Chapter 3

"Damn, she was moaning so sweet back then. I still got the video saved on my phone," someone snickered.

Christopher watched the crowd's reaction with satisfaction, then strode up to the cage, looking down at me from above the bars like I was nothing.

"The once untouchable daughter of Judge Lindth, now just a live target for everyone's entertainment," he said coldly.

"Vivian, you look even more pathetic now than you did in that video," he added, his tone full of cruel amusement.

I gritted my teeth, swallowing back the bile rising in my throat, and forced out each word, slow and deliberate.

"If you didn't bring any darts, Mr. Tales, then move aside. Don't mess with my payday," I said, my voice cold and steady.

Nellie strutted over in her four-inch heels, hooking her arm through Christopher's with a possessive, flirtatious air.

"Christopher, is this that shameless student you used to mentor?" she asked, her voice dripping with mockery.

She sized me up from head to toe, her eyes full of contempt and scorn.

"Dressed up so modestly—how are you supposed to keep the bosses entertained like that?"

She grabbed a glass of red wine and, without hesitation, splashed it in my face.

The cold red wine dripped down my hair, blurring my vision.

Then she grabbed the neckline of my show dress and gave it a hard yank.

The cheap fabric was ripped open, baring big patches of skin to the whole room.

The crowd erupted in a mix of excitement and disbelief, gasping and whispering.

But what they saw wasn't anything sexy or seductive.

Instead, my back was slashed with brutal whip marks, crossing over each other like a nightmare.

And my collarbone and shoulders were covered in rows of cigarette burns—so many, it made everyone's skin crawl just looking at them.

All of it was the loan sharks' twisted masterpiece, their way of making sure I paid every cent.

Christopher's smirk vanished instantly, his grip on the microphone so tight his veins popped.

Nellie recoiled, flinging her hand away in disgust.

"Ugh, disgusting—just a mess of scars," she spat, her voice full of contempt.

I let the shredded dress hang off me, making no effort to hide, and lifted my gaze defiantly to Christopher.

"Ms. Gray ripped my dress. Should I charge it to your card, Mr. Tales, or is Ms. Gray going to pay for it herself?"

"What, feeling humiliated already?"

Christopher snapped back, stepping right up to the cage, his face nearly pressed against the bars, his voice low and full of menace.

"If your father, Jenson Lindth, the judge who forged evidence and died from the scandal, could see you now, crawling around like a bitch in a cage, he'd never be able to rest in peace."

Those words hit me right where it hurt most.

I jerked my head up, my eyes wide with fury, practically blazing as I glared at him.

"Christopher Tales, shut up! You're not even worthy to mention my father!"

He suddenly started laughing, reckless and manic, like he didn't care about anything anymore.

"Not worthy? Your family owes my brother a life, and you say I'm not worthy?"

With a cold smirk, he pulled out his checkbook, wrote out a check for 3 million dollars, tore it off, and flung it onto the deck.

"Heard you've been running around trying to ransom your parents' urns?" he said, pointing at the industrial high-pressure water hose by the edge of the deck.

"If you crawl over there like a dog tonight, take the full blast from that high-pressure hose, and bite down on the check to bring it back, I'll be generous. I'll hand over the check and buy your corrupt parents' urns for you."

The whole place went dead silent.

The water pressure from that hose was strong enough to rip through skin and muscle, hitting like a sledgehammer.

Christopher was sure I wouldn't dare and would beg for mercy.

I gave a faint smile, signaled for the attendant to unlock the cage, and walked straight over to the deck cleaning area without hesitation.

"Open the valve," I told the crewman in charge.

Boom!

A blast of icy seawater, under terrifying pressure, shot out and slammed into my back.

I screamed as the force sent me sprawling, my knees crashing onto the deck—skin and flesh scraped raw, blood welling up instantly.

"Vivian!" Christopher's voice exploded from the edge of the deck, wild and out of control.

I clenched my jaw, my fingers clawing desperately at the cracks in the deck as the torrent battered me. Inch by inch, I crawled forward, forcing myself straight into the raging wall of water.

The pressure sliced into my scarred skin like a thousand blades, stealing every bit of air from my lungs.

Christopher's eyes were bloodshot as he rushed to the safety line, reaching out to grab me, but he stopped cold, his hand suspended in midair.

It was barely 35 feet, but it took me a whole five minutes to crawl that distance.

By the time I finally managed to bite down on the check, battered by the torrent, I was too spent to even get up.

My face was covered in water and blood, but through the swirling mist, I looked up at Christopher with a blooming smile, while his face had gone deathly pale.

"Thanks for your generosity, Mr. Tales. That's enough for the urns."

Christopher looked like he'd just been struck dumb, his eyes glued to my bloody smile, throat working as he struggled to swallow.

"You're crazy... absolutely fucking crazy!"

He snatched up a bottle of red wine and smashed it on the floor with a violent crash, then spun around and stormed out.

I collapsed on the ground, gently dropping the check from my mouth onto a clean tile, then shut my eyes, utterly drained.

"Hey, could someone be a sweetheart and call me an ambulance?" I mumbled, my voice barely hanging on.

Outside the abandoned auto shop on the edge of town, the rain was coming down in sheets.