Chapter 3

Every single eye in the sprawling living room locked onto me.

There were powerful family friends and the elite social circle that Aiden ran with.

They were all holding their breath, waiting to see how I, the pathetic gold-digger who had failed to secure the billionaire, would humiliate myself to get back in their good graces.

Aiden stood silently, tacitly endorsing Leo's sadistic suggestion.

Charles watched me with a calculating stare, as if he were running the numbers on whether I was a lost cause or if I could still be salvaged.

Under the crushing weight of their collective judgment, I lifted my chin. Slowly, I walked across the room toward the small auction stage.

The auctioneer looked panicked as I approached, but years of training kicked in. He offered a polite smile and handed me the auction gavel.

I wrapped my fingers tightly around the smooth wood.

In the crowd, the corner of Leo's mouth twitched upward into a deeply satisfied smirk.

He thought I was finally surrendering.

Aiden's hardened gaze softened slightly. He actually believed I had come to my senses.

I raised the heavy wooden gavel high into the air.

But I didn't strike the brass bell to close the bid.

While the entire room watched in stunned silence, I flipped the gavel in my hand, smashing the lamp with every single ounce of adrenaline and rage left in my body.

The explosive sound of shattering glass echoed off the vaulted ceilings like a gunshot.

The millions of dollars of delicate, painted history exploded into a thousand razor-sharp fragments, spraying across the stage and the polished marble floor.

Time seemed to freeze.

Everyone was paralyzed in a state of absolute, horrified shock.

Leo's smug, victorious smirk froze instantly.

Charles gaped, the color completely draining from his face.

Aiden looked at the shattered debris, his jaw actually dropping in disbelief.

But I wasn't finished.

I dropped the gavel and bent down, picking up the largest shard of glass from the wreckage.

The jagged edge of the glass shard glinted with a cold light.

Without hesitating, I pressed the sharp edge into my palm and sliced it violently across my own flesh.

A sharp sting flooded my nervous system. Thick blood welled up immediately, overflowing my palm and dripping through my fingers. It hit the white rug below the stage, blooming into vivid crimson stains.

I raised my bleeding hand in the air, displaying the gore for the entire room to see. I looked directly at them, enunciating every single word.

My voice wasn't a scream, but it cut through the dead silence of the room like a siren.

I said, "You've spent my entire life telling me I need to grow up."

My glowing eyes swept across the four of them.

"I just destroyed the most precious object in this room. And then I spilled my own blood. Is this the price tag? Does this finally make me sensible enough for you?"

My absolute rebellion was the match that finally set their fury ablaze.

Charles looked livid. It was the first time in his entire life I had ever seen him lose his iron-clad composure in public. "Lock her up," he roared.

Two massive private security guards lunged onto the stage, clamping their hands around my biceps with bruising force.

I went limp in their grasp, letting them haul me back.

As they hauled me past Aiden, I even had the presence of mind to offer him a grin.

He stared at the blood steadily dripping from my palm. His lips parted, as if he were desperate to say something. But he couldn't find the words. He swallowed hard and quickly looked away with a complicated expression.

They dragged me up three flights of stairs and threw me into the attic.

It used to be my private art studio. Now, it was just a cell.

The door had been locked from the corridor, and the windows were firmly nailed down, leaving no room for escape.

That was always Charles' way: simple, brutal, and effective.

I sat on the freezing hardwood floor. The only light in the room was a silvery beam of moonlight slipping through the cracks in the nailed window. I held my hand up in the pale light and examined my palm.

The flow of blood had stilled, leaving behind a gaping wound. The edges of the skin flared outward, revealing the raw depths beneath the ceramic slice.

It hurt.

But somehow, the agonizing pain grounded me. It made my mind feel sharper and more lucid than it had in years.

"Exit sequence aborted. Reason: your attempt to self-terminate was forcibly interrupted. The system is currently recalculating a secondary extraction route. Recalculation failed. Major emotional instability detected within core world characters. Spatial anchors are critically compromised and failing."

The mechanical voice in my head actually sounded frantic, almost panicked.

I couldn't care less.

If jumping off a cliff didn't work, I would find another way.

I had an entire arsenal of methods to guarantee I left this miserable world.

Deep into the night, the deadbolt on the attic door clicked loudly.

Charles stepped into the room.

He was holding a heavy medical first-aid kit in one hand and a thick manila folder in the other.

He tossed the white plastic kit onto the floor directly in front of me. "Clean and wrap your own wound," he said coldly.

Then, he dropped the manila folder at the toe of my sneaker.

"Sign it."

I glanced down. It turned out to be a transfer agreement for a luxury yacht.