Chapter 2

Today marked the one day in three months when I was allowed to visit my father.

The Haley family claimed it was to avoid disturbing him, but in truth, it was a thinly veiled imprisonment.

Bruised and battered, I dragged myself to the door of his room. Inside, he was the same as ever, banging his head against the wall over and over.

He muttered crazedly, "Eddie is innocent… Eddie is innocent…"

My father, who had once been the Haley family's driver—more specifically, Stephen Haley's personal driver—was shattered by what had transpired.

It all began the day Eliza came to the Haley residence to collect some documents from Jennifer. Later, the servants found her in the study, disheveled and barely alive.

The surveillance footage showed my brother leaving the study in a panic. From that moment, he became the prime suspect.

Eliza never got the chance to accuse or exonerate him. She jumped from the hospital rooftop before uttering a word.

At first, my brother desperately proclaimed his innocence. But his mental illness made him stammer and confused his thoughts. He kept repeating, "I didn't… I didn't… I didn't…"

A few days later, inexplicably, he confessed. Not only that, he reenacted the crime in excruciating detail before the police and the Waltz family, showing exactly how he supposedly lured her into the study and assaulted her.

The Waltz family, devastated and furious, used all their power and influence to ensure he received a severe sentence. Even though he was mentally ill, he was sentenced to fifteen years in prison.

The news shattered my father. He collapsed from the shock and awoke in a state of confusion, his mind gone. The Haley family quietly moved him into their private sanitarium.

At that time, I hadn't yet met Channing. Later, I heard he had been abroad, managing the family business, unable to return.

We were just ordinary people, my brother and I. No matter how deeply I believed in his innocence, I had no means to clear his name.

For two years, I stumbled through life as the sister of a convicted rapist, burdened by shame and helplessness.

Then, Channing appeared.

He was like sunlight breaking through a storm, bringing warmth and color back to my world.

When I stained my clothes during my period, Channing shielded me with his jacket. He'd wake an hour early just to brew brown sugar water for me.

When people whispered cruel things about me, he stood up for me, silencing them with his presence.

Everyone stared at him in shock but dared not speak against him.

With Channing by my side, no one treated me like an outcast.

He pursued me relentlessly, claiming I was the first girl to stir his heart.

After enduring two years of darkness in high school, his affection was irresistible.

When he confessed his love a second time, I finally agreed to be with him.

But in that moment, I caught his gaze flick toward Jennifer. The two of them exchanged a smile—subtle, knowing.

Now I understand. They weren't celebrating love; they were marking a victory. The prey had taken the bait.

The day I fell in love with Channing was the day I became their plaything.

At the sanitarium, the nurse blocked my way, claiming my presence would hinder my father's treatment.

But through the small window in the door, I saw him—worse than before. He sat on the floor, surrounded by filth.

"Dad…" I called softly, tears spilling over.

He lifted his head slightly, as if sensing something, and began to turn toward me.

Before he could, the doctor grabbed my arm and pulled me away.

"Miss Johnson," he said, his tone falsely kind, "if you keep interfering with the treatment, we can't guarantee what might happen to your father."

It was a threat, thinly disguised as concern—just like Channing's threats.

I couldn't visit my father, and I couldn't leave him either.

I was like a kite, forever tethered to a string held tightly in their hands.