I was once the eldest daughter of the prestigious Byrd Group, but now, I was nothing more than a pariah—a "street rat," despised and mocked.
I wanted to defend myself, to explain. But prison had instilled in me a habit of silence, of swallowing words and suppressing every instinct to fight back. My lips moved, but no sound came out.
Covered in wine stains and utterly humiliated, I stood frozen as Irene stepped forward, pinching her nose theatrically. "It stinks," she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain.
Gilbert instinctively shielded her, as though I might taint her with my presence.
As he wrapped his arms protectively around her, a flash of light caught my eye. The ring on his finger—designed and polished by me. I had once imagined us exchanging those rings on our wedding day, a symbol of love and commitment. But that day never came.
Irene now wore the matching ring, the one that should have been mine. The sight of it pierced my chest like a knife.
"Go clean yourself up," Gilbert said, his voice laced with disdain. "Look at you—you’re a mess."
The crowd’s eyes followed me as I stumbled toward the restroom, their stares heavy with judgment. To them, I was nothing more than a criminal, my innocence irrelevant.
After tidying up as best I could, I stepped outside, only to see Gilbert and Irene walking arm-in-arm toward the exit.
"Take a taxi back on your own," he said dismissively. "Irene doesn’t like other people sitting in our car." His tone was final, leaving no room for protest.
I stood there, speechless. I had just been released from prison and had no money to my name.
Once, he had promised me that the passenger seat of his car would always belong to me. Now, I wasn’t even allowed near it.
The villa was miles away, and I had no choice but to start walking. The night grew colder with each step, and exhaustion weighed heavily on me. It wasn’t until much later that I came across a garbage truck.
The garbage truck dropped me off near the villa area. My legs, battered from beatings in prison and worn down by relentless labor, throbbed with every step. The nerve damage meant long walks were agonizing, but there was no other way.
When I finally reached the villa and opened the door, the sound of cheerful voices greeted me.
"Auntie, try this. I baked these cookies myself. Tell me if they taste good," Irene's sweet voice floated from the living room.