He raised his foot to kick me away, but paused. His eyes landed on my hand. The hideous, jagged scars were fully exposed.
"Her hand..." Hudson murmured, frowning.
Lucas laughed. "Laborers like this always have injuries. Normal, isn't it?"
"True." Hudson's suspicion vanished. He looked at Lucas with a sigh. "Stop messing around with lowlifes. I was going to introduce you to Harper, but... she's too dirty. I won't let her near you."
Lucas smiled, saying nothing.
Hearing Eliana's voice calling, Hudson turned and walked away.
My heart shattered. Lucas shoved a rag into my mouth, dragging me toward the stairs.
Then, a familiar voice.
"What is going on here?"
Edward. My father.
A tiny spark of hope ignited. Dad. Save me.
But the next second, he pushed me into hell. He glanced at the scene with cold indifference.
"Just don't kill anyone."
I was thrown into the guest room. The men circled me, demanding obedience just like before.
I lay there, still and silent. A wooden puppet with a severed soul.
Blows landed. Insults rained down. I endured it all without a sound.
"Boring," one spat. "She's like a corpse."
"Just take the photos and be done with it. She's ruined anyway."
I let them arrange my limbs like a doll. As the camera flashes blinded me, my mind drifted away.
I saw a little girl in tattered clothes, shrinking into the corner of a cold room. That was the day I learned I wasn't their real daughter. The day I first learned to hide in the dark and lie to myself that it would get better.
Just hold on a little longer, I used to tell myself. When you find your real mom and dad, everything will be fine.
Mom and Dad will love you. They'll make up for everything.
I shook my head, trying to banish those childish echoes.
They don't love you.
Right now, even I was disgusted by my own existence.
The men had finished with me. They locked the door from outside, leaving me in silence.
My trembling fingers found my phone. I opened the messaging app, found Hudson's contact, and typed one final message.
[Hudson, if there's a next life, don't come looking for me.]
If you don't look for me, you can't give me hope. And without that cruel, false hope, maybe I won't have to live such a miserable existence again.
I drifted to the balcony. The setting sun painted the sky in blood and fire. I reached out, yearning to touch that dying light—one last bit of warmth before the end.
I leaned forward. Gravity accepted.