Three days. That’s how close I was to marrying Alistair, the man I’d loved for six years, the man whose life I’d literally saved with my own rare blood. I was just admiring the final pearl on my wedding dress, a gown I’d poured my soul into, when he called.

The wedding? Off. He was marrying my stepsister, Ivy. Her dying wish, he said. Six months to live, maybe less.

The kicker? He’d already taken my wedding dress from my studio for her.

Just like that, six years, countless transfusions, our shared dreams – all tossed aside for the girl who’d made my life a living hell since childhood. He even offered me “compensation,” as if my future had a price tag.

But if Alistair and Ivy thought I’d just crumble, they seriously underestimated me. They wanted my fiancé? Fine. But it would cost them. First, our multi-million-dollar fashion company, Evening Gala – built on my designs, my vision. He signed it over. Then, a cool million for the stolen dress. He paid. Another million for the wedding jewelry they dared to ask me to hand over for Ivy. Cha-ching.

You’d think they’d learn. But no. Their next proposal was the most insulting yet: Alistair actually suggested that I should just wait. That after Ivy’s ‘inevitable’ passing in a few months, he and I could just pick up where we left off, have an even better wedding. Seriously?

Enough was enough. If Ivy wanted to play bride with my life, she was going to get a taste of what happens when you push someone too far. Let's just say her hospital room celebration involved a lot more smoke, water, and screaming than she bargained for, all thanks to a little wedding gift from yours truly.

Now they know I’m not the same Hazel they could walk all over. I’ve got my company, a pile of their cash, and a whole lot of scores to settle. They think this is over? This game of revenge is just getting started. And believe me, I play to win.

The taxi stopped in front of Vera's building, and I sat frozen in the backseat. My hands trembled as I handed the driver cash, not even bothering with change. The photograph Vera sent kept flashing in my mind—Sebastian beside my son, their matching profiles undeniable even in the dim light.


I stood on the sidewalk, staring up at Vera's apartment windows. He was up there. The man I'd fled across an ocean to escape. The man whose child I'd hidden for two years.


"You can do this," I whispered to myself, but my legs felt like lead as I entered the building.


The elevator ride was too short. With each floor, my heart hammered harder against my ribs. When the doors opened, I forced myself to walk down the hallway. Each step brought me closer to the reckoning I'd dreaded since the day I discovered I was pregnant.


I raised my hand to knock, but hesitated. What would I say? How could I possibly explain?


Before I could decide, the door swung open.


Chapter 367 - The Confrontation Two Years in the Making