Grounded for two days? Before I could struggle to break free, I had blacked out.

Dad dragged me to the basement by my arm. The door clicked shut, and all light vanished from the space. A suffocating silence filled the darkness, like a black hole.

I covered my ears when I heard some rustling, hoping that the rats wouldn't nibble on my ears this time.

…

My name was Alessa Lieblich, and I had an older brother named August. My name signified my destiny—born to protect.

August was born with a congenital blood disorder that required constant transfusions to keep him alive. Unfortunately, like our mother, he had an exceptionally rare blood type. The blood bank rarely had a sufficient supply to meet his needs.

The Lieblich family had spent a fortune to purchase the blood supply. Finally, they came up with an idea—to give birth to another child, who would be a guaranteed blood supply.

For that reason, Mom got pregnant and gave birth to a girl. As luck would have it, the poor girl did not inherit Mom and August's rare blood type. Disappointed, my parents gave her up for adoption.

Following that, I was born—a baby girl with RH-negative blood, just as my parents had wished for. Before I had even tasted my first mouthful of breast milk, my blood was being drawn to save August.

For the longest time, I thought this was normal. Didn't every child have regular blood drawings?

I was around six when I noticed the smooth, unblemished arm of a neighbor's daughter. I gasped in admiration. "Why don't you have bruises from the needle?"

The little girl tilted her head quizzically. "What bruises?"

I rolled up my sleeve and showed her the bruises all across my arm. "See? Don't your Mom and Dad take your blood for your brother?"

Shocked, the parents around me shot me looks of bewilderment and sympathy. They immediately made a police report.

When the police arrived at our door, my parents greeted them with warm smiles and calm composure despite feeling fearful.

My parents explained to the police, "Our poor kid is sick. We always bring her for IV transfusions. She had probably picked up the wild ideas from TV and was speaking nonsense."

The police nodded. Before they left, they commented about how difficult it was to raise a child.

One second ago, my parents acted just like any other parents concerned about their children's mischief. However, once the police were gone, they turned to me with an evil scowl on their faces that made me tremble.

They hissed at me, "Alessa, you're a bad girl."

They grounded me for the first time in my life. Being grounded was a terrifying experience. I was cooped up in a pitch-black environment. I couldn't even see my own fingers, nor was I aware of the flow of time. I had no idea when I would be let out.

All I could hear was the rustling sounds from the rats, cockroaches, and other bugs that scurried around.

It was so horrible that I cried hysterically until I fell asleep from exhaustion. The next time I woke up, I sensed the rats nibbling at my ears.

I learned not to fall asleep, or the rats would chew my ears off.

Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I heard it—the grating sound of metal against metal.

Suddenly, light flooded into my eyes. My eyelids glowed red, every vein illuminated. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. Light wasn't supposed to exist here.

The teenage boy screamed, "What the hell? What's going on?"

He fell onto the floor and pushed me on the shoulders, asking, "Hey, are you alive?"

My eyes fluttered open. I recognized the good-looking boy who mocked me over the fried chicken, holding a flashlight in his hand.

Relief washed over him when he confirmed I was alive. His brow furrowed. "Wow, I can't believe it's you! Tsk! Are you gonna call the cops on me?"

Seeing the opened vent window behind the teenage boy, I immediately understood he had crawled into the basement from that entry point.

Finally, I was no longer alone. I didn't care who showed up—even a thief or a robber—as long as I didn't have to spend two days in the dark alone.

"I'm not calling the cops!" Tugging his sleeve, I stopped him from leaving. "Don't go!"

"What are you doing, telling a thief to stay?" He tried to remove his sleeve from my grasp, and it slowly slid away as I had a weaker grip than him.

"I-I don't care if you're a thief or not. Just don't go. It's too scary down here. P-Please stay by my side," I stammered, "I-I have 46 dollars here. They're all yours. Don't go…"

I pulled out a crumpled bill and handed it to him. He frowned at me for a while before snatching it away. "Tsk! Fine. I'll stay with you since you're buying me fried chicken. How long do you want me here for?"

"Two days."

"I can make a few hundred dollars in two days. 46 dollars for two days to stay by your side? That's a bad deal," he grumbled.

Pursing my lips, I meekly promised, "I'll give you more money later. This is all I've got on me."

"I'll need 400 dollars."

Where would I even collect 400 dollars? Despite feeling troubled, I agreed to the deal. I would go to any lengths as long as I didn't have to be alone.

Once I overcame the fear, what followed was a feeling of shame. I must've been filthy and smelly after wetting my pants and spending a long time on the ground.

I stayed away from him, but not too far—about two feet away. I stared at him in silence.

The boy didn't look at me. "Why are you pulling away from me? I'm not gonna steal from you."

Waving my hands with a flushed face, I clarified, "No, I'm staying away from you because I'm dirty." I didn't want him to turn his nose up at me.

His tone lightened. "Oh, don't worry about that. There are times I get filthier than you. I won't look down on you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's hard being a thief, especially when you're caught. They beat you into a pulp, sometimes so badly, until you wet and soil yourself. By the way, what's your name? I'm Eason Stone."

"I'm Alessa Lieblich."

"Alexa? That's a cool name."

I shook my head. "No. It's Alessa."

Seeing his confusion, I grinned and motioned at him to extend his hand. Then, I spelled out my name by tracing the letters on his left palm.

His eyes focused on my fingers that traced his palm. Finally, he admitted, "I've never seen this name before, but it sounds way cooler than mine."

Lips tightened into a line, I lowered my head. "I don't like my name."

Just like my destiny, my name was an apprehensive curse.

"I've been wanting to ask you about it. You look like a well-behaved girl. Why are you locked up in the basement?"

In my silence, he attempted to joke. "Was it because you secretly ate fried chicken?"

"Exactly." I forced a smile.

His smile waned. Silence filled the space between us again.

"Why, though? Looking at your house, you must be from a well-to-do family. Your parents had no reason to punish you for the 50 dollars spent on fried chicken." His voice echoed in the cramped and dusty basement.

Although Eason was a stranger and a thief who wanted to burglarize our home, I immediately trusted him the moment he sneaked into the basement, bringing me light.

I began to speak slowly, telling the story of my past for the first time.

At 15, I lived as August's living blood bank.

Due to constant blood donations, my growth was severely delayed. I weighed less than 70 pounds, stood barely over five feet, and suffered from severe anemia. The slightest movement could make me faint, and I still hadn't gotten my period.

When I walked with my classmates, I looked like a frail elementary school student among a group of graceful young girls. No one would guess we were the same age just by looking at us.

I had almost no friends because of my pale, emaciated appearance. I was different from everyone else.

Back in middle school, my classmates gave me all sorts of insulting nicknames. They would hide my homework and enjoy watching my expression when the teacher scolded me.

But when I entered high school, the new students were kind to me. They said I reminded them of their younger sister. They would hug me, kiss my cheeks, tie pretty ribbons into bows in my hair, and stuff my pockets with candies.

I liked them and liked going to school.

But my parents said I didn't need to go to school. If it wasn't for me begging and cooperating with their blood draws, they might have pulled me out of school by now.

They wanted me to be a tool, to not eat anything they didn't approve of or say anything they didn't want to hear.

"Your parents are worse than animals." Eason couldn't help but curse. "Although I don't like the cops, have you tried calling them?"

"I've tried, but they didn't believe me. My parents showed them a medical report saying I had delusional disorder, and the police just let them take me back.

I continued flatly, "They're my parents. Blood is thicker than water. No one believes they would hurt me. With that shield, they can do whatever they want with me. I can't escape."

Eason clicked his tongue. "For the first time, I think being an orphan might not be that bad."

He patted my shoulder and grinned. "We're quite alike. One with no parents, the other with inhuman parents."

Suddenly, he became more familiar with me. He pulled out the chicken wing and fruit tart I hadn't eaten from his bag and flashed me a smile. "Want to share?"

I swallowed hard. I took the chicken wing in both hands. The moment I bit into it, I cried.

It was so delicious. I didn't know food could taste like this.

It was crispy, salty, and savory, with no off-putting flavors. Just a rich, meaty taste that made me want to swallow my tongue.

He even handed me the juice he had brought. It was so sweet that it made me dizzy. Before I realized it, I had drunk most of the bottle.

Feeling embarrassed, I lowered my head. "Sorry, I finished your juice."

He looked smug, like a proud black cat. "It's good, right? I love this juice. I'll bring you some next time."

"Is it expensive? If it is, forget it."

"I don't know. I stole it."

I choked on his words, unsure of how to respond. Seeing my reaction, he grinned mischievously.

He had said it on purpose, just to tease me. But I wasn't angry. Instead, I smiled along with him.

Eason even showed me a magic trick. He placed a coin in his palm and blew on it lightly. When he opened his hand, the coin was gone.

I grabbed his hand and searched it repeatedly. "Where did it go?"

He chuckled. "Feel your hair."

I reached up and touched my ponytail. The coin was there. But he never touched my hair!

I stared wide-eyed. "How did you do that? You're amazing!"