By the eighth year of Teresa Sinclair's imprisonment, the Sinclair family was basking in unprecedented glory.

That day, luxury cars lined the driveway, and the villa was buzzing with gossip.

"Can you believe Rosie is marrying Leo Summers—the freaking movie king? Once the Sinclairs link up with the Summers family, their net worth might just skyrocket overnight!"

"Skyrocket? More like explode! Dominic went all in for this. Word is, he even managed to get the attention of that mysterious northern figure!"

"You mean the legendary War God? The one who commands a hundred thousand troops and can make or break families with a single word?"

"Who else could it be? Dominic personally went to the north hoping to meet him. Failed, obviously. But there's talk that the guy might actually show up today!"

"Holy—if he really comes, the Sinclairs are gonna soar to the big leagues for real!"

At the center of the banquet hall, Dominic Sinclair stood tall with a wine glass in hand, face glowing with pride as he accepted compliments from every direction. His hair was neatly combed, and the tailored suit made him look sharp and in control. He was clearly loving all the attention.

"Grandpa." Rosie Sinclair approached, arm-in-arm with a barely-conscious Leo Summers, his eyes unfocused and steps unsteady.

She wore a dress drenched in rhinestones, glittering under the lights. The gem necklace around her neck sparkled just as much as the smirk on her face. Cocky couldn't even begin to describe her expression.

"All the guests are here. Just waiting for the right moment to make the big announcement." She glanced at Leo, who was practically being dragged along by two bodyguards, her eyes flashing with a brief flicker of disgust—but it quickly turned into satisfaction. After today, this man and everything the Summers family owned would be hers.

Dominic gave an approving nod and lowered his voice, "Everything okay with Leo?"

"Relax," Rosie snorted, "After three days on those meds, the guy barely knows where he is, let alone who he is. What's he gonna mess up?"

Leo Summers—Valerium's top A-list actor, a walking traffic magnet with over a hundred million fans and shelves full of international awards.

Once the wedding went through, the Sinclair family's position... well, it was game-changing.

Just thinking about it made Rosie's eyes gleam maliciously. "Once the rings are on and the cameras snap, it's all over. I'd like to see how he dares to keep pining for that jailbird Teresa."

At the mention of Teresa, Dominic's eyes darkened—but only for a second before a sneer took over. "Whether Teresa's dead or rotting away doesn't matter. What matters is today—when that War God shows up. If we win him over, we're officially elite."

Though Leo's body was totally unresponsive and his mind fogged, a sliver of awareness still lingered. Shame and despair were buried deep in that haze.

In a daze, he saw a flicker of the snowy night from eight years ago—the girl they'd shielded behind them, her stubborn eyes hiding so much fragility.

"Teresa…" he pleaded silently, "Sorry... your third brother might not make it to the end..."

Right then, the butler stormed in, practically falling over his own feet, voice cracking from excitement.

"Master Dominic! He's here! The guest of honor—his convoy from the north—just reached the foot of the hill!"

"Boom!"The moment the banquet hall got the news, everything went off like a bomb.

"Wait, for real?!"

"She's actually coming?!"

"This is huge for the Sinclair family!"

"Quick! Get ready to welcome her!"

Dominic was so hyped his hands started shaking, red wine spilling from his glass but he didn't even notice.

He tried hard to steady himself, cleared his throat, then barked out orders in as calm a tone as he could manage. "Open the main gate! Everyone in the Sinclair family, line up behind me! Call in our best welcome team! Move it!"

Rumbling noises rolled in as a long line of military vehicles pulled up at the Sinclair estate.

Looking at the endless row of War Division cars, the entire family crew lit up with excitement. Everyone was already dreaming of the glory days ahead.

They all looked forward, holding their breath, waiting for the big-shot that would catapult their family into elite circles.

Then, the doors opened.

Soldiers stepped out from the vehicles in sync.

And then, from the very front car, a lone figure got out—tall, elegant, commanding.

"Teresa?! What the hell are you doing here?" Rosie's voice cracked in disbelief.

She couldn't process this—the person everyone had waited for didn't show. Instead, they got Teresa? The same Teresa who'd been locked away in prison for eight years?

This had to be a joke. A murderer like Teresa? There's no way she could be the War God!

Teresa stepped onto the red carpet, eyes like frozen steel sweeping across the crowd. "Big day for my cousin's wedding. Of course I had to show up," she said, cool as ever.

Flashback: That snowy night eight years ago, Teresa's uncle had tried and failed to force her mother. Humiliated, he'd pushed her down the stairs and dumped her like trash into the freezing cold.

Half-unconscious, she was found by seven ragtag boys—her future brothers. They shared their only food, a rock-hard black bread, soaked in water so she could eat.

With them, she had seven years of warmth and joy like never before.

Until age 10, when she grabbed a rusty fruit knife, trying to take revenge for her mother—and failed.

They tossed her into Terror Island prison for eight years, where she suffered all kinds of hell.

Then came a turning point: a reclusive war legend named Franklin saw something in her eyes—something fierce and unbreakable. He trained her, poured everything he knew into her.

Before passing, he gave her his military star and his coffin, the one that had traveled battlefields with him.

Taking up his will, she carried that coffin across wars, building her name with the bones of enemies.

After those grueling eight years, she came back not as a broken girl—but as the War God of the North, commanding 100,000 loyal soldiers.

Tilting her head slightly, Teresa blinked innocently at the Sinclairs.

"What's wrong? Not happy to see me?"

Her face hadn't changed much since she was a kid—still beautiful, only now even more refined, more radiant. Next to her, the Sinclair women all looked like dim stars against a moon.

But the family's mood shifted quickly.

"You filthy witch, get lost!"

"No one wants a cursed thing like you back here!"

"You really have the nerve to come back to this house?"Rosie gave Teresa a once-over, comparing her flawless figure and almost ethereal aura, and suddenly felt her jaw clench with envy.

"Wow, prisons these days really know how to treat their inmates. Must be nice having a whole escort team just to deliver a felon."

The moment she opened her mouth, everyone from the Sinclair family went stone-faced, throwing dagger-like glares as if she was some bad omen.

Someone like Teresa showing up here? If any important guest saw her—what a joke. Total embarrassment.

But Teresa ignored them all. She casually glanced at Dominic, her tone laced with irony. "I heard the Sinclair fortune jumped a few billion. Bet you're loving life right now, Dominic?"

That was enough to make Dominic lose his mind. "You little brat! I'm your grandfather! Is that how you speak to me? You shameless mutt!"

He barked to the servants, "Throw her out! She just got out of prison and already wants to pollute the eyes of our guests!"

Julian Sinclair jumped up, barking, "You've got some nerve showing your face here!"

Teresa raised a brow, her smile mocking. "Why wouldn't I?"

Julian stormed up to her, sneering, "Don't play dumb. You're back 'cause you want money, right?"

Then, in one dramatic move, he tossed ten five-dollar bills onto the floor. "Here, fifty bucks. Lick my shoe clean and it's yours," he said, hocking a wad of spit onto his shoe.

The room erupted in laughter, ridiculing her like she was some street clown.

"Fifty dollar? That's like ten cups of instant noodles. I say she'll do it."

"Come on, little mutt. Get on your knees already."

"This is the last bit of kindness the Sinclairs will ever show her."

Rosie stepped forward, reaching to shove Teresa's head down—but before her hand could touch her...

"Smack!"

A loud crack echoed across the room as Rosie spun through the air, slammed across the room by one brutal slap.

"Ahhh!"

She screamed, hitting the ground hard.

The room froze.

Julian's eyes bulged. "You crazy witch! How dare you?!"

He raised his hand to strike, but—

"Bang!"

Teresa didn't even flinch. She raised her leg and, in one fluid motion, kicked Julian straight in the face.

He flew back over ten meters, landing in a heap, groaning in pain.

"Ugh…"

And just as Rosie tried to get up, Julian's flying body crashed right into her again.

Everyone stood there, mouths open, too stunned to speak.

Silence.

It was so quiet, a pin drop would've sounded like an explosion.

What just happened?

Teresa… totally wrecked Julian with just one hit?

How?

She was just a woman—where the hell did all that strength come from?

Dominic was livid. "You little beast! You tried to murder your own uncle! And Rosie, being so kind, even gave you money, yet you attack her?!"

Looks like she spent those eight years in prison pumping iron instead of repenting.

"Rosie's always defended you in front of me, and you repay her like this? You heartless wretch!"

The more Dominic spoke, the angrier he got. He'd never imagined having a granddaughter this vile.

"Guards! Beat her to death! I'll take full responsibility!"

The Sinclair guards grabbed their clubs, circling around her.

"Touch her, and you'll regret it."