When the woman saw Felicia, her eyes locked on her, filled with shock and something deeper; the intensity was almost overwhelming. Felicia raised an eyebrow. "Do you know me?"

The woman quickly shook her head, lowering her gaze, refusing further eye contact. Felicia didn't press the matter; she had no interest in interacting with anyone under Maurice's control. His staff, his maids—all were extensions of his watchful gaze. Without another word, Felicia returned to her room.

Left alone, the scarred woman finally lifted her head, trembling as she watched Felicia go. She was Abbie. Assigned to care for a special guest, she never imagined it would be Felicia. They had crossed paths before—when Abbie was a rising starlet. Back then, she had everything: wealth, fame, and devoted fans. Now, she scrubbed glasses and ran errands for Maurice, a world away from her glamorous past.

Even her face had suffered—a single order from Maurice had sent her into a crocodile pit. She barely escaped with her life, but the scars remained. Her beauty, her confidence, her power—all had been her ticket to reclaiming her place. Now, her beauty was ruined. Deep gashes marred her once flawless skin, like jagged lines on a shattered vase. The wounds had cut deep, leaving permanent reminders of her fall. She couldn't bear to look in the mirror anymore. If she couldn't recognize herself, how could Felicia?

Abbie clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, breaking the skin. Blood dripped onto the floor as she stood there, trembling with barely contained rage and jealousy. Why was Felicia unharmed? Why was she treated like an untouchable guest?

Abbie's breathing grew ragged; her mind spiraled into darkness. "Felicia…" she whispered, her voice low and venomous. "I'm already in hell. You should join me."

The next afternoon, Felicia performed another acupuncture session on Maurice. By the end, his legs showed further progress; he felt pain when pinched and tingling when slapped. She smiled smugly. "I told you, seven days. You've got five left, and then you'll be out of that wheelchair."

Maurice reclined in his steaming bath, exhaling deeply. His eyes held an unreadable light. Meanwhile, Felicia stretched her sore wrists and neck, muttering, "That's enough for today. I need to rest."

As she turned to leave, Maurice subtly nodded to his men. They immediately followed Felicia. One approached, offering to help carry her kit. Another offered to show her the way. Carrying the kit and leading the way were merely pretexts; their true task was surveillance.

Felicia flashed a sweet, innocent smile, perfectly playing the unsuspecting guest. "Thank you so much!"