Chapter 7 Give the Slot to Her

She'd always assumed he'd only intervened in her past life out of simple disgust at everyone else's unfair treatment of her—could it be he'd been quietly watching over her all this time, far earlier than she'd realized?

Silas was only twenty-three, his sharp, striking features carved with icy handsomeness.

His words were always sharp and unsparing, yet his hands moved with infinite gentleness as he tended to her infected scalp wound.

He'd been exactly the same in her previous life: a sharp tongue paired with tender care. Every time Tina had tormented her, Serena would slip into the school infirmary to dress her injuries, and he'd clean her wounds with a stern scowl, quietly listening to her quiet, broken ramblings.

"Thank you."

Serena's eyes burned red at the edges.

Thank you for standing by me then, and for saving me now.

Thank you, truly.

Silas's movements faltered for a split second before he readjusted the IV tube as if nothing had happened. "It's nothing. I'm the school physician; this is my job."

With that, he crossed to the window and drew the curtains halfway, blocking the harsh glare of sunlight. "Rest. No one will disturb you here."

Meanwhile, outside the infirmary doors, a far fiercer storm was brewing.

That same afternoon, heavily edited footage blew up across every high school social circle in Riverton City and shot straight to the top of local trending searches.

The headline blazed: #Seymour Blood Heiress Publicly Humiliates Adopted Sister, Pushes Her Down Stairs and Bullies Her on Campus#

The comment section erupted in outrage.

"My god, how can someone be this cruel? Tina's parents died saving her, and this is how she repays their daughter?"

"All six Seymour brothers posted statements saying their sister's rebellious, ungrateful attitude—isn't that hard proof enough?"

"Clearly she's been seething with jealousy this whole time, terrified Tina would steal all their love."

"Poor Tina, she gets abused over and over yet keeps making excuses for Serena."

Shortly after, all six Seymour brothers' social media accounts posted coordinated statements in unison.

Albert published a lengthy post: "Serena was spoiled rotten growing up, prone to reckless, extreme outbursts. As her elder brothers, we take partial responsibility for this mess. Tina is a kind, good girl—we ask everyone not to judge her harshly over this incident."

Brian shared the post with a bitter comment: Some people are simply devoid of compassion.

Chris weighed in as well: Speaking as a medical professional, I can confirm Tina's injuries are genuine. As for certain people's dramatic performances, I will withhold further commentary.

Their unified public statement hammered the false verdict firmly into place, branding Serena a vicious, ungrateful blood heiress once and for all.

Logan followed suit moments later, attaching an old photograph of him and Serena from their happier days.

The caption read: Where did the gentle, sweet girl I once know vanish to? What turned her into this?

Propped up on the infirmary bed, Serena scrolled through every post and comment without a single flicker of distress. Her heart felt completely numb, only twisted with overwhelming revulsion.

How blind she'd once been, loving that man with every fiber of her being.

Nothing like this had happened in her past life. Her brothers and ex-boyfriend had gone to extraordinary lengths this time to paint Tina as the victim and destroy her reputation.

Serena screenshot every top-voted hateful comment one by one.

The traces of paid internet trolls were glaringly obvious: hundreds of accounts registered within the exact same month, all copying identical hateful speech patterns.

In her previous life, she'd been naive, only weeping and crying out her innocence to deaf ears.

Two years trapped in the psychiatric ward had stripped away that childish ignorance for good.

"What are you scrolling through?"

Silas pushed open the door, glanced at the social media feeds glowing on her screen, and gently pried the phone out of her grasp.

"The fever medicine hasn't kicked in yet—why agitate yourself with this garbage?"

"I'm not upset," Serena reached out to retrieve her phone. "I'm gathering evidence."

"You can't fight a viral smear campaign all alone," Silas said quietly.

Serena lifted her head to meet his gaze, her clear eyes burning with unshakable resolve. "No one else will stand with me. I only have myself to rely on."

A faint flicker of admiration crossed Silas's dark eyes as he stared back at her. "Very well. Fight for the truth if that's what you choose. But first, let me finish dressing your wound."

Silas's demeanor and words remained cold and detached, yet his hands moved with surprising softness as he cleaned and bandaged her injury.

With her head wrapped in gauze, Serena wasted no time countering the online slander, anonymously paying to post neutral eyewitness accounts laying out the full truth.

Strangely enough, several prominent entertainment and skating influencers messaged her unprompted, offering to publish the full story on their platforms free of charge.

Public opinion erupted once more—but this time the vitriol targeted Tina instead of Serena.

Dozens of fellow students uploaded unedited security footage to clear Serena's name, and the influencers immediately shifted the narrative, redirecting all public suspicion back to Tina.

The comment section flipped entirely; netizens now accused Tina of being a manipulative, scheming fake heiress.

Serena turned to Silas. "This was your doing, wasn't it?"

She refused to believe strangers at school would genuinely rush to defend her—she'd learned all too well how cruel the world could be in her past life.

The man's lips tugged upward in a faint, subtle smile. He reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I simply cannot stand watching lies twist the truth."

Serena bit down on her lower lip, her throat tight and stinging with emotion. "I understand. If you ever need anything from me in the future, I will repay this kindness."

The day the preliminary results for the National Figure Skating Choreography Contest were published, the entire Riverton City skating community descended into chaos.

Tina sat rigidly on the Seymour mansion's living room sofa, clutching her phone tightly, the corners of her eyes glistening red.

On screen was the official preliminary judge's announcement, fresh off the competition's website.

Her name sat listed under the "Pending Review" category, paired with a blunt critical note from the judging panel: Concept stale, overreliance on generic choreographic tropes; multiple segments display striking, near-identical overlap with existing competitive programs. Full revision strongly recommended.

At the very top of the same page, highlighted in bold red font as the year's Most Promising Original Program, stood Serena's name.

The judges' praise overflowed with unreserved admiration: Snow Crossing reimagines ice storytelling through innovative transitional footwork, featuring seamless high-difficulty jump sequences and layered, evolving emotional storytelling—a fully original narrative routine rarely seen in recent competitive circuits.

Tina's pupils shrank violently as she stared at the words on screen.

She'd stolen Serena's original concept, copying every single step and spin beat for beat—how could this have happened?

The living room doors swung open, and Albert and the rest of her brothers filed inside, each wearing a different shade of grim concern.

Brian spoke first. "Tina, what's going on with the skating contest preliminary round? I thought the routine you'd been refining for months was flawless."

Tina chewed nervously on her lip, her voice small and trembling. "I—I don't know. Every piece of the choreography was my own creation. I can't explain the overlap… but Serena was the only person who ever saw my drafts…"

Chris's brows crashed together in a deep frown. "Are you saying Serena is the only one who viewed your program before submission?"