When Kelsey screamed, Herbert flinched—as if the sound had pierced his nerves.

He turned toward Sophia, voice sharp and thunderous.

“Sophia, you’re out of control!”

“Kelsey has taken care of me for years. Apologize to her. Now!”

Kelsey staggered forward, still clutching her cheek, her sobs low and pitiful as she leaned against Herbert like a wronged heroine.

Sophia’s eyes narrowed, her voice calm, but laced with contempt.

“Uncle, you know my temper better than anyone.”

“I don’t apologize to people with hidden agendas.”

Uncle Lewis cast Sophia a helpless look, silently urging her to back down. But Sophia stood her ground.

Herbert had said it himself once—she was like a little hedgehog, always bristling, always defensive.

No one knew her better than he did.

But now, he was shielding someone else.

An outsider.

Without hesitation, Herbert reached for the whip himself.

His voice was ice.

“Come here, Sophia.”

She didn’t move. She stood stiff and proud, though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

Her last name wasn’t Winter.

There was no blood tie between them—only a title, and years of loyalty she could no longer recognize.

From childhood, she had trusted his every word.

Even staying behind in Westbridge after the college entrance exam had been because of him.

Herbert… I stayed for five years. For you.

What did I get in return?

Herbert, blind but sure, stepped forward, guided by instinct and rage.

Uncle Lewis panicked and tried to push Sophia aside.

“Go, Sophia, quickly—!”

But she refused to move.

She wanted to know—would Herbert really strike her?

The whip sliced through the air.

Sophia dodged instinctively, stepping back—but not fast enough.

The lash grazed her cheek, a savage cut tearing open her skin.

Blood welled up instantly and slid down her jaw, dripping to the floor.

Uncle Lewis gasped.

“What a sin... Sophia’s face!”

Yes.

Who said her fate with Herbert wasn’t doomed from the start?

Sophia clutched her bleeding face, her heart splitting wider than the wound.

And in that moment, she called him “uncle” one final time—

The man whose whip ended everything between them.

—

At the hospital, Sophia sat silently in the back seat, pressing gauze to her cheek.

Her hand trembled as she dialed a number overseas.

Tears brimmed in her eyes.

“My face… is ruined.”

A concerned voice came through.

“What happened? Is it serious?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Sophia replied quietly.

“But I don’t want this face anymore.”

There was a pause.

“…What do you mean?”

“I want to disappear. Plastic surgery. Cancel my domestic ID. Change everything. I want a new life.”

The silence on the other end grew heavier. Then, her friend exhaled slowly.

“There’s something you should consider… Herbert’s surgery went well, right? He’s supposed to regain his sight in ten days. Are you sure you want to leave now?”

“Yes,” Sophia said without hesitation.

“I’ve made up my mind.”

“…I figured. Once you decide something, no one can stop you.”

A weak laugh escaped Sophia’s lips.

Yes—just like when she chose to live with Herbert over every other uncle.

And for a time, it had felt like he truly loved her. Their bond had once crossed the fragile boundary of family.

She believed—naively—that when he regained his sight, they would finally stand side by side in the light.

But fate had other plans.

That’s fine.

She would carve out her own future—even if it meant burning the past to ash.

—

After the call ended, the stitches were finished.

Sophia stared into the mirror.

A jagged scar now marred her left cheek—angry, raw, unforgettable.

But it didn’t matter.

She would leave this face behind.

Leave this pain behind.

—

Back home, still groggy from painkillers, Sophia paused at the base of the stairs.

A sound drifted down from above—soft, breathy… unmistakably intimate.

Her heart stopped.

She looked up—and froze.

At the top of the staircase—the very one she had walked a thousand times toward Herbert’s room—

He stood there.

Locked in a kiss with Kelsey.

As if she had never existed at all.

Sophia said nothing. She quietly raised her phone and snapped a photo.

The sound of the shutter was crisp, cutting through the stillness like a blade.

Kelsey spun around, face draining of color. Herbert turned too, eyes narrowing.

“Sophia! Why are you taking pictures of me?” Kelsey shouted, her voice shrill.

Herbert immediately stiffened, his voice cold. “Delete the photo. Now.”

Sophia gave a soft laugh, full of mockery. “Oh? You two can kiss in the open, but I can’t take a picture?”

“You—!” Herbert’s face twisted with fury. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but don’t spread it. Kelsey is still a student. Don’t humiliate her like this.”

The words struck Sophia harder than the whip days ago.

“I humiliated her?” Her voice trembled. “Uncle, you left a scar on my face. Eight stitches. Did you already forget?”

Kelsey stepped forward with her usual act—gentle, considerate. “Herbert, this is between me and Sophia. Let us handle it. Don’t get involved.”

Herbert hesitated, then nodded, completely fooled.

He turned to Sophia, face tightening. “From now on, resolve things calmly. Remember, I’m your uncle—stop acting like you own me.”

With that, he walked away and closed the door behind him.

Sophia stood frozen.

Kelsey’s expression instantly shifted. Gone was the gentle front—now, her eyes gleamed with contempt.

“You want to use that photo to scare me away?” she scoffed. “Go ahead. It won’t work. Herbert likes me now. You’re just a bitter leftover.”

Sophia stared at her, jaw tightening.

“You know,” she said slowly, “I could’ve driven you out of this house in countless ways before. But now? I don’t care enough to.”

“I took that photo to show your boyfriend at school what kind of woman you really are.”

Kelsey’s smile faltered.

Yes—Sophia had already discovered the truth. Kelsey had a boyfriend at university. They’d been together for over a year. While she pretended to be a devoted caretaker here, she was playing house with someone else back on campus.

Sophia’s gaze turned icy. “You think you’ve won just because he’s blind. But trash like you never lasts.”

Kelsey’s lips quivered.

Sophia expected her to panic, to beg, maybe even confess.

Instead—Kelsey suddenly slapped herself. Hard.

The sound echoed. Then came the tears, perfectly timed.

“Herbert! Sophia hit me again—come out, please!”

Before Sophia could react, the door burst open.

Herbert stormed out, guided by rage.

“I warned you, Sophia!” he roared. “Stop your madness!”

Without a pause, he raised his hand—and slapped her.

The impact landed right across her stitched cheek.

Something tore. Blood burst from the reopened wound and streamed down her jaw.

Sophia gasped, stumbling to the floor, clutching her face in agony.

Her voice trembled, a whisper barely audible over the blood pounding in her ears.

“Uncle… how could you…”

But he didn’t see her. He was already turning away—toward Kelsey.

And Kelsey, in one final act, threw herself backward and tumbled down the stairs.

“No!” Sophia cried out—but it was too late.

Herbert panicked, tossing aside his cane to rush after her.

“Call an ambulance!” he shouted at the housekeeper, completely forgetting Sophia—bleeding, shaking, broken—on the floor.

She sat in silence.

“…Don’t cry, Sophia. Uncle will blow on it—it won’t hurt anymore…”

The memory came unbidden. A long-lost echo from a kinder time.

But it was just that—memory.

She stared after Herbert’s retreating back, eyes burning with unshed tears.

Then she pulled out her phone, calmly dialed 120, and pressed it to her ear.

Sophia, this is your last fall for him, she told herself.

After this, he no longer matters.

Before the ambulance could arrive, Sophia was suddenly lifted off the ground by two of Herbert’s bodyguards.

“Let go of me!” she screamed, her blood-slicked hand struggling against them. “Can’t you see I’m hurt? I need a hospital!”

The lead bodyguard remained stone-faced. “Young sir’s orders. You’ve crossed the line too many times. You’re to be confined for three days. Reflect on your actions.”

Sophia stared at him in disbelief. “What? I’m bleeding! If I don’t get treated, my face—I'll be disfigured!”

“The order stands,” the guard said coldly. “We’re just following orders.”

No matter how she struggled, they dragged her—injured, helpless—to the third floor, and threw her into the solitary confinement room. The heavy door slammed shut behind her, drowning out her shriek for help.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The blood on her cheek had dried into a dark crust. Her hands, her arms—stained crimson. She looked down at herself and felt a cold chill spread through her bones.

No one was coming.

And the worst part?

Herbert knew she had claustrophobia.

She had told him once, during a rainy night when a power outage trapped her in a closet for hours. He had held her trembling body and whispered gently, “Don’t be afraid, I’m here.”

But now, he had ordered this.

In desperation, Sophia ripped off part of her shirt and pressed it to the reopened wound on her face, trying to slow the bleeding. The confinement room was small, windowless, and airtight. The housekeeper and nannies stayed on the first floor—they wouldn’t hear her even if she screamed her throat raw.

Even her phone had been taken.

If the Herbert from five years ago stood before her now, she would ask him just one thing:

Herbert, did you ever truly love me? Or was I just something you kept—like a pet you were training to obey?

The last sliver of light disappeared through the crack in the door. Darkness devoured the room, and with it came the crushing terror she thought she had long buried.

Three days. No food, no water. No light.

How could you leave me here like this, Herbert? For Kelsey?

At first, she held onto a fragile hope—maybe he would come to check on her at night. Maybe he’d remember how afraid she was of the dark.

But night came. And went.

He never came.

As the silence deepened, Sophia began to shake. Hallucinations bloomed like mold in her mind.

She was five again.

The ground shaking beneath her.

Screams.

Her mother’s arms around her.

Then nothing—only rubble.

Her parents. Her grandparents. All gone.

Only she was left.

Her stomach churned violently. She doubled over and vomited, the acid burning her throat. The stench filled the tiny room. She pounded the door with what little strength she had left, voice cracking with every scream.

No one answered.

That night was longer than a lifetime.

When footsteps echoed outside the next morning, Sophia crawled to the door with trembling limbs, her face streaked with blood and tears, hope flaring painfully in her chest.

“Uncle Lewis…” she whispered, clinging to the thought that her dearest uncle had come to rescue her.

But the door opened.

And it wasn’t Uncle Lewis.

It was Kelsey.

Smiling.

She twirled a camera in her hands—a vintage, worn one Sophia recognized instantly.

It was her father's camera.

His only keepsake.

Sophia froze, breath caught in her throat.

The last piece of her past, now in her hands.