Kate held the phone right by my ear, reading out every vicious comment aloud, laughing so hard that her whole body shook.

Half of my face had gone numb from the pain. Blood blurred my vision, and agony dragged me toward unconsciousness.

When I came to again, my head was covered with a hood, and I'd been dumped onto an ice-cold floor.

Ten minutes later, the van door opened, and I heard Callum's fawning voice.

"Desmond, we've brought the chick. She's definitely a clean one."

"Bring her out. Let me inspect the goods."

The familiar voice reignited a flicker of hope in me, and my heart started pounding again.

That voice belonged to Desmond Hume, Joshua's most trusted right-hand man.

He'd seen me before. I was going to be saved!

I was yanked by my hair and thrown to the ground like trash. Then the hood was violently ripped away.

The blinding light nearly knocked me out again.

I struggled to open my swollen eyes, but I couldn't see anything clearly. The world was nothing but a blur of red.

Had I… gone partially blind?

But I didn't have time to worry about that. I turned in the direction of the voice and, with a throat so hoarse that it barely made a sound, cried, "Desmond, it's me, Rosalie Whitethorn!"

A rough, calloused hand clamped down on my chin, brutally wiping the blood and grime from my face and reopening fresh wounds.

My face was a bloody mess, and the pain suffocated me.

"Bitch! Who do you think you are to even say that name? You two—grab her and follow me!"

Kate leaned forward, eager. "Is Mr. Whitethorn going to see us now?"

Desmond sneered coldly. "Who the hell do you think you are, expecting Mr. Whitethorn to lower himself to meet you in person? Cut the crap. I said to follow me—so move!"

He hadn't recognized me.

I was dragged along like a ragdoll, the back of my head thudding dully against the cement floor with every step.

"You're lucky. The boss is here today as well. The princess is out having fun and hasn't returned yet, so both Mr. Whitethorn and the boss are pissed off. Stay sharp later. Don't fucking drag me down with you!"

The boss… Joshua, my brother… The person who knew me best in the world definitely wouldn't fail to recognize me!

I could hear my heart pounding like a drum. The moment I was dragged into the room, I used the last of my strength to break free of their grip and lunged toward the blurry source of light.

"Joshie! It's me, Rosie! Save me!"

I crashed onto the ground hard, and the room fell into a deathly silence.

Moments later, a warm hand—carrying the familiar scent of sandalwood—gently wiped my face with a towel.

It was him—Joshua.

I desperately tried to make out his features, but all I saw was a blurred glow.

He wiped for a long time, his movements gentle, as if he were handling something fragile. Then, in a voice I'd never heard before—chilling to the bone—he asked, "Where did this lunatic come from? Drag her outside and deal with her."

I felt as though I'd been plunged into an icy abyss. Joshua hadn't recognized me either.

My eyes were so swollen that I could barely see, and my face was a chaotic mess of smeared blood, rendering me unrecognizable. Even my voice had turned hoarse and raw from the prolonged torture, and that didn't even begin to cover the ways they'd brutalized me just to vent their anger.

Who could imagine that this broken and battered homeless wreck in front of them was actually the Whitethorn princess?

Desmond hoisted me up roughly, and fear of death swallowed me whole.

"No! Joshua, you idiot! You're about to permanently lose your baby sister!" I screamed inwardly.

Using everything I had, I dug into the pocket of my tattered clothes and pulled out the silver ring I'd worn for 20 years. Then, with the last burst of strength, I hurled it toward Joshua.

The ring clattered across the polished marble floor, emitting a series of crisp, desperate clinks, before finally coming to a stop at his feet.

He bent down and picked it up, the tips of his pale fingers trembling slightly.

Then I saw the hazy silhouette shudder violently.