I lay on the cold floor, staring at the chandelier above. Tears rolled silently down my cheeks, soaking the carpet, leaving faint, dark stains.
That afternoon, two men in black suits burst into the room. Before I could react, they grabbed my arms and dragged me out.
I kicked, struggled, and begged. But they were far too strong. I was shoved into a car and driven back to the one place I swore I would never enter again: Erving’s villa.
As soon as I stepped in, I heard Anya’s tearful voice echoing from the living room.
Erving was sitting on the couch beside her, gently holding her hand. His thumb traced the band-aid on her wrist. His voice was soft and careful—like speaking too loudly might shatter her.
It was a tenderness I had never seen before.
“Does it hurt? The doctor said it’s just a scrape, thank God.”
When Anya looked up and saw me, her crying grew louder. “Erving, please don’t be mad at Mandy. I know she didn’t mean it…”
“Didn’t mean it?”
Erving’s head snapped toward me. The softness on his face and voice vanished instantly, replaced by a cold fury that cut straight through me.
“You were bold enough to do it, but now, you’re denying it?”
He nodded to the guards. Just like that, they pinned me to the floor. My knees hit the hardwood with a sharp crack, pain shooting up my legs until I went numb.
Erving picked up a solid wooden stick from beside him and walked step by step to me, his voice without any warmth.
“The kidnappers said you wanted to destroy Anya’s hands so she could never paint again. Maybe it’s time you learned what happens when you touch something you shouldn’t.”
“I didn’t!”
I looked at him, my eyes still holding the last shred of ridiculous hope.
“Erving! Can’t you believe me just once? Check the hotel security footage. Ask the staff. I haven’t left my room in days! You won’t even look for proof! Just based on that woman’s claims, you’re going to punish me?!”
He said nothing. He only lifted the stick.
The very next second, the wooden stick slammed down hard onto my right hand.
Pain exploded through my hand. My whole body shook. Sweat drenched my clothes. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. But I didn’t cry. I just stared at him, refusing to look away.
There was no hesitation in his face. No trace of pity, only deep coldness.
It was as if I were nothing more than an enemy, not the woman he once held like she was precious.