"What’s wrong?"
Janet blinked in surprise.
Charles’s expression had changed again—the sa coldness she often saw whenever she ntioned her ties to the Louis family.
Even if it was just a call from Ternence.
"You’re no longer one of them," he said flatly, his voice laced with displeasure.
"Whoever goes missing has nothing to do with you anymore."
His long fingers brushed her bangs aside, and his dark, burning eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.
Janet lowered her gaze and leaned her head on his shoulder, her voice soft but steady.
"I know it has nothing to do with ... but I’m still Harold’s daughter. And Philip—he’s always been kind to ."
Charles’s brows twitched.
"Janet..."
His voice was unusually low. His eyes lingered on her pale face, a mixture of emotions swirling in them.
He hadn’t forgotten.
Not for a second.
What Anila and Elvira had done to Janet all those years ago...
If Janet ever found out the truth—if she knew her mother didn’t die by accident—
Would this gentle, kind girl be able to bear it?
No.
Cornelia was her everything.
Her mother had been her whole world.
And if Janet ever learned who had really taken her away...
She might never smile like this again.
"What is it?"
Janet lifted her eyes, confusion flickering in her gaze.
Charles hesitated, then asked slowly,
"If one day... you found out soone close to you had done sothing terrible to hurt you, what would you do?"
He wasn’t like her.
He could bear betrayal. He could wait years to get revenge.
But Janet...
She was different.
Too pure. Too soft.
Janet pondered his question, not sensing the storm beneath his calm surface.
To her, the only people who’d ever truly hurt her were Anila and Elvira.
But even those mories felt so distant now.
"Charles, honestly... Elvira didn’t hurt that badly. I hated her back then, but now, with you by my side, none of that matters anymore."
Her big eyes sparkled under the soft lights, eting his gaze with an innocent sincerity.
She knew.
She always knew how careful he was—how he avoided touching the scars on her back, how his fingers would pause at every mark.
She never said it aloud.
But silence didn’t an ignorance.
"You foolish girl..."
Charles let out a soft sigh and pulled her into his arms, burying his bitterness in her warmth.
Maybe it was better not to tell her.
Let her stay like this—pure, carefree, sheltered under his wings forever.
Her enemies?
He’d take care of them.
With no rcy.
"Are you tired?"
She nodded faintly.
"Then sleep."
He gently helped her lie down, tucking her in before drawing her into his embrace.
By the ti he lowered his head to kiss her cheek, she had already fallen asleep.
Charles smiled faintly, though his heart was heavy.
She’d been fragile lately...
Had he been too greedy, too rough with her?
Elsewhere, behind a locked door drenched in silence and sin—
A woman lay sprawled across a luxurious bed, her bare body trembling with humiliation and twisted desire.
Her lips, bruised and swollen, murmured incoherent sounds of pain mixed with craving.
The once proud and confident woman had been reduced to nothing more than a puppet of lust.
The bathroom door creaked open.
A man stepped out—naked, pierced lips curled into a cruel grin.
He crooked a finger, and like a trained dog, she crawled toward him, arching her back, displaying every inch of her tainted beauty.
Before she could beg, he pushed her down with savage force.
"Still so eager, huh, pretty doll?" he chuckled darkly.
Their shadows tangled on the floor.
No foreplay. No tenderness.
Only raw, rciless domination.
And in the darkness, her moans—his growls—rged into sothing wild, sothing base.
A grotesque dance of bodies, far removed from love.
It was a private theater of madness.
And the curtains weren’t going down anyti soon.
The woman lying beneath him was none other than Elvira Louis.
A month ago, everything changed.
It started in a nightclub—
A needle. A surge of heat.
And then, darkness.
Since then, her life had spiraled into sothing unrecognizable.
She was no longer in control of her body, her choices—her freedom.
It all belonged to him now.
The man with the lip ring and the blood-red hair.
Afterward, he got up coldly, leaving her trembling on the floor like a discarded toy.
He wiped his hands with a tissue, his eyes full of disdain.
The flush on her face hadn’t yet faded when her gaze caught the shine of his crimson hair.
In an instant, her dazed expression sharpened.
"You sick freak! You injected again, didn’t you?! Bastard!"
Elvira leapt up, not bothering to cover herself, clawing at his shoulder like a wildcat.
Her voice cracked, her body trembling—not from sha, but fury.
When did it start?
When did her body beco like this—warm, responsive, craving his touch even as her mind scread no?
"You were enjoying it just fine, weren’t you? Don’t pretend to be so innocent little flower now, you filthy bitch."
The man sneered, slapping her hard across the face.
Then, with an unhurried grin, he grabbed his belt and lashed it through the air.
"I’m out of cash. Bring so tomorrow—or I’ll send those pretty little pictures of you to Harold Louis.
Think your precious Daddy has ever seen his darling daughter begging like a cheap slut?"
Elvira froze. Her entire body turned cold.
She bit down on his chest, hard, drawing blood—her eyes filled with hatred and despair.
"Fine! I’ll give you the damn money. Just don’t touch again! Get out!"
Her voice cracked. It wasn’t defiance—it was survival.
But the man only laughed, his belt slipping from his hand again.
"You think you still have a choice?"
He pushed her down once more.
Elvira scread. Her voice was choked with rage, humiliation, regret.
Why... why could that bitch Janet have Charles, and she—
She was trapped.
Trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.
Her body—twisted.
Her mind—fractured.
And her soul?
Long gone.
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