**Trigger Warning** The chapters ahead contains depictions of attempted sexual violence, survival, and themes of trauma that may be distressing for some readers. Please prioritize your well-being and proceed with caution. If these themes are sensitive for you, consider skipping this chapter. _______________________________ With a crushed heart and shattered hope, Ellaya sank to the cold, damp floor, her hands obscuring her face as tears streamed through the cracks of her fingers. The muffled sobs echoed in the vast villa, heavy like the weight of betrayal pressing down on her chest. Around her, faces twisted into masks of indifference, some even smirking. Mr. Stone leaned casually against the arm of the chair, pushing the woman on his lap away lightly before rising, towering over Ellaya. Rosi, fists clenched at her sides, threw her arms up in frustration. "You were the one who supported her every whim! Look where it’s gotten her!" “Enough!” Mr. Stone's voice boomed through
She jolted upright, her breath hitching, wide eyes darting around the dimly lit room. The door slammed shut behind her mother, the sound reverberating through the walls like a final, sealing sentence. Trapped. The air thickened, suffocating, filled with unspoken threats that coiled around her like invisible chains. Her mother’s voice echoed in her ears, sharp and unforgiving—but it was her father’s gaze that rooted her in place. Cold. Calculated. Promising that this was only the beginning. _"Mumma… what are you…"_, she choked out, but the words barely formed before— Rosi lunged. Her fingers twisted mercilessly into Ellaya’s hair, yanking hard enough to send bolts of pain slicing across her scalp. "You bitch!" The venom in Rosi’s voice sent ice through her veins. "I told you to listen to your father, didn’t I?" Spittle flew as she spat her fury, words trembling with rage. "You dare come back after abandoning us? After throwing your childish tantrums?" The air between t
"Please let me go…. Please, I am your daughter", Ellaya's plea rang in the room as her so-called father threw himself on the bed, clutching her hands tightly and attempting to kiss her. She kicked and scratched him on the face protecting herself. " Fuck. You bitch", he slapped her. Richard gripped her legs tightly. "Help… help .. mumma please help ..."she plead again and again. She retorted, "Fuck you bitch, you deserve it," She yelled as she sat on the couch and began polishing her nails as if watching a television drama. "You know what, Ellaya? Her soul was deeply wounded by her father's filthy remarks, "I always wanted to rip your clothes and make you feel good, baby girl." She wanted to hurl it in his face as her stomach roiled. For his own daughter, how could a father think this way? She shook her head, "No.. no.. please." Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she was crying and sweating but still fighting. The grip on her leg was cutting into her skin. "Now be a good g
Ellaya walked forward, the wind lashing at her like invisible claws, tugging at her tattered dress—ghostly fingers urging her forward... or trying to hold her back. She flinched as thunder roared above, a deafening snarl that vibrated through her bones. A flash of lightning lit up her face, casting her features in a pale, sharp glow—one second of clarity in the suffocating darkness of the haunted night. Her legs trembled beneath her, each step sending a sharp, searing pain through her foot. Blood oozed from an open wound, mixing with the dirty puddles beneath her, leaving behind crimson trails like silent cries for help. But it wasn't the pain in her body that mattered. It was the wound in her soul. That was deeper. Far crueler. The heinous act that had shattered her into unrecognizable pieces clung to her like a second skin. Her face twisted with fear and anguish, etched permanently with the scars of betrayal. Her muffled sobs, raw and aching, echoed behind her, swallowed
The buzz of his phone dragged him from oblivion, sharp and insistent, like a wasp stinging him back to life. He groaned, clutching his pounding head, the taste of regret bitter on his tongue. The screen’s light seared his eyes, but he answered anyway—out of reflex more than intention. “Kai,” he croaked. His voice was shredded. “What is it?” “Where the hell are you, Iden?” Kai’s voice was raw, urgent. “I’ve been calling you all night. What the fuck is going on?” “What could possibly be so important,” Iden growled, voice jagged, “that I can’t have one night to myself?” Kai’s laugh was cold. Dead. “Your wife turned herself in this morning.” The words were simple. But they detonated inside him. He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Just… broke. His hand tightened around the phone like it might hold him together. “What?” It came out strangled. The forest swayed around him, uncaring. Trees moved with the wind, indifferent to the fracture inside him. The ground shifted, unreliable und
The courtroom was suffocating in its silence, the weight of anticipation pressing against every breath. Even the fluorescent lights seemed sharper, more unforgiving, casting stark shadows across Ellaya Stone’s face. She stood tall—spine straight, chin lifted—but her eyes burned with something beyond defiance. Pain. Exhaustion. Resignation. Then, she uttered those damning words: “I plead guilty.” The gasp wasn’t just a sound—it was a ripple of disbelief, swallowing the room whole. The judge, wrapped in his black robes, leaned forward, his gaze steady but edged with scrutiny. “Ms. Stone, are you absolutely certain you wish to say nothing in your defense?” A sardonic smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Not joy. Not regret. Just a quiet bitterness, something worn thin with time. “I, Ellaya Stone, accept responsibility for all of my crimes.” Her voice was steady, but the sadness beneath it ran deep—like water pressing against cracked glass. “As Mr. Iden Ruan’s persona
The room was drowned in shadows, lit only by the moonlight filtering through half-parted drapes, dancing like ghosts across the cold wooden floor. The air was still, but heavy—cotton curtains swaying gently in the midnight draft spilling from the cracked window. It should have been a peaceful night. The moon looked soft, radiant—throwing its silver blessings onto the room like scattered pearls. But inside, a storm raged. Iden sat on the floor, back hunched against the edge of the bed, legs sprawled as if the strength had left his body entirely. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging—desperate for any sensation that wasn't this gnawing emptiness. His head hung low, shoulders shaking with each labored breath. His eyes—once sharp, unshakable—were now dull and lifeless, buried beneath the weight of sleepless nights and unshed truths. He looked like a man hollowed out from the inside. Like something vital had been scooped from his chest and he hadn’t even
“No. She’s not willing to meet anyone. We tried.”Arthur’s raspy voice hit Iden like another bolt to the ribs—sharp and cold.“If we want this plan to work,” Arthur continued, “we have to pull her to our side. She’s not just sitting in that cell. She’s slipping further every day.”Kai took a long sip from his glass and slammed a stack of photos onto the table. The room dimly buzzed with the hum of old lights, one flickering above the table like it couldn't make up its mind.Iden didn’t speak. His thumb rubbed anxiously over the back of his folded hand, a small movement that betrayed the storm inside him. His eyes locked on the photos.Ellaya.Clad in dull prisoner grays. Knees to her chest. Eyes not looking—just staring.At the wall.At the floor.At food she never touched.Empty. Hollowed out.Always alone.Always in the corner.Always sad.Always broken.A tremor slid through Iden’s spine. He had pulled monsters from holes and made them bleed in ways they didn’t think possible.But
Ellaya lunged, her kick slicing through the air toward her grandfather’s chest. But he was faster. His weathered hands snapped forward, catching her ankle mid-strike. In a single motion, he twisted and flipped her—her back hitting the mat with a bone-rattling thud. Before she could react, a brutal fist drove into her stomach. Pain detonated in her core. Her lungs collapsed inward. Breath scattered like broken glass. She doubled over. But he didn’t wait. He pinned her to the ground, calloused fingers digging into her wrists. Her body thrashed, muscles screaming, wrists raw beneath his unyielding grip. Ellaya cried out—sharp, guttural, alive. “That’s enough for today.” His voice cut cold through the haze. “You’re still weak. Like a toddler grasping at strength that isn’t yours. Push yourself harder.” She scrambled upright, shame searing hotter than any bruise. Her ribs ached. Her knuckles bled. But her mind? Steel. Survival wasn’t a choice. It was her god now.
A gust of wind tore through the room, sweeping papers off the desk like shreds of the past being ripped into the present. Kai stood in the doorway, chest heaving, drenched in sweat. One hand dragged a man by the collar—a mangled heap of flesh and bone. The man's face was grotesque, beaten to a pulp, barely conscious. Blood dripped steadily from his nose, painting a red trail behind them like a signature of vengeance. Arthur followed, silent as thunder before the strike. His fists were clenched so tightly the knuckles bled white. His eyes—cold, ruthless—locked on Iden like a scope lining up its mark. Without a word, Kai kicked the man’s legs out. He collapsed at Iden’s feet in a graceless heap. Silence held its breath. Then a weak, hoarse cry spilled from the man’s throat. He trembled, unable to meet Iden’s eyes. “Having fun, Danny?” Angelo’s voice sliced through the stillness, low and mocking as he crouched beside the man. A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Didn’t expect t
“This is the video we pulled,” Angelo said, turning the laptop toward Iden. He hit play. Young Ellaya hurled a glass of wine at Leo. Her voice sliced through the air like a blade. “You sewer rat! You don’t belong here! You should’ve died in the gutter you crawled out of!” Her finger jabbed toward his face, trembling. “You’re dirt-poor—and that’s exactly what you deserve! You should die like the scum you are!” Then, louder—each syllable laced with venom: “You’re poor—and that’s all you’ll ever be. Die in it.” Iden’s jaw locked. He didn’t blink. Couldn’t. His stomach twisted into a slow, suffocating knot. He’d seen this video so many times, it was seared into his memory. Burned in rage. It was the reason he hated her—or tried to. Failed to. But this clip, this moment... it was the beginning of everything. He had sworn over his friend’s grave to destroy her. And he did—masterfully. “She’s yelling at Leo,” Angelo said. “That’s what the clip shows. And we all believ
She smirked as she shoved a stray book off her lap. “You know… you don’t have to be the Don. You can just be who you are.” Iden tilted his head slightly, lips twitching into a faint smile—small, but real. “You’re the only one who gets to say that.” And in that moment—grief shadowing his eyes, the scent of blood still faint on his shirt—he smiled. He rubbed her hair playfully, gently mussing the strands like he used to when they were kids. “Really?” she grinned, sitting cross-legged on her bed. “Okay… if you say so. But I can tell you mine.” She beamed, reaching for a thick leather diary. “I used to keep memos, you know? I’d write down everything I enjoyed. The places I loved, food I liked, people I met. Kinda old school.” Iden sat down beside her, intrigued despite himself. Her glittering eyes—so full of life—reminded him of someone else. Someone who once laughed shyly and smiled like an idiot. Ellaya. His gaze drifted from his sister to the window, where night pressed it
Days passed like smoke—slipping through fingers, vanishing before they could be held. Time didn’t move forward; it bled. Minutes dragged like hours, and weeks collapsed in on themselves. Iden didn’t sleep. He didn’t eat. He sat in silence, trapped in his own mind, spiraling deeper into a storm of memories and questions. The moon became his only witness. Some nights, he watched the stars, others, the rain. Most nights, he simply stared into the void, heart thundering beneath skin that no longer felt like his own. A storm churned in his chest—loud, endless, and hungry. He saw her face in every shadow. Heard her voice in every silence. Her scent still clung to his lungs like smoke from a fire he could never put out. It had been a week since the blast. A week of searching. A week without answers. She wasn’t listed among the dead. But she wasn’t among the living either. She was missing. And Iden knew—deep in the part of his soul that still burned for her—she was alive. Hidi
The room was breathtaking—paneled in dark mahogany, steeped in the scent of old paper and aged wood. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held leather-bound books, their spines gilded and cracked with time. But it was the massive oil painting that stole Ellaya’s breath. A woman with wild purple hair and luminous skin smiled down at them. Her eyes—familiar, haunting—seemed to follow Ellaya across the room. She froze. The resemblance was undeniable. Same striking bone structure. Same purple irises. But the woman in the painting looked lighter—freer. Her smile held none of the weight Ellaya carried. None of the pain. Photos cluttered every surface. In one, the woman stood beside a tall, devastatingly handsome man—mid-laugh, hand wrapped around her waist. Their wedding photo. They looked hopelessly in love. Another showed them cradling a baby. The man's eyes brimmed with pride. The woman’s arms curled around the infant like a shield. The baby… was her. There was no mistaking it. Ellaya stagge
Ellaya didn’t remember when they moved her. One moment, she was in her cell—cracked walls, the stench of sweat and rusted iron, a tray of untouched food rotting in the corner. The next, she woke in hell. Not the metaphorical kind. The real one. The kind where screaming and silence existed in the same breath. Where punishment wasn’t given for madness—it was fed to it. You weren’t treated. You were drowned. The asylum was never quiet. Men laughed at the ceiling. Women whispered to the walls. Eyes followed her—hungry, hollow. Human only in name. She didn’t scream. Didn’t fight. She just watched. Watched them drag limp bodies behind rusted doors marked “TREATMENT.” Watched them come back quieter. Emptier. Sometimes not at all. They said she was dangerous. Deranged. A monster in a pretty shell. She didn’t correct them. Let them think she was mad. Let them forget she existed. At least then, no one expected her to survive. She’d already buried herself inside. What was left to
The room hummed with tension. Blue light from dozens of monitors painted ghostly shapes across Angelo’s office. Cables tangled like veins across the floor, machines blinked like they were breathing. The sharp scent of hot metal, sweat, and cigarette smoke hung thick in the air. “Everything’s set,” Kai reported, voice clipped. “Cameras, medics, chopper in the air. Our men are spread across the asylum. She's walking into the lion’s mouth.” Iden stepped into the room, slow and silent. This was the war room. It looked like one. A place where lives were traded, decisions signed in blood. He moved to the center of the chaos, eyes drawn to the wall of screens. Every angle of the massive asylum flickered in shaky grain. Corridors lined with flickering lights. Rooms filled with twitching shadows—patients, doctors, ghosts. The asylum was a tomb disguised as a hospital. Built on illegal records and rotting experiments. A hellhole. A cover for human trafficking, organ harvesting, un
It had been a week. And their plan—cold, calculated, inhumane—was working.The medication laced into her system had done more than sedate her. It blurred the edges of time, pulling her into hallucinations stitched from trauma and shadows. She saw things that never happened. Heard voices that whispered lies in familiar tones. Faces from the past flickered before her eyes, only to vanish like smoke. And when she spoke, it was to people long gone.Kai gave the daily reports, short and clinical. “She’s deteriorating. Fast. The hallucinations are getting worse.”But Iden, arms folded and gaze fixed on the monitor, wasn’t convinced the drugs were fully to blame. “Or maybe it’s not the meds,” he said quietly. “Maybe it’s just her past… clawing its way out.”“Does it matter?” Kai muttered. “She’s breaking. That’s the goal.”It didn’t sit right with Iden. Nothing about this did. But the truth was, it was working.His eyes locked on the screen in front of him. There she was—sitting on the cold