Returning with a New Face

The numbness from the anesthetic had just worn off, and a sharp pain throbbed across my cheekbone. I sat on the sofa in the VIP ward, my fingertips tracing the gauze still covering my face, like touching a stranger's skin. The hospital room door wasn't shut properly, and sounds from the hallway slipped in through the crack—sharp and familiar. "If that seductress dares to show her face, I have plenty of ways to deal with her." It was Grace Scott. My adoptive sister—the woman who, during my three years in prison, took my place and claimed everything that was mine. "You mean Emily Scott? She just got out, didn't she? What trouble could she possibly cause?" Another woman's voice, dripping with contempt—probably one of her fake friends. "It's exactly because she just got out that we have to be careful. Who knows if she's harboring a grudge against me and Mr. Green?" Grace's voice dropped slightly. "But it doesn't really matter. That face of hers was ruined long ago—she's just worthless now, no one wants her." I clenched my palms so tightly my nails cut into my skin. Three years ago, that so-called "accident" left my face disfigured by strong acid. Then I was branded a "corporate spy" and thrown in prison. The mastermind behind it all was the very woman outside, making those bitter remarks. I stood up, ready to argue, but just as I reached the door, I collided headfirst with a man. He carried a faint scent of cedarwood—clean and crisp. I looked up and found myself caught in a pair of deep, piercing eyes. He froze, his gaze locked tightly onto my face—more precisely, on the part of my eyes not veiled by gauze. "Your eyes..." he hesitated, his voice low and husky. It was Charles Green. My former fiance, and now only the nominal "partner" of Grace Scott. My heart suddenly raced, and I instinctively turned my head away. "Sorry." I apologized quietly, trying to walk past him. "Wait." He reached out to grab me but stopped just as his fingertips were about to touch me. "Haven't we met before?" His gaze remained fixed on my eyes, probing. "Sir, you have the wrong person." I quickened my pace, almost running away. Those eyes were so piercing, as if they could see through the gauze and the new face to the old soul I hid beneath. Just as I reached the elevator entrance, I heard Grace Scott's voice behind me. "Mr. Green, what are you doing here?" Her voice softened immediately, a stark contrast to how she sounded moments ago in the corridor. I instinctively stopped in my tracks and heard Charles Green reply coldly, "Just passing by." Grace quickly caught up and, brushing past me, deliberately gave me a once-over. Her gaze lingered on the gauze over my face for two seconds before she twisted her features in disgust. "Where did this ugly monster come from? Don't you know you're blocking the way?" She spoke sharply, without warmth. I turned aside, watching her cling affectionately to Charles Green's arm, a cold wave washing over me. "Grace, don't say things like that." Charles frowned but didn't pull away. "Did I say something wrong?" Grace pouted. "With your face all wrapped up like that, who knows how terrifying you must look." The elevator doors opened, and I stepped in. When I turned around, our eyes met—his gaze fixed on me. His eyes held confusion, curiosity, and a trace of something complex I couldn't quite place. "Mr. Green, let's hurry. That restaurant you mentioned earlier has a long line." Grace Scott shook his arm, breaking his gaze. The elevator doors closed slowly, cutting them off from the outside. I leaned against the elevator wall and realized my back was drenched in cold sweat. Grace Scott didn't recognize me. That realization made me breathe a sigh of relief, though it felt strangely ironic. After three years spent side by side, she had never truly looked me in the eye. Back in the ward, the nurse came in to change my dressing. The cold liquid brushed over the wound, but I felt no pain. "Ms., your surgery was incredibly successful. With this recovery, you're bound to be stunning." The nurse praised as she wrapped the bandages. I smiled at my reflection; the face looking back was both unfamiliar and strangely familiar. This face was crafted with money—it's the weapon I wield for revenge. Grace Scott, Charles Green—those who once hurt me, I won't spare a single one.