Instinctively, I tried to kneel and beg for mercy, but he grabbed me firmly, holding me in place.

“Are you really this afraid of me?” Carter’s voice was laced with disbelief. “Lindsey, how did you become so weak?”

His words cut deep. “Are you pretending? The pampered daughter of the Thomson family, who can’t bear the slightest discomfort, now enduring the stench of garbage bins and even wetting herself?”

“Do you think putting on this pitiful act will make me forgive you?”

"My father's death, the ten years Amy and I lost, it's all because of you! How dare you!"

His eyes reddened with rage, and his grip tightened, causing me pain.

Holding back my tears, I clasped my hands together, silently begging him to let me go.

This was something I’d learned while living on the streets.

Whenever I was beaten, if I begged like this, they’d lose interest and leave me alone.

But I forgot—this was Carter in front of me, the person who hated me most in this world.

“What happened to your hand?”

He suddenly grabbed my wrist.

My once slender and delicate right hand was now disfigured, covered in scars left by frostbite. The gash on my palm was still bleeding.

Panicking, I tried to pull my hand back, but his grip was too strong.

Every attempt was futile.

His anger grew, and it felt like he was going to crush my bones.

“Why didn’t you say you were hurt?” he demanded.

I didn’t dare to answer, lowering my head like a guilty prisoner.

Carter had always hated seeing my injuries. In the past, whenever I tried to get his attention by whining about my wounds, he’d scold me for being melodramatic.

Eventually, I started to believe I was being overdramatic.

I learned to bandage myself and go to the hospital alone. I never troubled him again.

He pulled me into the living room, grabbed the first aid kit, and began to bandage my hand.

His beautiful eyes were downcast, his movements incredibly gentle.

For a moment, I felt like I was back in my childhood, back when Carter had been so kind to me. He would blow on my scrapes when I fell and stand in front of me, scaring away the boys who teased me. It was because of his kindness that I had been deluded.

I had once believed that he liked me too.

“It’s too late now. I’ll take you to the hospital tomorrow.”

I was stunned; his gentle tone caught me off guard. He was actually talking to me.

He gently stroked the bandage on my hand, his shoulders trembling slightly. Soft sobs reached my ears.

“Why, Lindsey? Why did you have to do that to my dad?”

I stared at him blankly, feeling too exhausted to even try to explain.

After that day, Carter disappeared again.

When he finally returned a month later, he barged in, reeking of alcohol.

He quickly crossed the room, grabbed me, and threw me heavily onto the bed.

In the next moment, he was on top of me, his presence overwhelming and aggressive.

I struggled to clear my head from the shock of the impact and fought back desperately, but my resistance only made him angrier.

In the dim light, I could see the frightening redness in his eyes, like a crazed animal.

“Lindsey, how do you know the Dale family?” he demanded.

I stared at him, wide-eyed, terrified, and bewildered.

He let out a cold laugh and spoke again. "The Dale family is actually willing to turn against me for you. Lindsey, you must be quite something."

Fueled by alcohol, he had lost all reason.

His hands tightened around my throat as he tore at my clothes with violent force.

All the humiliating memories from the past flooded back in an instant: the dark alleyway, those leering faces, and the abruptly ended call for help...