I got in the car, slammed the door, and drove off.

The bar pulsed with lights and noise. Music thudded through the floor, shaking the walls and my bones with every beat. I drank fast, barely tasting the burn anymore. My throat was raw. My mind fuzzed over.

I just wanted to forget—everything. I danced. Reckless. Numb. My body moved like I wasn’t in it. The crowd closed in around me—strangers pressing too close, sweat in the air, perfume choking every breath.

I didn’t care. Let them touch me. Let the world spin.

Then I saw them. Jaxon and Ivy. They had followed me. He stood back at first, watching. He always watched. But then Ivy reached for him, smiled, and pulled him into the crowd. He didn’t resist. His hand slid to her waist like it belonged there. Like she belonged to him.

They danced—close. Too close. His lips moved near her ear, saying something soft.

She laughed. I looked away.

Another drink. Something stronger this time. It tasted like fire and regret. It did nothing.

A man slid into the empty space beside me. Slurring. Grinning too wide. His eyes scanned me like I was a prize, and before I could step away, he grabbed my hand and yanked me into another rhythm.

I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no. He took my silence and ran with it. His hands went everywhere. His breath—hot and rancid—brushed my cheek. And then, he kissed me. Hard. Wet. Unwanted.

I shoved him with both hands. “Don’t touch me.”

He stumbled back, laughed. “Didn’t seem like you minded.”

I turned to walk away. He grabbed my wrist—tight.

Before I could scream, a fist cut through the space between us.

Crack. The man went down.

Jaxon. But it was too late. Another man charged toward me, shouting something. I backed up, but the crowd boxed me in.

He swung. The glass bottle shattered against my shoulder, sending shards into my skin. Pain ripped through me, sharp and hot. Blood soaked through my dress instantly. I gasped, stumbling back.

Jaxon’s eyes met mine, wide. “I’m sorry, Miss Whitmore.”

I laughed. Cold. Broken. “Sorry? Where were you when I needed you?”

He looked torn. “Ivy needed—”

“Of course she did,” I snapped. “She always needs.”

I clutched my arm, blood dripping down my fingers. “Once I’m married, you can protect her all you want. Forget me. It’s what you’ve been doing all along.”

I turned to leave. And then the chaos swallowed us. I didn’t even know where it came from.

Screams tore through the air. Glass rained down. Gunshots exploded—loud and close. People ran. Tables flipped. A stampede of bodies crashed toward the exits.

And Jaxon? He didn’t come for me. He ran straight to Ivy.

Threw himself over her. Wrapped her up in his arms like she was the only person in the world.

And I—

I just stood there.

Until pain exploded across my upper shoulder. A bullet.

I dropped. Hard. No one saw me fall. No one ran to me.

Then I heard Ivy’s voice, fragile. “Jaxon… you’re her personal butler and also sworn to be loyal to her. You’re supposed to protect her… She’s hurt…”

Jaxon didn’t answer for a moment.

Then—“It’s my fault… Freya… Freya needs help.”

“No… don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault,” he responded. “Even if it’s a thousand times… I’d always choose to save you first.”

Ivy’s voice cracked. “Why?”

And his answer came soft, steady.

“Because I like—”

The world vanished before I could even hear his answer.

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. Ivy 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.

“Freya… 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.

“Freya,” 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. “Freya,” 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 Ivy’s hand away. She gasped softly, visibly shaken, but I didn’t care anymore.

Then I saw him. Jaxon 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 Whitmore… Freya, 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.

Jaxon 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.”

Jaxon 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 Ivy 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. “Freya, 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—

Jaxon 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—Jaxon and Ivy, 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 Jaxon sitting by Ivy’s bedside, gently wiping her tears.

“I’m sorry,” Jaxon whispered, his hand ghosting over her bruised skin. “You were never supposed to get hurt. I swear, Ivy… 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. Ivy was asleep. Jaxon 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 Ivy.

Not even Jaxon.

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.

Jaxon. The man who once promised to protect me had ordered this for Ivy.

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 Ivy. 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 Ivy’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 Freya—give your mother’s necklace to Ivy. 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 Ivy.”

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.