I slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the car door shut, and pressed the accelerator until the engine roared.

The bar glowed like a neon beast waiting to devour me—lights flickering in dizzying colors, bass shaking the floorboards, and music pounding against my ribcage like a second heartbeat. Every vibration rattled my bones. I grabbed the first drink offered, swallowed it too fast to notice the flavor, too numb to feel the burn that scraped down my throat. My chest ached, but I kept drinking, pouring glass after glass until my thoughts blurred and everything felt muffled at the edges.

I only wanted one thing: to erase it all. To lose myself.

So I danced.

Wild. Careless. Detached. My body swayed and twisted as though it no longer belonged to me, as though someone else was moving my limbs. Heat pressed in from every side, strangers’ bodies crowding me, perfume and sweat mixing in a suffocating cloud.

I didn’t care. Let them press too close. Let the air choke. Let the world collapse into spinning lights and pounding music.

And then—my gaze caught.

Them.

Jerwin and Yvette. They had followed.

At first, he lingered at the edge of the dance floor, watching silently the way he always did—observing, calculating, detached. But Yvette, smiling sweetly, stretched her hand toward him, tugging him forward. He didn’t resist. His hand settled against her waist like it belonged there, like it had always been meant for her.

They moved together, close—too close. His lips dipped toward her ear, murmuring something low and private. She laughed, soft and delighted, the sound cutting through the music and straight into me.

I tore my gaze away.

Another drink. Stronger this time. It scorched all the way down, tasting like liquid regret. Still, it didn’t help.

A stranger slipped into the space beside me. His grin was sloppy, his words slurred, his eyes roaming over me as though I were nothing more than a prize to be won. Before I could recoil, his hand snatched mine, yanking me into his rhythm.

I hadn’t agreed. I hadn’t spoken. Silence, apparently, was enough permission for him. His hands roamed shamelessly, uninvited, his breath foul and hot against my cheek. Then his mouth crashed onto mine—hard, wet, revolting.

I shoved at his chest with both hands. “Don’t touch me.”

He staggered back, chuckling with drunken arrogance. “Didn’t look like you minded.”

I turned away, but his hand shot out, clamping around my wrist with bruising force.

Before I could scream—

A fist sliced through the air.

Crack.

The man toppled to the ground.

Jerwin.

But it was already too late. Another stranger lunged from the crowd, shouting something unintelligible. I stepped back, but bodies pressed against me on all sides. There was nowhere to run.

His arm swung. The bottle shattered against my shoulder, exploding into shards that tore through my skin. Agony seared down my arm, hot and wet, blood seeping instantly into the fabric of my dress. My breath hitched into a broken gasp.

Jerwin’s eyes locked onto mine, wide and stricken. “I’m sorry, Miss Simon.”

A laugh tore out of me—cold, cracked, laced with bitterness. “Sorry? Where were you when it actually mattered?”

His mouth opened, faltering. “Yvette needed—”

“Of course she did,” I cut in sharply, my voice slicing the space between us. “She always does.”

Blood trickled down my hand as I pressed against the wound. “Once I’m married, you can throw all your devotion at her. Guard her day and night, protect her as much as you like. Forget me completely. You’ve already been practicing, haven’t you?”

I spun away. But chaos erupted before I could escape.

Screams split the air. Glass shattered, raining down like sharp rain. Gunfire cracked, deafening and close. Panic surged—people shoved, stumbled, trampled in a desperate rush toward the exits. Tables overturned, drinks spilled, bodies collided.

And Jerwin?

He didn’t come for me.

He ran straight to Yvette.

He threw himself over her, shielding her body with his own, clutching her as though she were the only soul worth saving.

And I—

I just stood frozen, breath shallow, staring.

Until pain tore through my upper shoulder. A bullet.

My body dropped, hitting the ground with brutal force. The world spun, blurred. No one noticed. No one reached out a hand.

Then Yvette’s fragile voice pierced the din. “Jerwin… you’re supposed to be Fatima’s butler, sworn to protect her. She’s hurt… She needs you…”

For a moment, he said nothing. The silence burned more than the wound.

Finally, his voice broke. “It’s my fault… Fatima… she needs help.”

“No,” Yvette soothed, her tone breaking. “Don’t blame yourself. None of this is your fault. Even if it happened over and over again… I would still want you to choose me.”

Her words quivered. “But… why?”

And his reply came low, steady, final.

“Because I love—”

The world blinked out before I could hear the rest.

The ceiling was pale.

Blurry at first, then clearer as my eyes slowly opened. The fluorescent light buzzed faintly above me, sterile and cold. It didn’t take long for the pain to return. A sharp ache in my arm. Dull, throbbing, but alive.

My arm was bandaged, tight and stiff. The bullet hadn’t gone too deep, they said. Just a graze. Lucky.

If only I felt lucky. I turned my head slowly. Yvette sat beside me, her eyes wide and glassy with guilt. Her hair was perfect, lips tinted pink, and yet her hands trembled slightly as she reached for me.

“Fatima… are you okay?” Her voice was soft, as if afraid I’d break if she spoke too loud. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t know how it started. They’re still investigating what happened at the bar. But you… you got hurt.”

I didn’t respond.

“Fatima,” she whispered, “please… I want to take care of you. Don’t ignore me. You’re my precious sister.”

I shifted my gaze away from her. My throat was dry, cracked from disuse, but the words came out steady. “Leave me.”

Her face fell. “But… I just want to help—”

The door creaked open, and our father stepped in. “Fatima,” he said with quiet frustration, “why are you being so difficult with your sister? She’s only trying to help.”

I looked at him—cold, tired. “If she really wants to help me,” I said, voice flat, “then she should leave. I don’t want to see her again.”

I shoved Yvette’s hand away. She gasped softly, visibly shaken, but I didn’t care anymore.

Then I saw him. Jerwin stood by the door.

His jaw clenched as if trying to speak but failing. I didn’t wait.

“I don’t want to see you either,” I said sharply. “You’re fired.”

His eyes widened. “No. Don’t—please, don’t fire me.”

He stepped forward, his voice rising. “Miss Simon… Fatima, I’m sorry. I know I failed. I—I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t there. But I’ll do anything. Just don’t fire me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why?” I asked bitterly.

“Of course, to protect you.”

I laughed but there was no humor in my eyes. Still, I said, “Fine. You can stay.”

His head lifted, eyes hopeful for a second.

“But,” I added, “you’ll be punished for failing me.”

When I was finally discharged from the hospital, I didn’t waste time.

Everything was prepared. The private room I chose was quiet, the curtains drawn tightly against the world. A cold, clean space without distractions—perfect for what needed to happen.

Jerwin entered exactly when I told him to. No emotion in his eyes, no excuses on his lips. He removed his jacket slowly and folded it with precision, then stood still in the center of the room, as if waiting for judgment.

But I didn’t lift a whip. Instead, I gave a small nod to the two men stationed at the side of the room—my father’s men, now mine.

“Begin.”

Jerwin didn’t flinch.

The first punch landed across his cheek, snapping his head to the side. The second followed to his gut. He grunted, breath escaping his lungs in one sharp exhale, but he didn’t speak. Didn’t raise a hand to defend himself. He took each hit, like he believed he deserved it.

And maybe he did.

He betrayed me in silence.

In secrets.

And worst of all—he made me believe I mattered.

The punches kept coming. His knees buckled under one sharp blow, and I left the room without another word.

I went to the pool terrace to clear my head. I sat by the edge, legs dangling over the side when Yvette came.

“I heard what you did,” she said, standing beside me. “That punishment… it wasn’t just cruel—it was my fault. He only got hurt because he was protecting me.”

I said nothing.

“I should be the one who gets punished,” she added dramatically, stepping closer to the edge. “If you're angry, then hurt me instead—”

I stood and turned away. “I have no interest in you. You’re not worth it.”

She reached out again. “Fatima, I just want us to be sisters—”

“I said no,” I snapped, walking past her.

But then—I heard the slip. Her foot caught on the wet edge. Her arms flailed.

And then—a splash.

“Help!” she screamed. “I can’t swim—please! Help me!”

I turned slowly. She was thrashing, her head barely staying above water, panic splashed across her face.

And before anyone else could react—

Jerwin ran. Bleeding. Limping. Bruised.

He didn’t even hesitate. He threw himself into the pool, arms slicing through the water. In seconds, he reached her, pulling her to him as she clung to him, coughing and crying.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m here… no one will hurt you again.”

Days passed. And every time I opened a door or turned a hallway, there they were—Jerwin and Yvette, tending to each other like a storybook couple. I never saw him cry for me. Never saw him care.

But for her? I passed by the guest room one evening and paused.

The door wasn’t fully shut.

Through the small gap, I saw Jerwin sitting by Yvette’s bedside, gently wiping her tears.

“I’m sorry,” Jerwin whispered, his hand ghosting over her bruised skin. “You were never supposed to get hurt. I swear, Yvette… anyone who lays a hand on you will be punished.”

He leaned in.

Pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

I didn’t flinch.

Didn’t feel anything anymore.

Another time, I passed the room again. Yvette was asleep. Jerwin tucked the blanket over her shoulders, then leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “I love you so much…”

I stood there a moment longer, but there was no ache this time.

Just… emptiness.

Later that week, I went to the bridal boutique alone.

No one offered to come.

Not my father.

Not Yvette.

Not even Jerwin.

The wedding dress fit perfectly. It was a clean white gown with silver embroidery along the bodice, cascading into layers of soft tulle. I looked like a stranger in the mirror. A beautiful bride no one wanted.

When I stepped out of the shop, the sky had already folded into night.

The street was nearly empty, only the faint glow of the boutique’s lights behind me and the dim flicker of a broken streetlamp ahead. I was walking toward the car when a hand clamped over my mouth.

A sharp, bitter scent invaded my nostrils—chemical, suffocating.

I kicked. Scratched. Fought with everything I had.

But it was useless.

Everything went black.

When I came to, I was already soaking wet.

I gasped, coughing violently, spitting out water as my lungs fought to remember how to breathe. My arms were bound behind my back, wrists aching from the tight restraints. My hair clung to my face, tangled and heavy.

I was outside somewhere—cold concrete beneath me, the air thick with moisture and the scent of moss and rusted iron.

A warehouse. Or the back of one. Somewhere forgotten.

And then, hands gripped my shoulders.

Without warning, I was dragged forward—toward a trough filled with ice-cold water. I had only a second to understand what was happening.

Then they shoved me under.

Water rushed up my nose, into my mouth. I thrashed, panicked. My lungs screamed for air as the pressure closed in.

And just as I was about to lose consciousness, they yanked me up.

I choked, spluttering, coughing violently.

Then—

They pushed me down again.

The second time was worse. I knew what was coming, and still I couldn’t fight it. My body bucked against the hands pinning me. My mind screamed for oxygen. For mercy. For escape.

But there was none.

They pulled me up again—long enough to breathe, barely.

And then it happened a third time.

Over. And over. And over again.

Each breath between drownings was like a curse—never enough to recover, just enough to survive the next.

Finally, when they stopped, I was gasping like a dying fish, crumpled on the concrete, soaked and shivering.

A voice broke the silence.

“You’re being punished… for what you did to the woman our master loves.”

I blinked, my vision blurry. My ears rang.

“What…?” I rasped.

“The young master doesn't want her hurt,” the man continued. “You pushed her into the pool. You made her suffer. So now, you suffer.”

And that’s when it hit me.

Jerwin. The man who once promised to protect me had ordered this for Yvette.

I let out a sound—half sob, half laugh. It echoed in the empty space around us like something feral.

So that was it. He would protect Yvette. Even if it meant breaking me.

When they dumped me outside the city, I was half-conscious. Shivering. Skin raw and scraped. I crawled until I found the edge of the road. Then I stood—barely—and walked. And walked.

I don’t know how I reached the hospital. I just remember the bright lights and the way the nurses looked at me like I was something broken beyond repair.

No one came to see me. Not even after three days.

I didn’t bother calling anyone.

Why would I? I knew better now.

I wasn’t the precious one. I wasn’t the girl who got saved. I was the one who got punished for existing.

And all I had to do now… was make it to the wedding.

So once discharged, I went home. Packed quietly. I decided to stay in a hotel until the ceremony. That way, I wouldn’t have to see their faces, or live in the same house as the people who forgot I existed.

I was almost out the door when Father’s voice echoed from behind me.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I turned slowly. “To the hotel. I’ll return for the wedding.”

He frowned. “No. It’s Yvette’s birthday tomorrow. She wants you there. She wants your help organizing the celebration.”

I said nothing.

He scowled. “Why are you always so difficult with your sister? She’s trying to build a relationship with you!”

I stared at him. “And I said no.”

He stepped forward, lowering his voice into a threat. “If you don’t go, I’ll freeze your cards. You won’t access a single cent.”

I didn’t even blink.

Then sighed.

“Fine.”

I turned to leave again, but before I reached the stairs, he spoke once more.

“Oh, and Fatima—give your mother’s necklace to Yvette. She wants to wear it for the party.”

My body went rigid.

I turned, disbelief flashing through me. “No.”

His eyes narrowed. “She just needs something to match her gown. She’ll return it.”

“No!” I snapped, louder this time. “That necklace is the only thing I have left from my mother. I won’t give it to her.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a piece of jewelry.”

I took a step back. But he was faster.

He walked up and unclasped the necklace from behind my neck. I reached to stop him, but his grip was firm—unyielding.

He pulled it off and walked away, tossing it to a maid. “Give this to Yvette.”

I stood there—motionless.

My chest felt like it was being hollowed out. It wasn’t about the necklace. It was about the last piece of someone who loved me being ripped away.

I collapsed on the couch, shoulders shaking. But I didn’t scream. Didn’t beg.

I just lay there… silent.

Tears slid down my face. I didn’t wipe them.

Because crying wouldn’t change anything.

Because in this house—No one cared.