Chapter 3

I thought I was going to die.

But at the very last moment, someone kicked the warehouse door open.

"Why? Why didn't you call me?" Samuel stormed in like a wild beast, completely out of control.

In the dim, broken light, he saw me covered in blood, my wrists torn to shreds, my leg split open so deep the bone was almost showing.

Every sound in the world seemed to vanish.

"Vivian, don't die. I won't let you die." He held my hand, and his whole body trembled as if he actually cared whether I made it through.

I pulled at the corners of my mouth and gave him a silent, bitter smile.

"Vivian? Vivian, please stay with me. You can make it through, right?" he exclaimed.

Something wet dripped onto my face.

Tears? Or crocodile tears?

I let out a sarcastic smile.

In the end, I was taken to the hospital. I survived barely.

When I opened my eyes, Samuel was sitting there, eyes bloodshot, clearly not having slept all night.

"Why?" he asked, voice raw. "Why didn't you call me? Why didn't you ask me for help? Why?"

He stared at me, desperate for an answer.

He couldn't understand why the one who once trusted him more than anyone, who used to rely on him without question, would rather die than make that call to ask for his help.

The phone had been right next to me. He was listed as my emergency contact. He was supposed to be the only person I could count on.

"Why? Why didn't you call me?" Samuel kept repeating, like he'd completely lost it. His voice was low, cracked, and unraveling.

It was almost funny. He'd ordered my death, and now here he was, putting on this performance like he actually cared. What a joke.

I glanced at the phone he'd retrieved.

That one glance was all it took. Samuel rushed to hand it to me. But the second he picked it up, something shifted.

His fingers froze. His hand was slick with cold sweat, smoking into the dried filth on the phone, sticky, reeking of someone's breath.

And at that moment, his entire body went stiff.

"They ruined my hands," I said, voice cracking and raw like sandpaper tearing through flesh. "They told me to use my tongue."

My throat was so damaged I sounded like a broken bellows, each word ugly and strained.

Samuel staggered like he'd been hit.

He was shocked, then panicked, his face a mask of disbelief, until finally, all that was left was trembling.

I slowly pulled my cracked lips into a smile.

He was the reason for all of it. How much longer did he think he could keep hiding that from me?"

I closed my eyes and couldn't bear to see him.

From the bathroom, I heard the low, furious growl of his voice. "Cut out their tongues."

The doctor came in for rounds.

"The broken bones are relatively easy to set," she said. "But torn ligaments and tendons? Those are much harder to repair."

The doctor let out a helpless sigh. "If she'd been brought in right after the injury, we could have salvaged at least eight percent of function in her hands. But now—"

She continued, "The VIP patient upstairs is Ms. Sinclair. She suffered a minor fracture a few days ago, and Mr. Hartley brought in a world-class medical team just for her. They're still in the hospital. If we could get them involved, there's a chance she might regain some band function. I can't promise a full recovery, but at the very least, she'd be able to manage daily tasks, eating, dressing, things like that."

The attending physician, a woman in charge of my care, looked at me with genuine sympathy. "Our department head went to ask them personally. But when they found out the patient was you, they refused. They said if you want their help, you'll have to beg and apologize to Ms. Sinclair."

She knew how degrading that was. But she had to be honest. Those were the exact words passed down by Matthew.

Even now, the doctor was visibly shaken, still haunted by the murderous look Matthew had given her when he issued the message.

I smiled and said, "That's fine. I have the option to die, right?"

How pathetic. To think those words came from my brother. He had truly forgotten everything. He had forgotten what killed our mother.

The doctor turned pale, completely stunned. She couldn't get another word out.

They all knew that when a patient talked about death in a fit of rage, it was impulsive. But when someone said it calmly, with a smile, they truly meant it.

Samuel snapped again. "Vivian, stop being so unreasonable. You hurt Celia first. It's just an apology. Are you really saying your pride matters more than your life?"

I turned to him and sneered. "You want me to apologize to the person who killed my mother? I'd rather die."

The veins in Samuel's neck bulged with rage.

He had always been cold and detached. This was the first time I saw him lose control like this.

He really wanted to see me bow before Celia and say I was sorry. Not a chance.

I shut my eyes, refusing to look at this filthy world even one second longer.