On the day of my birthday gala, the pink Rolls-Royce my father gave me was smashed into a twisted wreck by my stepsister. When the paramedics arrived, my stepsister, Sylvia, was clinging to life, her voice a desperate whisper. “Claire… I’ll never dance again, I promise! Please… don’t crush my legs…” In that single moment, I became public enemy number one. My stepmother fell to her knees, begging me to spare them. My father, his face a mask of pure disappointment, disowned me on the spot. And my fiancé, Carlisle, didn’t just call off our engagement—he dragged me into his car, shattered my ankle with a golf club, and personally delivered me to the police station. “You monster,” he spat, his voice laced with venom. “Why don’t you just die!” The police arrested me for aggravated assault. Five years in prison. I was beaten more times than I could count, until there wasn’t a single inch of my skin left unmarred. They even forcibly removed one of my kidneys. Just as they’d wished, I was finally dying. And only then did they regret it. They came to me, weeping. “Claire, we’re so sorry. Whatever you want, we’ll give it to you. Anything.” 1 Five years. Nearly two thousand days and nights. I stood outside the prison gates, wearing the same sweater I had on the day I was incarcerated. It hung on me like a burlap sack, a hollow shroud over a body that was nothing but sharp bones and a tapestry of scars. The world outside felt vast and terrifying, and I was frozen, unsure of where to even take my first step. Before I could process my freedom, a dark car screeched to a halt beside me. Hands grabbed me, a cloth bag was thrown over my head, and I was shoved inside. The car sped off, eventually delivering me to an exclusive, dimly-lit lounge. The bag was ripped from my head, the sudden light stinging my eyes. Before I could get my bearings, a slick voice cut through the haze. “Well, look who’s awake.” I looked up. CRACK. A man’s hand connected with my cheek. The pain was a searing flame, but it was nothing compared to the cold, predatory gaze I felt boring into me from a shadowy corner of the room. The man who’d slapped me grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. “Tsk, tsk. Dressed so heavily in the middle of summer?” He leaned in, his breath foul. “Ugh, you’re hideous. Where did they even find you?” He then spat on my face. “Disgusting.” With a final shove, he sent me sprawling to the floor. I swallowed the pain, scrambled to my knees, and hid my face in the high collar of my sweater. My voice came out as a raw, panicked rasp. “I’m sorry. Please, forgive me. It was my fault.” I thought if I begged, if I groveled, they would let me go. “Miss Evans,” a voice, cold as a tombstone, echoed from the dark corner. “I must say, five years have certainly changed you. The notoriously arrogant Claire Evans has learned to kneel.” The entire room fell silent, all eyes turning to watch the unfolding drama. My body trembled uncontrollably. I tried to shrink further into my collar, to disappear. The figure in the corner rose and walked toward me, his expensive leather shoes clicking softly on the marble floor. He stopped a single foot away, and the very air around him seemed to drop ten degrees, a chilling frost that threatened to suffocate me. I forced myself to look up, my gaze meeting his. It was Carlisle. His eyes, once warm, were now pits of black ice, filled with nothing but disgust and a deep, simmering hatred. “Long time no see, Miss Evans,” he said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “You’ve… changed.” The formal address sent a shiver down my spine, draining the blood from my face. Suddenly, his hand shot out, his fingers clamping around my jaw. I flinched, my eyes wide with terror, but it was too late. I was trapped in his unyielding gaze. “Tsk. This face of yours… it’s truly repulsive,” he sneered, his grip tightening, his thumb digging cruelly into my cheek. “But you deserve it. You’re a viper, Claire. To do that to your own sister… After what you did to Sylvia, a ruined face is the least you deserve.” A murderous glint flashed in his eyes, and for a moment, I thought he would crush my jawbone. I didn't hurt Sylvia. I didn't do it. The words burned in my throat, but I choked them back. I had screamed them a thousand times five years ago. No one believed me then. No one would believe me now. “Cough…” Carlisle stared at me, his expression cold and unforgiving. Then, he abruptly released me, letting me collapse onto the floor like a discarded doll. 2 Carlisle pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and meticulously wiped the fingers that had touched my skin. He tossed the soiled cloth onto my body with contempt. “She’s all yours,” he announced to the room with a light, dismissive laugh. “Have fun.” And with that, he turned and walked out of the suite without a backward glance. In the dim, amber light, hands grabbed me again, dragging me toward a large, circular sofa where several men were lounging, each with one or two women draped over them. “Lift your head,” one of them commanded. I remained still, my face hidden. A hand tangled in my hair and yanked my head back, forcing my face into the light. It was a gaunt, sallow mask, crisscrossed with scars. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” the man barked. “Whoa! She’s terrifying! So damn ugly,” another man exclaimed. “Who’d want to touch that? Seriously, what was Carlisle thinking? You wouldn’t even pick this up off the street.” My shoulders shook, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. “Please, sir, just let me go,” I pleaded. “I’m filthy. You don’t want to dirty your hands on me.” “At least she knows her place,” a portly man with a greasy face chimed in. He squinted at me. “You’re Claire Evans, aren’t you?” The room went quiet for a beat, then erupted in whispers. “Claire Evans… the one who went to prison.” “That’s her? The spoiled heiress of Ashton City?” “Damn, time is a cruel mistress. Look what it’s done to you, Miss Evans.” “Mr. Wallace, how can you even tell it’s her when she looks like… that?” So, the portly man was Mr. Wallace. “The way Carlisle treated her, but still called her ‘Miss Evans’… it has to be her,” Wallace said, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He rose slowly and walked toward me. He reached out as if to pat my head, and I instinctively recoiled. His other hand shot out, grabbing my hair and forcing me to look at him. “Well, Miss Evans,” he purred. “This just got a lot more interesting.” He gestured to a full bottle of whiskey on the table. “Here. Drink this whole bottle, and maybe… just maybe, I’ll let you walk out of here.” I stared at the bottle. I couldn’t. The empty space where my left kidney used to be screamed a silent warning. If I drank that, I would die right here. If I refused… maybe I’d have a chance to live. “No, please, I can’t,” I begged, dropping to the floor and bowing my head frantically. “Mr. Wallace, I’m begging you, please let me go. I can’t drink it, please, I’m begging you…” “Alright, alright, we won’t drink,” he said with a sickening smile. “If you won’t drink, we’ll just have to find another way to have some fun.” He waved a dismissive hand at the others. Understanding the signal, they quickly and quietly filed out of the room. Soon, it was just me and Mr. Wallace. He began to laugh, a low, guttural sound, as he stripped off his jacket and tie. His eyes, alight with a feverish glow, fixed on me as he advanced. My blood ran cold. I scrambled backward, using the arm of the sofa to pull myself to my feet. “Stay away from me!” “Oh, I love it when you struggle, Miss Evans,” he sneered. “Come on, show me some of that fire you had when you turned me down all those years ago.” In a panic, I grabbed anything I could reach—glasses, ashtrays, coasters—and hurled them at him. But it was useless against a healthy man. In three long strides, he was on me, pinning my arms. I opened my mouth and sank my teeth into his fleshy, oily hand. He roared in pain and flung me away. My body slammed against the cold marble floor. Before I could even try to get up, he was on top of me, his weight crushing me, his hands tearing at my clothes. I went feral, scratching, clawing, biting, fighting with the last vestiges of my strength. Enraged by my resistance, he grabbed a nearby wine bottle and brought it down hard on my head. The world exploded in a flash of light, then spun into a nauseating vortex. I went limp, feeling my life slipping away. But I can’t die, a voice screamed in my mind. Not until I’ve cleared my name. I can’t die! Just as my eyes were about to close for good, the suite door burst open. A blinding light flooded the room, and a silhouette rushed in, sending my attacker flying with a single, brutal kick. 3 I woke up in a sterile white hospital room. Sylvia was beside my bed, sitting in a wheelchair. Carlisle stood protectively behind her. Noticing I was awake, Sylvia leaned forward, her face a perfect portrait of concern. “Claire, you’re finally awake! How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?” If I hadn’t lived through the hell she’d created, I might have actually believed her performance. “I heard you were released and I rushed to find you,” she continued, her voice soft with fake sympathy. “I can’t believe they took you to a place like that… to hurt you.” “Claire… why aren’t you saying anything?” I just stared at her, my gaze unwavering. “Sylvia,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I gave you everything you ever wanted. I treated you like a real sister. Why did you frame me?” “Claire, what are you talking about?” she said, feigning shock. “It’s all in the past. It’s okay, sister. I’ve already forgiven you.” I wasn’t asking for forgiveness. I was demanding an answer. “Why,” I repeated, my voice rising with an anger I couldn’t contain, “did you frame me?” Sylvia flinched as if I’d struck her, and tears immediately welled in her eyes. “Claire, I can forgive you for the harm you caused me, but why can’t you just let it go? Why do you have to keep insisting on this?” Carlisle immediately stepped forward, shielding her. “Claire, that’s enough! Don’t push your luck. Sylvia is willing to forgive and forget, and you’re still trying to force her to admit to something she didn’t do?” He glared at me. “The evidence spoke for itself. Did five years in prison teach you nothing?” Sylvia tugged on his sleeve. “Carlisle, please, just stop. It’s okay. I… I just want to be alone for a while. Let’s go.” … That evening, Sylvia returned, alone. She wheeled herself to my door, glanced down the hallway, and then quietly closed the door behind her. In her lap was a container of food. “Sister,” she said, her voice sickeningly sweet. “I brought you some sushi from your favorite place. Won’t you have some?” I said nothing, just watched her, my eyes burning holes into her. She met my gaze, a slow, malicious smile spreading across her face. “No? Not even a bite?” She let out a short, sharp laugh. “Tsk. Fine. Yes. I did it on purpose. I framed you.”
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