I felt the sensation of being dragged, my body scraping against something rough and damp. The ground beneath me was neither solid nor smooth—it was soft, uneven, and wet. *Grass?*
Slowly, my eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim surroundings. My heart nearly stopped when I realized what was happening—Dante was pulling me across the lawn, his grip firm but eerily emotionless. He wasn't his usual stern self. There was nothing in his eyes. No irritation. No pity. Nothing.
And then, I saw why.
My breath hitched.
"What in the name of…" I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
A large gathering stood before me, all dressed in black, their faces void of warmth. Men and women, dozens of them, encircled the massive coconut tree—the same tree I had been chained to just hours ago. My dried blood was still smeared across the bark, a haunting reminder of my earlier torture.
My stomach twisted violently.
"No… no, please… not again…" My voice cracked as fear settled deep in my bones.
I struggled, but Dante continued pulling me forward, unbothered by my resistance. When we reached the tree, I barely had a moment to catch my breath before thick, rusted chains replaced the ropes from before. They were heavier, colder. The metal dug into my wrists and ankles, biting into my bruised skin.
Oh no.
What had I done this time?
The night breeze stung against my open wounds, sending sharp tremors through my body. Above me, Anamis climbed onto a stool, her lips curling into a wicked smirk.
"The lamb is already shaking," she sneered, her voice laced with amusement.
Laughter erupted from the crowd. The sound was sharp, cruel—like glass scraping against metal.
She hopped down, making way for my father, who adjusted the cuffs of his black coat before clearing his throat. "Bring in the tests," he commanded.
I flinched as five men entered the circle, each leading a black goat by a rope.
*What the hell…?*
Before I could even process it, the men slit the goats' throats in one swift motion. Blood gushed violently, splattering the ground as it filled several large buckets. The thick metallic stench clawed its way into my lungs, making me gag.
My father took a deep breath, his face still as stone. "Ladies and gentlemen, we could've secured a prosperous deal with Loren Kodak." He paused, his gaze shifting to me with pure disgust. "But this bitch ruined everything."
His words hit harder than a slap. My mind raced—*I ruined it?* I hadn't done anything. I didn't even know about any deal.
Whispers spread through the crowd, their glares piercing through me like daggers.
Then, a sharp whistle cut through the noise, silencing them instantly.
"Now," my father said, his tone calm but menacing, "feel free to express your… disappointment."
My blood ran cold.
Anamis was the first to step forward.
With an exaggerated sigh, she picked up a bucket and a whip. Her eyes locked onto mine, glimmering with sadistic pleasure.
"Witch."
With that, she flung the entire bucket of goat's blood over me. The thick, warm liquid clung to my skin, soaking through my clothes. I gasped at the sheer filthiness of it, but before I could react, the first lash came.
*CRACK!*
The whip sliced across my shoulder.
"AHH—!"
Another strike.
Then another.
And another.
Anamis whipped me mercilessly, her laughter drowning out my cries. My mother followed suit, dumping another bucket over my head before joining in. My uncle Carl, along with two others, did the same.
Then the crowd turned violent.
They pelted me with sharp stones, each impact sending fresh waves of agony through my body.
"AHHHHHHHH!" I screamed, my voice raw, my body convulsing under the endless barrage of pain.
Still, they didn't stop. My father and mother forced raw meat into my mouth, shoving it down my throat every time I tried to cry out. I choked, gagging on the iron-rich taste, but they only laughed at my suffering.
The torture escalated to an unbearable level. My body no longer felt like my own—I was just a canvas for their cruelty.
Then, something inside me *snapped*.
I let out a scream so raw, so primal, it silenced everyone instantly. Even I was shocked at the sound that tore from my throat.
I started convulsing. My body trembled uncontrollably, my mouth foaming as I gasped for air.
I couldn't breathe.
I looked down—blood. So much blood. A deep gash had opened on my neck, and I was losing blood fast.
My vision blurred. My chest tightened.
Then, the last thing I saw was my family—staring at me with blank expressions.
And then… they laughed.
A single tear slipped down my cheek as the world went black.
---
###
The family didn't regret a single thing.
But their arrogance shattered when paramedics rushed in, sirens wailing, and carefully lifted the lifeless body from the bloodstained ground.
Mr. Kuiro's face twisted with rage.
Someone had called for help.
Someone had *snitched*.
As the ambulance sped away, he gripped his whiskey glass so tightly it shattered in his hand. His wife and daughter weren't much better—Anamis seethed with anger, her fists clenched.
Not wasting any time, they summoned all the maids and servants.
Mr. Kuiro stalked through the room, his aura suffocating. "Which one of you did it?"
No one answered.
One by one, they were punished. Fingers severed, skin flayed open by the whip. Blood splattered the marble floors, but still—no one confessed.
Then, Dante entered.
"Sir," he announced, "your presence is needed at the hospital."
With a final glare at the servants, Mr. Kuiro, his wife, and Anamis stormed out.
---
The entire place was in chaos. Police officers filled the hallways, nurses rushed in and out, and doctors were desperately working to revive the 18 year old.
The Kuiros, of course, were untouchable. A few stacks of cash settled any legal complications, and the officers left quietly.
Then, they waited.
After six agonizing hours, the doctor finally emerged.
"She survived."
Anamis clenched her jaw.
"She suffered severe trauma, but she'll wake up once the swelling in her head reduces," the doctor continued. "It's a miracle she's alive."
For most families, this would be good news.
For them? It was the worst possible outcome.
Mr. Kuiro scoffed, staring at the unconscious form through the glass window. "Lucky demon."
Anamis scowled, her lips curling in disgust. "She just won't die, will she?"
They followed the nurses as they wheeled her into a private room, their glares never wavering.
Standing at the foot of the bed, they watched her.
They weren't relieved. They weren't worried.
They were *furious*.
And one thing about the Kuiros?
They never made empty threats.