?Chapter 1354:


    But if they ever failed her—if they ever hurt her—Davina knew she wouldn’t hesitate to make them regret it.


    “Take good care of Davina,” Christina told Ralphy onest time before turning to leave.


    “I will,” he answered firmly.


    Together, Ralphy and Davina watched Christina’s figure disappear down the hall. Davina’s eyes lingered on her friend’s departing silhouette, a flicker of reluctance clouding her gentle gaze.


    Night draped the world in silence. Faint moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting silver shadows across the room. Christina tossed restlessly in bed, her brows tightly knitted. A sheen of cold sweat clung to her forehead.


    Her lips trembled, forming words that escaped in a broken whisper. “No… don’t… Joelle… please, don’t die…” Her voice quivered with helpless grief.


    In her dream, Christina was back in that nightmare—her trembling hands cradling Joelle Schneider’s lifeless body. Tears streamed down her face as she begged, voice raw and desperate. “Don’t die, please… please, don’t die!”


    Her cries echoed through the darkness of her mind. In the real world, her soft sobs broke the stillness of the night, her whisper repeating like a plea to the heavens. “I beg you… don’t die…”


    She was trapped, forced to relive the moment she had tried, over and over again, to save Joelle. But no matter how hard she screamed, how tightly she clung, Joelle’s body only grew colder in her arms.


    Each second of that memory carved fresh wounds into her heart.


    Christina pressed herself against Joelle’s unmoving form, her whole body trembling as she tried to share her warmth—trying to will life back into Joelle’s fading body.


    But nothing worked. The woman who had always protected her had died to save her. And Christina could do nothing. Helplessness consumed her, a torment sharper than any de.


    In her grief, she cursed fate itself—its cruelty, its indifference—as her cries tore through the night until her throat was hoarse and raw.


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    In that unbearable moment, she longed for the version of Joelle who had once seemed untouchable—cold, distant, unreachable. If only Joelle had remained that way… perhaps she would still be alive. If Joelle hadn’t cared about her, hadn’t stepped in, hadn’t gotten entangled with her, she might not have died.


    That thought cut through Christina’s chest like a knife.


    Deep down, Christina had always med herself. She told no one. She simply carried it quietly, like a wound that never healed.


    She thought she had escaped it, moved past it—but in truth, she had only buried it deeper.


    Her smiles, her brightughter… were all masks. Behind them, her soul had been quietly withering.


    Perhaps, one day, that decay would swallow her whole.


    And yet—she could not die. Joelle had exchanged her life for hers. Christina no longer owned the right to throw that life away.


    The contradiction had tortured her for years. She wanted to end the pain—but at the same time, she refused to betray the one who had died for her. So she buried her despair underyers of strength and silence, sealing it deep inside her heart.


    When she single-handedly destroyed that assassin organization, she had done so with no expectation of survival.


    When she began racing—recklessly, fearlessly—she wasn’t chasing victory; she was tempting death.


    When she became the Boxing Queen, she told herself that maybe… perhaps… one day, a stronger opponent would strike hard enough to end it all for her.


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