Chapter 3

In my previous life, Serafina maliciously cut my limited-edition prototype dress intended for a top luxury brand collaboration. I furiously confronted her face-to-face.

Instead of fairness, Eleanor pointed her finger at me, screaming insults before not only kicking me out of the house in disgrace but also cutting off my credit cards.

Later, when I was rushed to Mount Sinai Hospital for a perforated stomach ulcer, desperately needing someone to sign the consent form and pay the staggering surgical fees, they completely ignored the doctor's calls.

Leon even screamed at me over a voicemail, saying I was just getting what I deserved:

"Valora, it's your fault Serafina lost her sight! You owe her for the rest of your life!"

I had tried countless times to clarify the truth about that car crash—I wasn't the one who caused Serafina's injuries; it was entirely her own fault for driving like a maniac while dead drunk, resulting in a self-destructive tragedy.

But every time the topic was brought up, Serafina would throw a "PTSD" fit, crying so hysterically they'd nearly call an ambulance.

And just like that, my "sins" would deepen all over again.

I never understood it back then. It wasn't until I was swallowed by those flames that I finally realized—this was all a meticulously crafted scam by Serafina! She had been playing me like a pawn, trampling all over my life!

I had always been the real money tree holding this family up.

Because of the "star effect" from my continuous awards in the fashion industry, Eleanor mingled flawlessly in the high-society circles, securing massive investments. Leon used the dividends I gave him to buy one limited-edition sports car after another. I gave them my whole heart, and they threw me away like garbage.

In my past life, I tortured myself repeatedly to earn their thin, pathetic sliver of love, only to end up burned alive. Now I finally understood. These greedy bloodsuckers were completely unworthy of my kindness.

For the next two weeks, I completely left the toxic wreckage of my family behind, burying myself in the design for the upcoming Paris Fashion Week finale.

As the agency's youngest head designer, my initial concept, "Phoenix Ascending," earned phenomenal praise from the Design Director the moment it was submitted.

This gown didn't just feature extremely complex gradient embroidery; it was infused with my most profound reflections from being burned alive in my past life. Every inch of fabric radiated a raw, devastating tension between destruction and rebirth.

I was working day and night at the studio, while the atmosphere back at the villa had dropped to a freezing point.

Although Serafina was still playing blind, her ambition never rested.

She had tried sneaking into my room multiple times, wanting to steal my design drafts.

But I had taken all the drafts with me. Completely out of options, all she could do was aggressively stomp her feet in frustration.

But what truly threw the entire family into panic was Eleanor's migraine.

That deep-rooted neurological sickness finally broke free like an unleashed beast.

Late that night, my mother, enduring head-splitting agony, finally remembered I existed, demanding through the phone that I rush back to the villa.

"My head! It's splitting open! Give me the medicine! Give me the oil!"

Accompanying the shrieks were the muffled thuds of heavy objects smashing into the wall, followed by the sound of shattering glass.

Leon rushed out of the room like a headless fly, completely drenched in sweat. The moment he saw me, it was like seeing a lifeboat. He lunged forward, grabbing my shoulders with enough force that he almost crushed my bones.

"Valora! You're finally back! Hurry up, get the oil out! Mom can't take it anymore, she's smashing her head against the wall!" Leon's eyes were bloodshot, his voice carrying an unprecedented panic.

I coldly shoved his hands away. "There is no more oil."

"Bullshit!" Leon roared with violent fury. "Are you still holding a grudge against Serafina? I swear to God, if something happens to Mom, I will kill you!"

I brushed past him and walked to the master bedroom doorway.

The room was deeply in ruins.

Eleanor was rolling on the floor, her hair wildly disheveled. She was tightly clutching her own hair, her face as pale as paper, while the veins on her forehead furiously bulged due to the extreme pain.

Between her agonizing wails, she dry-heaved, nearly throwing up her bile.

And in the corner of the room, Serafina was shivering, shrinking back into the shadows. Wearing her blind sunglasses, she kept muttering, "Mom, stop scaring me... I'm so scared..."

Eleanor struggled to lift her head.

When her blurred vision captured my silhouette, she scrambled over to me on her hands and knees, tightly gripping my calf.

"Valora... my good daughter... save me..." Eleanor's voice was grated and hoarse like sandpaper, tears mixing with mucus. "Give me the oil... please... I feel like I'm dying..."

Watching her crawl at my feet and beg like a dog, a stagnant calmness washed over me. I felt absolutely nothing.

"You usually always keep backups! You vicious daughter, do you want to watch me die in pain?!" Eleanor spat, her suffering instantly mutating into venomous curses when she realized I was unmoved.

I slowly squatted down, looking straight into her unfocused, pain-filled eyes.

"Mother, has your memory deteriorated along with your headache?" I extended my finger, coldly pointing at Serafina, who was hiding and acting pitiful in the corner. "Did you forget? It was your precious daughter Serafina who personally smashed the last bottle of oil. That bottle took me three whole months to extract."

"Back then, she smashed it, calling it a 'cheap perfume.' And you—not only did you not stop her, but you also yelled at me for not cleaning up the floor fast enough."

The air in the room seemed to calcify at that exact moment.

Eleanor's curses abruptly ceased. Spasming in agonizing pain, she managed to slowly turn her head toward Serafina, who was still shrinking in the corner.

Leon froze in his tracks too, opening his mouth slightly, unable to muster a single word.

"Since it's already come to this, let it hurt." I stood back up, looking down on them from above.

Clutching her splitting head, Eleanor stared in sheer disbelief at her most cherished "blind" daughter. In her bloodshot eyes, fueled by piercing agony, there was now a flash of completely undisguised hatred.