“I’m out of cash. Give me some money.”

Dwayne blocked my way outside the school gates, speaking like it was his god‑given right.

“I don’t have any.” I pulled back, disgust curling in my chest.

“Then what the hell are you even doing over there if you can’t even scrape together a little money?” He grabbed my wrist in one rough fist, his gray, greasy nails slowly sinking into my skin.

“You should be asking Morgan,” I snapped. “I don’t have a name or a title here—where would I get money? She’s the legitimate Miss Hart now. You came to the wrong person.”

I tried to yank my hand free, but the more I struggled, the tighter his grip became.

“Yeah, you’re right. But that’s between me and that little bitch. You and I, we still haven’t settled our score.”

He gave my arm a vicious jerk and flung me into a narrow alley.

Dwayne ripped my backpack off my shoulders and shook it out, scattering cash and belongings across the dirty ground.

“That’s it? This little bit?” He sneered. “I’m not fucking happy.”

As he spoke, he slapped my cheek with his rough, filthy hand, again and again.

The alley was unlit, dim and suffocating, just like that cramped house from my previous life. The humiliation from back then slowly overlapped with this moment, layer upon layer.

“I told you, I don’t have anything. Go to Morgan.” I forced down the tremor in my chest and stared at his twisted face.

He spat, the warm, foul saliva splashing across my face.

“Let’s see which is tougher—your mouth, or my fists.”

His hand and his belt came down on me over and over, each blow hard enough to split me in two.

I curled in on myself, arms protecting my head, swallowing the sting of every strike. In the howling wind of the alley, Dwayne’s filthy curses tore at my ears.

I clenched my teeth and refused to beg. Begging never helped. I’d learned that the hard way in my last life.

“Please, I’m begging you.”

Those three words were nothing but an aphrodisiac for monsters like him.

Voices drifted in from the far end of the alley—two, maybe three people talking as they walked past. Dwayne froze, wary, and the blows stopped.

He grabbed my chin, fingers digging in cruelly. “Next time, you’d better bring more money. Or you won’t walk away from it.”

Blood had already started to seep from the corner of my mouth. My hair hung loose around my face. In the darkness, I probably looked like a demon crawling out of hell.

“Not happening. Go to Morgan.”

His answer was a blazing slap across my cheek.

By then, three or four strangers had turned into the alley, heading our way. He released me at once and bolted.

With nothing left to hold me up, I slid down the wall and collapsed onto the ground.

The people coming in noticed something was wrong and hurried toward me.

“Are you okay? There was someone else here just now, right?”

I forced my lips into a smile. “I’m fine. That was my dad. He was just…in a bad mood.”

Ignoring their stunned expressions, I staggered past them and out of the alley.

I leaned against the warmth of a streetlamp and dialed a number.

“Beat him again,” I said calmly. “Same as last time. Don’t kill him. He’ll pay you back soon.”

The light cast a faint, flickering shadow of me on the ground.

I looked up. A few moths circled the bright white bulb tirelessly, wings batting against the heat as if they didn’t know how to stop.

By the time I limped home, my body ached from head to toe. Inside, the three of them were laughing around the dinner table.

I was going to ruin their perfect little family scene.

“Did no one think to wait for me?” I sauntered over and pulled out a chair.

The air froze for a heartbeat.

Mrs. Hart’s brows knit as she took in my disheveled state. “What on earth happened to you?”

I flicked my gaze to Morgan and, sure enough, caught the flash of smug satisfaction in her eyes.

“Got bitten by a dog,” I said lightly.

“How would a dog bite you for no reason?” Mr. Hart asked in that slow, even tone of his.

“I don’t know.” What a pointless question.

“If you ‘don’t know,’ that just means you had it coming,” Morgan cut in quickly, her voice brimming with ridicule.

Had it coming?

I stared at her, the urge to skin her alive rising so fast it burned.

Morgan flinched under my gaze, then pointed at me as she turned to Mrs. Hart. “Mom, look at her. She’s glaring at me. She looks so mean.”

Mrs. Hart seemed to snap out of it and patted Morgan’s hand soothingly. “Enough. The dog bit you, fine—but why are you taking it out on Morgan?”

“You should go clean yourself up before you sit down to eat,” Mr. Hart added.

“Yeah. You look filthy. You’re ruining everyone’s appetite,” Morgan murmured from the side, her voice soft but clear enough for every person at the table to hear.

I looked from Mr. Hart’s calm, indifferent face to Mrs. Hart hovering protectively by Morgan’s side, and suddenly the wounds on my back throbbed with fresh, searing pain.