On the day of my wedding, my fiancé, Victor Blackwood, invited eight of his ex-girlfriends to block the door and told me I had to kneel before them.

"We had him before you, Selena!" one of them sneered, all smug and catty. "So show some respect and get on your knees. Otherwise? Don't even dream of walking through that door."

Without a second thought, I smacked each of them and threw them out of the bridal suite like they were nothing.

Yet, when my stepsister, Nadine Stone, was concerned, Victor stepped in, defending her with a courtesy he never offered me.

"The others can leave," he said coolly, calm like he thought this made him reasonable. "But I promised Nadine she'd be at my wedding. I won't go back on that."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so?" I said, my voice smooth. "Then why don't you walk out with her?"

Before either of them could say a word, I picked up a wine bottle and smashed it right over their heads.

They both ended up needing twenty-five stitches each.

Later that same day, Victor and my father teamed up to ship me overseas. The excuse? I needed an attitude adjustment.' And just like that, I was gone for three whole years.

When I finally returned, Victor was at the airport to meet me, as if nothing had occurred and as if the three years he had ignored me were irrelevant.

"Now that you've had time to reflect," he said with this smug confidence, "we can resume our engagement."

Curled up in his arms like a delicate little dove, Nadine's eyes shimmered with tears.

"Back then, I was beaten blind by Selena," she whispered, all soft and pitiful. "Victor couldn't bear to leave me like that. He's been my eyes these past three years. But don't worry, I've already accepted someone else's proposal. We're getting our marriage certificate soon."

I glanced down at their tightly clasped hands, watched the whole performance from the front row, and gave a quiet, cold laugh.

"No problem," I said lightly.

Because this time, I'm not here for closure.

I'm here for blood.

——

Nadine reached up and brushed her fingers along Victor's cheek, her tears slipping down like rain.

"Victor, thank you for taking care of me these past three years," she murmured. "Even though the man I'm marrying is abusive and controlling… I guess that's what I deserve. I made mistakes in the past. This is just my punishment."

Her voice trembled like a violin string about to snap. "I probably won't get to see you again… Let me memorize your face one last time."

As she spoke, her sleeve just so happened to slip back, revealing faint bruises scattered across her forearm—soft purples that caught the light with a pearlescent shimmer.

It only took one glance.

I could tell immediately it was makeup. Special effects. The kind of trickery you pull off with a bit of eyeshadow and some shimmer powder.

But Victor? He panicked.

He grabbed her hand, voice shooting up, pissed and panicked. "What? That asshole hit you? Nadine, tell me who it was! I swear to God, I'll break every bone in his body!"

"Don't ask," she choked out between sobs, twisting like she couldn't even handle the pain. "I won't say… I just want to make things right. For all those years I kept you and Selena apart…"

Victor's jaw clenched, all fired up like some self-righteous savior. "There's no way in hell I'm letting you marry some scumbag like that."

Then he turned to me, eyes cold. "Selena, she's already suffered enough. You blinded her. If she ends up with a guy like that, she's dead in a year. I'll still marry you, but I'm taking care of her. For the rest of my life."

He pulled Nadine in, holding her like she might shatter. His voice was calm, serious, soaked in that self-righteous charm he mistook for nobility. Same as always.

The same look he gave me when he said, dead serious, that every major moment in his life had to include her.

"Well, she's your little sister," I replied calmly. "It's your duty to take care of her. As long as you're happy."

Victor smiled with visible relief, like I'd finally said the magic words.

"Selena," he said warmly, "I knew it. You've finally become obedient and understanding."

I watched that fake, satisfied smile stretch across his face as he carried Nadine into the car like they were starring in a tragic love story.

To anyone else, it looked like a touching moment.

But to me?

It was a joke—a cheap play written by amateurs.

One fake bruise, and he lost his damn mind.

But what of the true scars? The ones that resembled burned vines on my arms, the cigarette burns still sensitive under my sleeves?

He never even looked at them.

Not that it mattered anymore.

I stopped needing a man's pity a long time ago.

It's cheap. Disposable. Just like them.

. . .

When I returned to the villa, I found that my mother had left me a wedding gift. I sensed it the moment I stepped inside. Something was wrong.

Everything had changed.

The garden where my mother and I once planted rows of baby's breath was gone. In its place stood lavender. Neatly trimmed. Carefully arranged. The one thing I'm severely allergic to.

Even the housekeeper and staff were different. Not a single familiar face remained. And the way they acted, it was as if I didn't exist. They turned their backs when I entered a room, only to face Nadine moments later with warm smiles and respectful nods.

"Welcome home, Miss Nadine."

The title came easily to them, smooth as silk, cultivated over a long time.

So Victor had already moved her in.

The realization landed hard, absurd, and surreal, and before I could stop myself, I laughed sharply.

Nadine went pale. She stepped back, her voice unsteady, trembling with something between fear and guilt.

"Selena… I didn't mean to live in your wedding house," she said in that classic, fragile tone, like she was so overcome by guilt. "Victor said it was just easier for him to take care of me here. I forgot you were allergic to lavender. I'm really sorry. I'll have it pulled out right away, and I'll move back to my parents' place."

Nadine stumbled forward, flailing her arms in a desperate attempt to regain her balance. With her vision obscured, she misstepped, her foot catching on the edge of the flowerbed, nearly causing her to fall.

Victor sprang into action like a reflex, rushing in to catch her and wrapping her gently in his arms.

"Nadine, this isn't your fault," he said, voice soft and reassuring. "The doctor said lavender helps calm your nerves and supports vision recovery. As for Selena… she'll be fine, as long as she keeps up with her allergy meds."

Then he turned toward me, his voice trying to sound reasonable.

"Selena, your father and Aunt Marilyn aren't young anymore. It's hard on them, trying to look after Nadine. Her staying here doesn't really affect you, right? You're the older sister. Can't you be a little more understanding?"

I nearly laughed.

The Victor I knew? He never would've called my stepmother, Marilyn, 'Aunt' in front of me. Not in a million years.

He was the butler's son, a man who climbed his way up through charm, grit, and sheer shamelessness—supported at every turn by my mother's generosity and my own blind loyalty.

I still remember how he used to parade his flavor-of-the-month girlfriends right in front of me, each one more desperate than the last, trying to get my reaction. He was obsessed with making me jealous—all that effort, to see if I cared.

And out of all those eight flings?

He ended up falling for Nadine.

It was unreal.

In the end, both Nadine and the lavender stayed.

And me? I broke out in full-body hives. The rashes itched so severely that they made my skin feel like it was on fire.

That evening, I went downstairs to find allergy meds. I wasn't trying to snoop, but when I passed by the study, I heard Victor's voice. Something in his tone made me stop in my tracks.

"Mr. Blackwell," his assistant said, voice uneasy, "your father-in-law only asked that Miss Selena be sent to a standard rehab center overseas to cool off. Why did you send her to that place and have them rough her up for three years?"

Victor's response was calm and almost casual.

"Nadine got hurt because of her and almost ended up disfigured. If I didn't make Selena pay for it, how could Nadine ever be happy? Selena's always been too proud. Too entitled. She thinks she's invincible just because she's the legitimate daughter. She never once took me seriously. The only way to fix that was to break her down, piece by piece."

Then, casually, like he was talking about the weather, he chuckled.

"I promised I'd marry her, sure. But that doesn't mean I'm giving up Nadine. The past three years with her have been peaceful. Now that Selena's finally obedient, I can marry her without all the drama."

I didn't stick around to hear another word.

I turned and quietly walked back to my room.

Once inside, I found the pill bottle, took out one, and let the tablet dissolve on my tongue. It was bitter. Fitting.

The dim light caught my reflection in the mirror. The scars across my skin twisted like black worms, raised and ugly.

Each of them had a story. Every scar showed what I already knew deep inside—that I'd been abandoned.

When they whipped me with red-hot rods, the smell of burning flesh filled the air, thick and nauseating. They laughed through it all.

"Don't expect Victor Blackwell to come save you," they told me. "To him, you're not even worth the dirt on his shoes."

Turns out they weren't exaggerating.

If I'd known all that back then, maybe I would've poured the acid down their throats a little more slowly. Let them feel it.

My phone buzzed suddenly, snapping me out of the memory. I answered without checking the number.

"Miss," a voice said on the other end, low and crisp, "the renovation is almost complete. I'll bring the team to pick you up tomorrow night."

"Good," I said evenly. "Once I retrieve what I need, we'll begin the plan."

Three years.

For three years, Victor didn't visit me. Not once.

While he and Nadine lived in their made-up fairytale, the monsters he sent to "reform" me became real ones—twisted, half-human things that rotted from the inside out.

The place that broke me?

It belonged to me now.

And everything they did to me—all the pain, all the humiliation?

I'd return it.

Dripping in blood.

. . .

Half an hour passed, Victor opened the bedroom door and entered, carrying a basin of steaming water. The way he moved almost seemed familiar, as if the past hadn't happened.

He kneeled, just like he used to when we were kids, and reached for my feet.

I raised an eyebrow and kept my tone flat. "Mr. Blackwell, you're a big shot now. A man of success. Why are you doing a servant's job?"

Victor gave me a faint smile. "Even if I became king, you'd still be my Miss Selena. Serving you is only right."

Eyes drifted down to my feet, where the cigarette burns still marked my skin. Victor's gaze softened with what looked like guilt, though I knew better.

"Selena, you suffered these past three years. I didn't know they went that far. I swear, I'll make them pay for what they did to you."

I looked right at him, straight through the fake concern, the sugar-coated voice, the rehearsed expression.

"When you sent me there," I said calmly, "you already knew exactly what I'd be walking into. If you actually cared, you would've come for me a long time ago, wouldn't you?"

Victor's expression tensed briefly, then he let out a quiet, almost rehearsed sigh.

"Selena, if I hadn't sent you away, your stepmother would've pushed for your arrest. I didn't want you labeled a criminal," he said, as if the words were meant to be comforting. "But you did make a mistake. There had to be a show of consequences."

He paused just long enough to make it feel dramatic, then softened his voice like he thought it might help.

"And Nadine was blind at the time. She couldn't be left alone. I stayed by her side so people would stop gossiping about you."

If I hadn't lived through every second of what truly happened or if I hadn't felt the fire on my skin, heard the laughter bouncing down cold concrete hallways, I might have believed that look on his face. The sincerity. The regret.

Hell, I might've even believed he did it for me.

I was about to speak when a crack of thunder shook the windows. Rain started pouring outside, fast and loud, like the sky was finally done pretending to hold back.

Then, from Nadine's room down the hall, I heard a soft yelp.

Victor stood up so fast it made my stomach turn.

"Nadine's always had trouble sleeping during storms," he said, already halfway to the door. "If thunder wakes her, she won't rest all night. I need to check on her."

He looked back at me just long enough to say, "Selena, finish washing up and get some rest," then turned and left without so much as a second glance.

Of course, he forgot.

Victor had forgotten that what I feared most wasn't the dark or the pain or even him.

It was a night exactly like this one.

Eight years ago, during a storm just like this, my mother was crushed between two runaway trucks. They said she died on impact, but I still remember the aftermath. Her body was torn apart. Blood everywhere. Nothing was left that looked like her.

That night, it was Victor who held me while I shook in the corner of my room. His arms wrapped around me as tightly as a promise, his voice cracking as he whispered through his own tears:

"Don't be scared, Selena… I'm here. I'll always be here. Don't be afraid…"

But people lie. Promises break.

And people like Victor? They disappear the moment it's no longer convenient to care.

The water in the basin had gone cold. The steam had faded, and with it, any trace of comfort.

My stomach twisted like something vile had crawled its way inside me. I stumbled into the bathroom and braced my hands against the sink as I dry-heaved.

Every inch of skin he touched felt dirty, as if it needed to be scrubbed raw.

So I did.

I washed my face repeatedly with cold water—once, twice… ten, twenty times. But no matter how vigorously I scrubbed, the feeling didn't go away.

My reflection stared back at me—pale, hollow-eyed, the ghost of a woman who once believed people meant what they said.

I forced a smile, bitter and dry on my lips.

"Mom," I whispered, voice barely there. "In the end… the only person we can ever count on… is ourselves, right?"

...

The next morning, Victor strolled in with a makeup artist and a stylist in tow, acting like everything was fine. Like nothing had ever happened.

"Selena," he said, adjusting the collar of my outfit with this soft, fake smile, "Nadine said you must've missed your family these past few years."

"She even talked your father into hosting a family banquet tonight," Victor added, as if that made her some kind of saint. "It's her way of trying to help you reconnect. Don't let her kindness go to waste, okay?"

Nadine? Doing something kind for me?

Sure. I couldn't wait to see that with my own eyes.

After all, it was right after my mom died that my father moved Nadine and her mother into our house. I stepped right into the bedroom, which still smelled like my mother's perfume.

I cut ties with him that same day. Packed my bags and walked out of the Stone household for good.

Now, stepping through that door again, the first thing I heard was Marilyn's voice, and it was just as shrill and smug as I remembered.

"Well, well. If it isn't our dear Selena," Marilyn sang, loud enough for the entire room to hear. "Still so good at bullying your poor little sister."

She tilted her head, pretending to think, then laughed. "Oh, wait, that's right! Should I call you 'little bitch’ now, huh?"

My father stood nearby, hands folded in front of him as if he were attending a funeral. He didn't say anything, just stared stiff and sour, like the sight of me was something he had to swallow down.

By then, all the guests had arrived.

Every relative, family friend, and each of Victor and my father's business partners—all of them had the same smug, amused look on their faces—like they were waiting for the next scene in the show.

And then I saw it.

A giant screen was set up in the center of the living room. It was already playing.

I recognized the footage immediately.

It was me from the first year inside that place they dumped me in.

I was on my knees. My clothes were ripped, my mouth bloody. The camera caught it all.

I remembered that exact night like it had been burned into my brain.

One of the men had gotten drunk and tried to force himself on me.

I bit his finger off.

He screamed, and then they came for me.

Iron whips, one after another, lashing across my back like fire.

I clenched my teeth and refused to scream, but the pain still forced broken sounds out of me. Whimpers I'd hidden deep in my mind.

The more they heard, the harder they hit, and they laughed. They loved it.

"You disobedient little bitch. You dare bite me? I'll break every damn tooth in your head!"

"From now on, your name's Little Bitch. Say it! Are you gonna behave? Still think you can bully your sister?!"

I hadn't even moved yet, and Victor was already across the room. He grabbed a stool and slammed it directly into the screen.

The glass cracked with a loud pop, the screen splitting into pieces.

His face darkened, his voice sharp as he barked at the housekeeper, "Who told you to play that?!"

Nadine stepped forward at that moment, guided by a servant as if she couldn't find her own way.

Her eyes were red and teary, theatrical. She gripped Victor's arm as if she needed him to stay steady.

"Victor, don't be mad at them," she said, all sweet and shaky, like she was some martyr. "I asked them to play it. People keep saying my sister hasn't changed at all, that she just ran off to dodge the consequences and lived it up like nothing happened."

She looked down, her tone dripping with sorrow. "I just didn't want people to misunderstand her."

Then, almost like an afterthought, Nadine added in a whisper, "And if Dad saw this, he'd finally feel sorry for her and maybe he'd stop hating her so much…"