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…"

"It's all my fault. If you're angry, then hit me instead."

The second Nadine said it, Victor's expression softened like butter on a hot plate.

"Nadine, I'm sorry," he murmured, and there it was, just the right touch of guilt in his voice. "I was too harsh just now."

He reached out and brushed a hand through her hair, gentle and full of warmth, as if she were made of spun sugar.

"You meant well," he told her. "How could I ever hurt you?"

Then Victor turned to me, his expression calm and his voice steady, as if he was trying to manage two unruly children while still appearing like the good guy.

"Selena, Nadine did this for your sake, too. Don't take it to heart."

And just like that, with a single line, he erased every bit of the humiliation I'd just experienced, as if it never happened. As if none of it mattered.

Later that evening, around halfway through the banquet, Nadine stood up with a bright smile and offered a small gift box. Her voice was sweet, and her tone was light and casual.

"Selena's been through so much these past few years," she said, practically glowing. "So I went out of my way to get this protection charm from a little mountain chapel. They say it brings peace and keeps you safe."

Immediately, the room erupted in praise. Everyone started raving about how thoughtful and kind she was. Even my father, Robert, looked on proudly, as if she were some spiritual angel dropped into his life. Still wearing that sweet smile, Nadine reached toward me, her hands blindly feeling the air as if she were trying to help me put it on.

I was the only one who noticed the carving on the side facing me, two thin, stark lines of words:

'May the bitch die a painful death. May the whore's corpse be torn apart.'

I slapped her hand away.

"Don't touch me."

Nadine gasped like she'd just been shot, and immediately staggered back.

"Ah… my foot!" she cried, voice cracking like a little porcelain doll. She twisted, fell dramatically to the side, and landed right into Victor's waiting arms as he rushed to catch her.

He held her like she was made of glass and looked at me, his expression dark and furious.

"Selena, what the hell are you doing now? Why are you acting up like this again?"

Then came a sharp slap across my cheek that struck with more fury than force.

My father hit me.

"You piece of shit!" he snapped, eyes blazing. "Nadine lost her sight because of you, and she still doesn't hold it against you. She even prayed for your sorry ass. And this is how you treat her? I used to wonder why the rehab staff beat the hell out of you, but now it makes sense. If this is how you act at home, I can only imagine the crap you pulled over there. You earned every damn hit."

I didn't move. I didn't even blink.

Not because the slap hurt. It didn't.

It was the absurdity of it all. The way they all played their roles was so natural.

I laughed. Quiet. Dry. Without humor.

"'I deserved it,' huh?" I said, my voice cool and biting. "Then how about you take a good, hard look at what your precious daughter had engraved on that protection charm she gave me?"

Victor and my father both instinctively turned to Nadine.

For just a split second, Nadine's expression faltered. Panic flickered in her eyes, but she recovered fast. She dropped her gaze, blinking quickly as tears welled up.

"Of course it was a blessing," she whispered, her voice trembling like she could barely stand hearing the accusation. "I knelt outside the chapel all night to have the master write those words for Selena himself. I didn't know she'd hate it so much…"

Right then, Nadine dropped her head lower as she said again, "It's all my fault. Everything I do seems to upset Selena. Maybe I should die. That way I wouldn't keep hurting her."

Then, out of nowhere, she reached for a fruit knife on the table and turned it toward her own stomach.

"Stop it!" Marilyn shrieked, diving forward and wrenching the knife from Nadine's hands before it touched skin.

She wrapped her arms around her daughter and began sobbing as if she were auditioning for a soap opera. Her voice cracked as she wailed.

"Oh, my poor Nadine! How did your life end up like this? You're a Stone, too, but you're treated like garbage—bullied, insulted, and called a bastard like it's something you chose to be!"

Then Marilyn turned her glare on me, her voice cutting and vicious. You got down on your knees until they bled to get that charm. You can't even see, and you still have nothing but love for that ungrateful brat. But some people? They're born strays. It doesn't matter how much you feed them; they'll still turn around and bite you.

At her words, the whole room turned against me.

Immediately, everyone turned toward Nadine, their eyes swimming with sympathy and pity.

When they looked at me, the pity in their eyes twisted into contempt.

"Is Selena, like batshit crazy or something? She's always going after her sister," someone muttered. "So what if Mr. Stone had an affair? Nadine's mom married him. She's his wife now. Why keep calling Nadine a bastard?"

"I've never liked Selena. She's arrogant as hell. She has already been beaten for years and still hasn't learn a damn thing. You can tell she's rotten to the core. Did you see her scars? Disgusting. No wonder Victor's trying to get rid of her."

From the corner of the room, one of Victor's business partners moved forward. He looked over at him, clearly annoyed, a smirk of condescension pulling at his lips.

"Mr. Blackwell, is this really the woman you're marrying?" he asked with a cold laugh. "Look, no offense, but our companies are about to finalize a major deal. If you're tying yourself to someone who assaults her own sister and comes with a file full of 'rehab' records, the media's gonna have a field day. I might need to reconsider signing the agreement."

At that moment, my father—the highly respectable chairman of Stone Corporation—suddenly brightened with a smile, practically rushing to fix it.

"You've got it all wrong," my father said quickly, laughing like none of it bothered him. "There's no way Victor would marry that disgrace of a daughter. Their engagement was dissolved a long time ago."

He motioned toward Nadine, still curled in Marilyn's arms, continuing her flawless act.

"His fiancée," he announced proudly, "is Nadine now."