The Heiress Spoiled by Four Brothers and One Devilish CEO

In a damp, dim jail cell.

A frail woman with tangled hair curled up in a corner, sleeves hanging empty where her arms should be, head buried deep into her knees.

Footsteps approached—light, cheerful, even a little excited.

The cell door creaked open. A woman in a ivory lace dress strolled in, hanging on the arm of a sharp-dressed man holding a rectangular box.

"Sis, don't I look fabulous today?" she twirled in front of the woman on the floor, lifting her hem with pride. Her voice was sweet and light, like bells chiming. "It's your big day today, so I figured something bright and celebratory was in order. This ivory lace... it feels right, doesn't it? Perfect for a wedding! And guess what? Wyatt and I just got our marriage certificate too! Isn't it all just perfect timing?"

Slowly, the woman in the corner looked up. Her face was filthy, crisscrossed with nasty scars that looked like crawling parasites.

Suddenly, she lunged forward, throwing herself at the woman in ivory with every ounce of strength she had.

But before she even got close, she was kicked hard. Her body flew like a ragged kite, slamming into the icy stone wall.

Curling up from the pain in her chest, she grimaced as fresh blood seeped from her stitched lips.

Her eyes, bloodshot and full of hate, locked onto the smug pair standing over her.

The man puffed out a breath, brushed off his pants like her presence had contaminated him, then drew the woman in ivory closer and kissed her.

He looked down at the woman on the floor like she was trash. His voice carried nothing but disdain. "Megan, still playing tough when you're one step from death? Molly came herself to see you off, and you repay her like this?"

Molly clung to Wyatt's waist, blinking up with teary eyes. "She's always been this way to me, I'm used to it…"

Megan's heart ached. She gave a broken laugh that only tugged at the stitches on her lips, splitting them open again. The agony didn't even scratch the surface of the pain her sister's betrayal carved into her soul.

No—Molly didn't even count as family.

Breaking away, Molly squatted in front of her and whispered with a grin, "Thought you were some badass? So I took your arms. You thought you were a beauty? So I wrecked your face. Sharp tongue? I stitched your damn mouth shut. Honestly, it felt great."

She pulled out her phone, flicking through photos. "Check out your lovely family's last moments. Now, everything from the Shaw family is mine."

Megan glared at her, eyes burning.

Molly didn't flinch. She leaned in and said just loud enough for Megan to hear, "Even Tristan Reid, the man you didn't even treasure—he'll be mine soon enough. Imagine his face when he finds out you were the one who destroyed him…"

She let out a mocking giggle. "Who would've thought you were this genius hacker too? So jealous I could scream."

The moment Tristan Reid's name came up, deep remorse stirred in Megan's chest.

She'd believed every lie Molly spun—believed Tristan was some twisted monster who'd locked her up to torture her, never once stopping to hear him out. Molly had even framed Tristan, making Megan believing he was the one who killed their grandfather. That lie had completely blinded her with hatred.

So, she tore down his company, crushed the century-old legacy of the Reid family.

She dragged him from his pedestal straight to the abyss.

She destroyed him.

Her eyes, dull and lifeless, slowly lost their last trace of light.

Suddenly, Molly stumbled to the ground, pretending to be terrified and shaken.

Wyatt Reid immediately knelt to pick her up, pulling her behind him protectively. Then, without warning, he stomped hard on the side of Megan's head, grinding his heel viciously.

He gave a cruel chuckle. "Guess what? All those Reid businesses you took in the end? Yeah, they ended up mine anyway. Tristan has nothing now, zip."

He flipped open a narrow rectangular box and pulled out a military dagger, casually tossing the box aside.

Under the pale moonlight, the blade gleamed coldly.

Then he raised his arm and drove the knife straight into her side.

The sharp chill cut through her like ice. The pain made it hard to breathe.

Megan knew both lungs had been punctured. She didn't have much time left.

Still, not a single tear fell.

She just didn't have functioning tear ducts.

Wyatt yanked the blade out and kept stabbing—again and again. Blood splattered across the drab prison wall like bursts of crimson plum blossoms blooming in winter.

Megan lay there, numb from all the pain.

Her mind started to fade.

She vaguely caught the sound of a struggle, then—bang! bang!—two gunshots shattered the silence.

"Megan! Megan!" a voice called out.

Megan felt herself being gathered into a warm embrace. She struggled to lift her heavy eyelids, trying to see who was calling her name.

Just as her vision cleared for a moment, a single tear slid from the corner of her eye.

Tristan was holding her bloodied body close, tears streaming down his face. "Megan, wake up. Look at me. I've avenged you."

With what little strength she had, Megan glanced at the two who had tortured her seconds ago. Now both lay lifeless in pools of blood, bullets to their heads.

Tristan was pressing hard against her wounds, hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding—but there were too many.

"Megan… I'm sorry. I got here too late. I'll take you to the hospital right now," he choked out.

But Megan could feel her life slipping away. She shook her head slightly.

She parted her stitched-up, ruined lips, trying to say something.

Tristan instantly understood. He pulled out a knife and gently cut the stitches.

Her voice was raspy and barely audible. "So...rry… Tristan…"

He cupped her bruised face like it was the most precious thing in the world, his hot tears falling onto her cheeks. "Don't say that. You don't need to say sorry."

She wished more than anything to wipe away his tears with her hands, touch his handsome face once more. But her arms were gone.

Her sight began to blur again. "I...can't... If there's... a next life, I'll... love you better..."

As the light faded from Megan's eyes, Tristan reached down, picked up the dagger, and without hesitation, thrust it into his own chest.

Megan's lips barely moved, whispering her final word, "Don't…"

Tristan cradled her still, lifeless body, tears filling his eyes as he collapsed beside her.

With his last ounce of strength, he reached out and gently closed her eyes.

A quiet smile touched his lips. "We couldn't live together… but at least we'll die together. If there's a next life, I'll still love you…"