Aliya Ross heard nothing else. She lay on the freezing ground, painstakingly gathering her mother’s ashes with trembling fingers. Each movement smeared crimson streaks across the rough surface, but she didn’t dare pause, not even for a second.

Time seemed to stretch forever, and just as she was about to finish, the door crashed open. Several burly men stormed in, yanking her arms behind her back and forcing her to the ground. She recognized them—Santana Gray’s thugs.

"What do you want?" she demanded, her voice desperate.

A gust of wind blasted through the open door, scattering the ashes she’d so carefully collected. "No!" Aliya’s cry was raw with agony.

"Why are you doing this?" she screamed, fighting wildly, only to be pinned down harder. "After the chaos you’ve caused, you still have the nerve to ask why?" one of the men sneered. "You’ve got some nerve."

And so, Aliya could only watch, helpless, as her mother’s remains were blown away like dust. Then she was bound and tossed into a cramped, dark cell like a piece of trash. For three days, they gave her no food, no water. Whenever sleep tried to claim her, someone would blast a blinding light in her eyes and beat her again and again with a thick metal rod.

When she was finally released, Santana stood at the top of the stairs, looking down on her. "Have you learned your lesson?"

But his expression shifted the moment he saw her face, swollen and raw. "What the hell happened? Who did this to you?"

Jessica stepped out of the car, her eyes going wide with horror at the sight of Aliya. She wheeled on Santana, pounding his chest in fury. "I told you, even if Aliya was the one who leaked what happened at the church and embarrassed me in public, it was my own fault. I owe her. How could you lock her up without telling me?"

"Don’t you get how much she means to me?" Jessica’s voice broke, choked with tears, and Santana froze.

And from their exchange, Aliya finally understood why she’d been punished.

But she’d never reported or leaked anything.

The most absurd part? Her fiancé, the man who once swore he’d trust her no matter what, had condemned her without even asking.

How ridiculous.

Watching them, so wrapped up in their own world, Aliya couldn’t help but laugh, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Santana frowned, then sighed. "Fine. I’ll let it slide this time."

"But your jealousy needs to be reined in, and you need to be taught a lesson."

"I’ve already made the arrangements. After Jessica and I are married, you’ll be sent abroad immediately. Someone there will... guide you."

Before Aliya could protest, Jessica chimed in, "That’s not right."

"I’ve heard that in that country, a concubine’s status is lower than a servant’s, and they’re treated cruelly. I’m afraid Aliya won’t make it."

"Let me talk to her properly. Or if she really doesn’t want to change, that’s okay. After all, I also endured such hardships."

Santana’s eyes softened with deep affection. "You’re too kind. You always let her walk all over you. That’s why she thought she could get away with going against you. She needs to be taught a lesson."

Their exchange felt like they were discussing something trivial, like the weather. Rage boiled over inside Aliya, and she screamed hoarsely, "I won’t go! I’d rather die than become your concubine!"

Her words lit a fire in Santana. "Who the hell else would take you? With your reputation in the gutter, you think there’s anyone out there who’d want you?"

His words hung in the air, and Aliya just stared, stunned into silence. Frustrated, he raked a hand through his hair and turned away. "I’ve made up my mind. You’ll go whether you like it or not!"

The Jeep’s door slammed shut, and it pulled away, like an invisible slap across Aliya’s face—one she never saw coming and couldn’t hit back against.

A wave of nausea hit her, and she collapsed, retching violently. She wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but when the heaving finally stopped, she spotted a phone booth not far away.

Crawling to it, Aliya fumbled for her last coins and dialed a number she knew by heart. The moment the line connected, her tears fell uncontrollably. "Grandpa..."

Years ago, her parents had eloped, cutting ties with her mother’s family. Guilt-ridden, her mother never dared to contact them. It wasn’t until her dying moments that she scribbled a phone number on Aliya’s palm.

After a heavy silence, an authoritative yet kind voice came through the line. "Child, you’ve been through so much."

It seemed her grandfather already knew everything.

Aliya’s voice choked with emotion. "Grandpa, they’ve taken all my travel documents. Can you save me?"

"In three days, I’ll have all your documents reissued. Then I’ll come personally to take you home," her grandfather promised.