Staring at the name on the screen, Emily Blair paused, her eyes lingering on the familiar letters. The phone kept ringing and vibrating in her hand, each buzz another impatient demand for her to answer.

Emily sat quietly, unmoving, her gaze locked on Andrew Lane's name. She didn't even twitch a finger.

She didn't need to guess-Andrew Lane had probably seen the post she made online and was now calling to scold her.

According to Andrew Lane's precious Isabella Austin, she was now "clinically depressed," and somehow her post had supposedly "brought depression into their family."

Emily ignored the calls. She tossed the phone aside, pulled out her suitcase, and began to pack.

She had nothing to say to Andrew Lane. Not anymore.

Her flight was already booked. She had arranged everything with her grandmother's hospital-two days from now, she'd be leaving for the capital.

It had only been two months since she moved out of the Lane family's house and into this small rented apartment. She didn't have much to take with her. Even with one ankle still in a cast, she managed to pack up everything she needed in less than half an hour.

When she finished, Emily leaned on her crutch, washed her hands, and returned to sit on the bed.

She glanced at her phone. The screen was filled with missed call notifications-over twenty of them. Half from unknown numbers, the rest all from Andrew Lane.

She'd heard the phone ringing the whole time she was packing, and when it got too loud, she'd simply switched it to silent.

Emily frowned.

This wasn't the first time Andrew Lane had blown up her phone like this. The last time had been... in another life.

Back then, too, it was all because of Isabella Austin.

She remembered how, after things soured between her and Andrew Lane-and the entire Lane family-life had become nearly impossible. They'd shut every door in her face. She couldn't find a job, not even washing dishes or waiting tables. Her only income was whatever meager savings she'd managed to hide away.

Time passed. Eliana, her daughter, grew to three years old-old enough for preschool.

Naively, Emily believed the Lanes wouldn't go so far as to punish Eliana, Andrew Lane's own flesh and blood. Surely, she thought, they'd at least allow their granddaughter to attend school.

But after being rejected by every preschool in the city, Emily finally pressed one of the teachers for answers. That's when she learned the truth-the Lane family had made sure Eliana was blacklisted from every school in town.

The shock nearly knocked Emily off her feet.

That was how ruthless the Lanes—and Andrew Lane-could be. They wouldn't even spare a child. They'd stripped Eliana of her right to an education.

For Eliana's sake, Emily had baked pastries herself and tried to speak with Andrew Lane. But he refused to see her. Everyone in his office avoided her, their eyes full of contempt, as if even looking at her was beneath them.

Her reputation was already ruined beyond repair. No one would help her. No one dared come near.

No one except Isabella Austin.

Isabella had approached her with feigned concern. Desperate, Emily had thrust the pastries into Isabella's arms, begging her to give them to Andrew Lane, to put in a good word. All she wanted was for Eliana to be allowed into school.

At first, Isabella acted interested, listening to Emily's pleas. But when Eliana's name came up, something in Isabella's eyes darkened. She gave a strange little smile, promised she'd help, and took the pastries.

Emily, too grateful to notice the malice, thanked her over and over.

Soon after, word spread that Isabella's son had been hospitalized with acute food poisoning-supposedly from the pastries Emily had made. That same night, Andrew Lane called her over and over, nearly breaking her phone.

She'd gone to bed early and missed all the calls. By morning, Andrew Lane's people had dragged her to the hospital, forced her to kneel at the little boy's bedside and beg forgiveness.

Emily could never forget the way Andrew looked at her that day.

Pure disgust. Not an ounce of pity or kindness-just revulsion and rejection.

She had knelt by the bed while Andrew stood across the room, unwilling to come any closer.

Isabella, meanwhile, clung to Andrew and sobbed uncontrollably. “Emily Blair, I was only trying to help you. Why would you hurt me? Why would you hurt Andrew's and my child? If anything happens to my son, I'd rather die..."

Emily's voice trembled as she tried to defend herself, but Isabella only cried harder, while Andrew's eyes grew colder by the second.

Then-smack.

A sharp slap echoed through the room. It wasn't Isabella who hit her. Nor was it Andrew.

It was their son.

A boy no older than Eliana, but with a strength that sent Emily's head snapping to the side, red welts blooming on her pale cheek.

"Bad woman! She's the bad woman! Mommy, Daddy, I don't want to see her. Please, make her go away!"

And just like that, she was tossed out of the hospital room like a piece of trash, Andrew's bodyguards dragging her by the arm and ordering her to kneel at the door to repent for her "sins."