Chapter 1

The instant icy water poured over my head and my whole body went rigid.

The freezing cold punched right through my bleached, threadbare work uniform, plastering itself to my skin and robbing me of every last scrap of warmth.

It was December in Suham City, and everyone out on the street was wrapped up in thick coats.

Me? I was like a soaked mutt dumped straight into an ice pit.

Owen Fleming's friends were howling with laughter, holding their phones high as flashing lights went off in my face, blinding me.

"Mr. Fleming, look at her. She's a total mess. Her clothes are all torn."

"Damn, after that splash? She's even hotter now."

My work uniform, the one I scrubbed every night with the cheapest detergent and hung over the radiator to dry, was roughly yanked open, exposing the old, patched sweater underneath.

Owen crouched down, his slender fingers gripping my chin and forcing me to look up.

He gave a handsome smile, but there was nothing but icy mockery in his eyes.

"Claire, are you cold?" he asked.

I gritted my teeth, so cold I couldn't speak.

Behind him, the restaurant's warm, golden light spilled out through the windows, where people were enjoying their fancy dinners.

Just minutes ago, I'd been in the kitchen, washing a mountain of greasy dishes at the sink.

"Bow," Owen said.

His voice was quiet, but carried a command one couldn't say no to.

I stayed stiff, my back bent.

Then one of the tall guys behind Owen kicked the back of my knee, and I crashed down, face-first on the ground.

Gravel bit into my palms. Sharp pain shot through my hands.

Camera shutters clicked nonstop.

Owen rummaged through the inside pocket of my sweater and fished out my wallet.

It was a beat-up old wallet, the leather practically falling apart.

He held it like it was something disgusting, then flipped it over. A few crumpled bills and a perfectly folded note spilled out.

That was money for my mom's treatment, the cash I'd scraped together working three jobs a day, pinching every penny, even splitting a single loaf of bread into two meals to save up.

He picked up the bills and rolled them between his fingers. Then, right before my eyes, he slowly tore them apart.

The scraps drifted down like snowflakes, settling on my drenched hair.

He leaned in, his warm breath brushing my ear as he whispered those cruel words right into it.

He said, "If you're so broke, don't try to pretend you belong here. No matter how hard you work, you'll never get enough for your mom's treatment. Why not beg me to help you out?"

In that moment, it felt like something deep inside me broke apart completely.

The men walked off, laughing. They acted like they'd squashed a bug under their shoe, barely worth noticing.

I slumped on the icy street. The cold didn't register anymore, only numbness.

The phone was smashed to pieces, the screen went black, and it could no longer light up.

The crowd formed a circle around me, pointing fingers and gawking.

Some snapped photos, others filmed videos, and the air buzzed with whispers in languages I couldn't recognize. It felt like a thousand needles stabbing into me.

No one stepped forward to lend a hand, not a single person asked if I needed help.

I was nothing but a fool for their entertainment, putting on a miserable pantomime in a city in a foreign country.

I wanted to get up, but my limbs felt like they were weighed down with lead.

I wanted to go home, but I didn't have enough money for the fare back to my dorm.

My wallet was empty, my money ripped to shreds, and my dignity was stomped into the ground.

I lifted my head toward the overcast sky, tears streaming down my face, blending with the icy water.

Mom was still waiting for me to send money home. She was lying in that hospital bed, hoping I'd be her lifeline.

But now, her hope was tossed aside like garbage, left out on the street for anyone to trample.

I couldn't give up now.

I pressed my hands to the ground, forcing myself up with every bit of strength I had.

My bones were screaming, my muscles shaking like crazy.

I looked around, my gaze locking onto a familiar-looking blonde woman.

I staggered over and caught hold of her sleeve before she could recoil in alarm.

I said, "Please call the police."

My words came out heavy with my accent, so hoarse it hardly sounded like my own.

She frowned, looking like she wanted nothing to do with me.

I held onto her sleeve as if my life depended on it. My tears wouldn't stop. I pleaded with her using the only desperate words I could think of.

I said, "Help me, please."

Maybe I looked so miserable that she paused, then finally took out her phone.

With fingers numb from the cold, I shakily punched in the police number.

The moment the call went through, I almost sobbed out loud.

With all the strength I had, I stumbled through everything that had just happened, my words broken and messy, barely understandable.

I told them the address, the names, and all the shameful details.

I thought justice was finally on its way.

The police showed up, but it was only two officers in a regular patrol car.

They went through the motions, asking questions, jotting things down, their faces completely devoid of sympathy.