Chapter 2

"Hold her down! If you don't want her painting hand ruined, she better stop struggling!"

The operating room was freezing.

Memories surged like a flood.

Three years ago, I was strapped to the surgical table, thrashing desperately. My tears had long dried. "Ethan, I didn't push her! Lila fell on her own! My eyes are fine—why should I give them to her? I don't want to!"

That year, I was the most gifted young artist on the island. Lila Ross was nothing more than a poor scholarship student, sponsored by my family.

But in just a month, with her teary-eyed performance and trembling voice, she became the "pure and kind" little sister in Ethan's eyes.

And me? I became the jealous, toxic villainess.

The stairwell camera had broken. Lila tumbled down the steps and "damaged her cornea."

Ethan held her, looking at me like I was a murderer. "Clara Sullivan, you've disappointed me deeply. You hurt her—now the price is an eye for an eye."

In that nightmare, he towered over me like a judge behind the bench. In his hand, the cornea donation form. "Lila's a genius. Her eyes can't be ruined. Mistakes must be punished."

"Ethan, what if I told you she's faking? Would you believe me?" I asked, hopelessly.

He looked at me with nothing but impatience. "Enough! Still slandering her, even now?"

He grabbed my hand and forced it down onto the form.

The red ink bled like blood.

"Give her your cornea. I'll stay with you to atone. When your debt's paid, I'll marry you."

The anesthetic entered my veins. I couldn't feel the pain anymore. Just the death of my soul.

Clara Sullivan died that day. What lived on was a monster with only one good eye.

When I woke, half the world's light was gone.

What greeted me wasn't comfort, but a bill.

Ethan pointed at a locked urn on the shelf. "Surgery fees. Emotional damages. Total: $500,000. Pay it off. Become a better person. Then I'll give your mother's ashes back and take you home."

---

"Wake up! Clara!"

Someone shook me hard.

I jolted awake.

Blinding white light. The stench of antiseptic.

My hand instinctively reached into my pocket—the card was still there.

The money was safe.

"Are you insane? You've got a concussion—where are you going?" Nurse Harper blocked me.

I shoved her aside, yanked out the IV. Blood spurted.

I didn't care.

I was still alive.

And as long as I lived, I would get my mother's ashes back.

Dragging my injured body, I made my way to the Ford Family's private hospital. That's where Lila Ross was "recovering."

I slammed open the door to the VIP suite.

Inside, Lila sat sketching with her eyes bandaged. At the sound, she dropped her pencil in alarm. "Ethan?"

Ethan Ford stepped out of the bathroom. The moment he saw me, covered in blood, his face darkened. "Who said you could come here? Get out!"

I pulled out the card, warmed by my body heat, and slapped it down on the table. "Five hundred thousand. It's all there."

My voice trembled as I panted, one eye fixed on him like a blade. "Give me back my mother's ashes."

He froze. His gaze dropped to my battered, calloused hands. A flicker of something passed through his eyes—irritated, perhaps even challenged. "You're in such a rush to cut ties with me?"

He picked up the card and casually tossed it into the trash. "Clara, I told you to reflect—not throw your life away. You think I care about your money?"

"You have the money, I want the ashes!" I lunged for the keys.

He dodged, letting out a cold laugh. His eyes shifted to the TV mounted on the wall. "What's the rush? You've paid the money. But your debt to Lila? That's far from settled."

The screen lit up with a news broadcast.

[Ford Vineyard Resorts announces its support of young artist Lila Ross by officially transferring ownership of Seabreeze Gallery in recognition of her exceptional talent...]

Seabreeze Gallery. That was my mother's legacy! My entire life's devotion!

My blood ran cold. I pointed a shaking finger at the screen. "You gave her the gallery? Ethan Ford, that was my mother's! How could you?"

He calmly adjusted his cufflinks. "Lila's art has spirit. You, on the other hand, are too filled with resentment. You can't produce anything worthwhile. Leaving the gallery in your hands would only tarnish it. Letting Lila manage it is what's best for the gallery. When you've changed—when you're no longer so extreme—I'll have her return it."

"Return it?" I let out a bitter laugh, tears blurring my vision.

Stealing from me, giving it to my enemy, all while saying it was "for my own good"?

"That gallery is mine! Who gave you the right to decide for me?"

I snapped. Like a storm breaking loose, I rushed at him.

"Ah—!" Lila suddenly screamed from the hospital bed, clutching her eyes and writhing. "It hurts... Ethan, my eyes... they hurt so much... Maybe Clara's resentment is too heavy. She's cursing me..."

Ethan's expression twisted. He shoved me violently.

I slammed into the wall. My wound reopened.

He cradled Lila in his arms, panic in his voice. "Don't be scared, I'm here, Lila."

In the chaos, Lila turned her head slightly in his embrace. She looked at me and smiled. A cruel, triumphant smile.

Her lips moved silently: "Everything you had is mine now."