chapter 2

A bone-deep chill seized me. I clutched the collar of my dress, hiding the ugly, purpling bruises beneath.

Steve stood before me, exuding an aura of untouchable nobility.

He was like the brightest moon, elevated high above the clouds and surrounded by stars.

Meanwhile, I had been dragged down into a deep, filthy hell, covered in muck, because I loved him so desperately.

Everyone at the party wore expressions of intoxicated bliss. The sweet, cloying scent of perfume hung heavy in the ballroom.

Men and women were entangled in every corner, discarded designer dresses and high heels littering the floor.

The gasps of men, the moans of women, the flirtatious music, and the aphrodisiac air filled every inch of the space.

It was that same depraved atmosphere I had been subjected to every day for the past month.

A never-ending nightmare.

My vision went dark. I crumpled to the floor, head in my hands, unable to control my ragged breathing.

Just like during my daily breakdowns at art school.

Suddenly, a man in the corner noticed me and yelled.

"Who the hell are you? How did you get in?"

The music stopped. The lights snapped on. Every single eye in the place turned to stare at me.

"You… What are you doing here?!"

Steve stared, rooted to the spot. After a stunned moment, he shoved the woman beside him away and rushed to my side.

"Beverly, what's… what's wrong?"

I broke instinctively, a shrill scream tearing from my throat. I kept repeating, "Don't come near me. Please, don't come near me," as tears streamed down my face.

Abby seemed to grasp the situation instantly. She sidled over, wrapping herself around Steve's arm and pouting her crimson lips.

"Steve, is this that… Eva… you've been seeing?"

He shot her with a venomous glare.

"Her name is Beverly. If anyone dares to disrespect her again, they'll answer to me."

The air, thick with mockery and disdain, instantly froze. No one dared to make a sound.

Steve, unaware of the frantic worry etched on his own face, carefully held my shoulders and asked softly, "How did you get here?"

Fighting to steady my breath and ignoring the searing pain in my chest, I pulled the bank card from my dress and held it out to him.

"I… brought you… the money… for your treatment."

My hand trembled uncontrollably, and the card clattered to the floor between us.

Steve picked it up, glanced at it, and tossed it aside.

"Silly girl, I don't have cancer. I lied. It was just a test."

I watched the bank card—obtained through every ounce of my strength and sacrifice—discarded like trash, and my heart shattered into a million pieces.

No cancer. It was all just his scheme, his 'test.'

My genuine love and my willingness to walk through hell for him had only earned me a 'barely passable' from him.

The damp blood between my legs felt like a grinning, demonic smile, mocking me for how utterly meaningless my sacrifice had been.

Steve was the noble prince.

And I stood opposite him, covered in wounds, hunched over in pain, and looking like a ridiculous clown.

I started to laugh through my tears, the sheer absurdity of it all overwhelming me.

Abby picked up the discarded card, glanced at it, and curled her lip in disdain. She took a silk scarf and fastidiously wiped the fingertips that had touched the card

As if scrubbing off a virus.

Then, she folded her arms and looked me up and down.

"Pretty face or not," she said, her voice dripping with contempt, "after all that time at Eva Academy of Art, you must be a completely used good."

"I hear the women there…" she went on, "being whipped and learning to bark like dogs is just the basics…"

Before she could finish, a sharp crack echoed through the room as Steve's palm connected hard with her face.

He pulled me into his arms, his expression freezing over like a lord of the underworld.

"Abby," he snarled, "who gave you permission to speak about what's mine?"

He took a deep breath and, ignoring the pain screaming from my body, dragged me to the very center of the ballroom.

Every eye was on me, triggering my PTSD so badly that I could barely breathe.

I struggled desperately against his grip, but he, mistaking my terror for something else, held me tighter and pulled me close against his chest.

His palm pressed directly onto the wound on my shoulder, yet his voice was filled with pride.

"Did you really think I was that sick, penniless loser?" he said.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked. "Here, with me, no one would dare lay a finger on you."

Steve cupped my chin, forcing my face up as his eyes scanned me.

His gaze lingered for a moment on my lower body, and his lips twitched with a flicker of dissatisfaction. But he seemed to have made a decision.

"I've seen your heart," he declared. "So what if you're… damaged? It doesn't matter. I'm not that shallow. I don't choose a woman based on whether she's… functional. I care about sincerity."

He addressed the entire party, his voice ringing out.

"Everyone, listen up! From today, Beverly is my official girlfriend. This is her reward for passing the test."

Then, he declared, "Beverly will be the future Mrs. Jekyll!"

A wave of shocked whispers rippled through the crowd. The looks directed at me shifted from scorn to astonishment.

I even heard a few murmurs of envy.

Just as Steve stood there, chin raised proudly, basking in the moment—

SMASH!

The sharp, explosive sound of shattering glass silenced the entire hall.

"You…"

Steve's eyes widened in shock, a line of blood already trickling down his forehead.

In my hand, I clutched the remains of a wine bottle I'd snatched from the floor.

I had swung with all my might, putting every bit of strength of entire body into the blow, and smashed it directly over the head of the CEO of the Jekyll family.