentle. "Scarlett, your visa has been approved, and your flight to France is booked for next week. I've already had someone arrange a house and a school for you over there. You can leave whenever you are ready." I stared at the dark cover of the passport. Finally, a ripple of emotion broke through my hollow eyes. I reached out, gently tracing the edge of the booklet as if touching the key to my rebirth. "Thank you," I whispered. "Before I go, I want to meet Lily to say goodbye." Lily was my only true friend over the years, and the only person who had stood firmly by my side when the entire world turned against me. That night, I went to an upscale, highly private restaurant in New York to meet her. Pushing open the door of the private room, I found not only Lily, but also her older brother, Tristan Vance. Tristan was a gentle, soft-spoken man who wore glasses. He had always taken good care of me since we were kids. Seeing how thin and exhausted I looked, a flicker of heartache crossed his eyes. "Scarlett, eat some more. You're far too thin." Halfway through dinner, Tristan naturally picked up a piece of deboned fish and placed it gently in my bowl, his eyes dripping with warmth and tenderness. I was just about to say thank you when the door of the private room burst open with a deafening bang! *Crash!* The heavy solid wood door was kicked open violently from the outside, slamming hard against the wall. The three of us startled simultaneously. I looked up and saw Julian Foster. He looked like a demon crawling out of the depths of hell—his eyes bloodshot, his entire body radiating a terrifying, violent aura. He stared dead at the piece of fish in my bowl, and then at Tristan’s fork, which he hadn't even had time to pull back. "Julian Foster, have you lost your mind?!" Lily bolted upright, snapping in fury. Julian completely ignored her. He lunged forward and flipped the dining table right over. With a deafening crash of shattering plates and glasses, scalding hot soup splashed all over the floor. "I'm insane?!" Julian suddenly grabbed Tristan by his collar, lifting him bodily, and slammed a heavy fist right into Tristan's face. "Scarlett Sanders, is this why you were in such a hurry to call off the engagement?! Using my money to buy a painting to fund another man, and now you dare to play house with him right in front of me?!" Tristan's mouth burst open, bleeding as his glasses flew across the room. He fought back with everything he had, but he was absolutely no match for Julian in his state of primal rage, taking several heavy blows in quick succession. "Stop it! Julian, stop it!" I lost my mind completely. Throwing caution to the wind, I lunged forward, locking my arms around Julian’s swinging arm, and bit down on his wrist as hard as I could. The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. Julian snarled in pain and shook me off violently. I stumbled, crashing to the floor, my palm scraping across the broken shards, slicing a deep, bloody gash into my skin. "Julian Foster, you are sick!" I screamed, scrambling up from the floor. My hair was a disheveled mess, my eyes bloodshot as I shrieked at him, "I bought that painting with my own money! I called off the engagement because I am sick and tired of your torture! I don't owe you a single damn thing!" I pointed a trembling finger right at his nose, tears finally spilling over—tears of pure, unadulterated despair. "Julian Foster, hear me loud and clear: I do not love you anymore! In this lifetime, and in the next, I never want to have anything to do with you again! You make me sick!" Julian's expression twisted into something monstrous. Like a beast whose sore spot had been trampled on, he pointed back at me and roared, "You don't love me? You think I give a damn about your love?! Scarlett Sanders, in my eyes, you are worse than a whore! I have never loved you. A cheap, worthless woman like you deserves to be played!" Having spat out those words, Julian suddenly turned on his heel and stormed out the door, as if he were trying to run away from something. The next day, the sky was heavy with dark clouds, and the air carried a suffocating, oppressive humidity. Between the drama from the night before and the relentless stress of the past few days, my head felt like it was splitting in two. Not wanting to worry my father, I drove out alone toward a winding mountain road in suburban New York, hoping to get some fresh air and clear my head at the private members-only cafe on the peak.Scarlett's POV The cafe was in a secluded spot and rarely got busy, making it my go-to refuge whenever I felt overwhelmed. I chose a table by the window and ordered a glass of warm water. When the waiter brought my glass over, his eyes darted away shiftily. But exhausted to the bone, I failed to notice his suspicious behavior. I picked up the glass and drank half of it. Barely ten minutes passed before a bizarre, burning heat and a wave of intense dizziness swept through my body like a tsunami. My vision began to blur, and my limbs went completely limp, as if all the strength had been drained from my bones. *Something is wrong...* I bit down hard on the tip of my tongue, using the sharp pain to force myself to stay conscious. I struggled to my feet, desperate to leave, but I didn't even have the strength to stand. I stumbled blindly and collapsed into the adjacent hallway. "Ms. Sanders? Are you alright? Are you feeling unwell? Let me help you up to a guest room on the second floor to rest." The same waiter immediately appeared at my side, hauling me up semi-forcibly and dragging me toward the stairs. I tried to cry out for help, but only a weak whimper escaped my throat. The drug was working too fast, ruthlessly stealing my consciousness away. By the time I was tossed onto the soft mattress of the second-floor bedroom, my vision had gone completely dark. I heard the distinct *click* of the door being locked, followed immediately by the coarse, gravelly laughter of several men. "Tsk, tsk. So this is the Ms. Sanders who threw herself at Mr. Foster? Damn, she really is gorgeous." "Ms. Summers told us to take good care of her. We need to take plenty of explicit photos—the raunchier, the better. Lucky us today." Hearing "Ms. Summers" sent a jolt of sheer terror through my drug-addled brain. Chloe! Chloe was trying to ruin me! Despair rushed over me like a black tide, drowning me instantly. I watched as the men, their faces twisted in hideous grins, rubbed their hands together and closed in on me. Instinctively, I shrank back into the corner of the bed. "Don't touch me... Get away!" I screamed with the very last of my strength, but my voice came out as a breathless whimper, only fueling their sickening lust. *Riiip—* A rough hand grabbed the collar of my coat and ripped it open. The sound of tearing fabric cut through the room like a knife. My pale shoulders were exposed to the air, making the men's eyes flare with heat as they raised their phones, snapping photos frantically. "Don't touch me! You're disgusting! Get away from me!" Adrenaline surged through me. I grabbed the heavy table lamp from the nightstand behind me and smashed it violently over the head of the man closest to me. *Crash!* The glass shade shattered into pieces. The man shrieked, clutching his bleeding forehead as he stumbled backward. "Bitch!" another man roared, lunging forward and slapping me hard across the face. The blow made my vision go black, blood instantly blooming at the corner of my lips. But the sharp pain also brought back a fleeting moment of clarity. I glanced at the men closing in, then turned my head to look at the open French doors behind me that led to the second-floor balcony. This was the second floor. Jumping down could paralyze me, or even kill me. But compared to being violated by these scumbags and letting Chloe use those photos to ruin me for life, I would rather die! Without a second thought, I shoved the man in front of me aside. Like a bird plunging into a storm, I threw myself toward the open doors and leaped. The wind roared in my ears. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the impact of pain. But the expected crash never came. Instead, I tumbled into a broad, solid chest that smelled faintly of tobacco. The sheer force of the fall drew a low grunt from the man who caught me. Together, we rolled onto the soft grass below. I opened my eyes in terror, looking up to find a handsome, frantic face. Raymond Payne. He was the son of my late mother's close friend—the man who had always quietly watched over me from afar at high society banquets, his gaze deep and unreadable. "Scarlett! Are you alright?!" Raymond held me tightly against him as I shivered in my torn clothes. Seeing the blood on my lips and the sheer terror in my eyes, a chilling, murderous rage flared in his gaze. "Raymond... save me..." I choked out, clutching his lapel like a lifeline. Then, the darkness took over, and I couldn't speak another word. Raymond stripped off his trench coat and wrapped it tightly around my shivering frame. He looked up, his gaze freezing on the men peering out of the second-floor window. "Destroy them," he commanded his bodyguards, his voice dripping with ice. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my own bedroom at the Sanders estate. Beside the bed sat Arthur Sanders. He looked as if he had aged ten years overnight, his eyes sunken and shot through with red veins. The moment he saw me open my eyes, his tears spilled over. "Dad..." my voice came out in a dry raspy whisper. "You're awake... thank God you're awake," Arthur muttered, gripping my hand so hard his fingers shook. "Scarlett, you have to listen to me. We can't wait until next week. You have to leave the country tonight! I've already rescheduled your flight." I froze. "Why the sudden rush?" Arthur closed his eyes, turning his head away in sheer agony, unable to meet my gaze. A sickening dread pooled in my stomach. I reached out, grabbed the tablet from my nightstand, and opened the local news. The screen was flooded with photos of me. In the pictures, my clothes were half-torn off, and I was surrounded by several pixelated men. Though there were no photos of actual assault, the compromising angles, my disheveled hair, my dazed eyes, and my torn clothing were more than enough to invite the worst kind of speculation. [Scarlett Sanders' Wild Night Out: Inside the Socialite's Out-of-Control Private Life!] [The Truth Behind Why Mr. Foster Called Off the Wedding: Ms. Sanders Exposed!] [Scarlett Sanders' Downfall: A Disgrace to Her Late Mother's Legacy!] That last headline in particular was being aggressively reposted by countless media outlets. The tablet slipped from my numb fingers, falling onto the blanket. I stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling my entire world collapse around me. Chloe had moved far too quickly. Before I had even leaped from that balcony, those men had already taken the photos and sent them to her. I didn't care how much they dragged my name through the mud, or how they labeled me a shameless whore. But how dare they... how dare they use such vile, venomous words to drag my sweet, gentle mother into this?!