Chapter 2

I saw myself standing at the party entrance.

Wearing the backless dress Seraphina picked for me—champagne silk, the back design plunging almost to my waist. I thought it was too revealing then, but Seraphina said "this is high society standard."

I believed her.

Back then, I still believed her.

How stupid I was.

The scene grew clearer. Crystal chandeliers in the luxury club cast dazzling light, champagne towers stacked in pyramids, music pounding in my ears. I could feel the nervousness from that time, my heart hammering in my chest.

Everyone was staring at me.

Those unfamiliar faces, appraising eyes, whispered conversations.

"That's the daughter the Sterling family found?"

"Heard she grew up in the countryside..."

"Tsk tsk, look at that posture, clearly no class..."

So many people...

My hands were trembling. Fingertips digging into my palms, trying to calm myself down.

I didn't know them... so nervous...

Their stares made me uncomfortable—appraising, curious, contemptuous. They were assessing me, like evaluating a newly purchased piece of furniture.

Suddenly, I heard muffled voices—not from the party, but from now, coming from the treatment room.

"Why is she so nervous? It's just a party..."

Mom's voice.

I wanted to laugh. Just a party? Of course it's just a party to you. To me, it was the gateway to hell.

Dr. Cross's icy voice rang out: "Severe stress response. She was extremely terrified."

Terrified? No, Mom, it wasn't just terror.

It was instinct. My body was screaming warnings—run, run now.

But I didn't run.

Because I wanted to fit into this family. I wanted to be your daughter.

"Sister!"

Seraphina appeared.

She wore a Chanel white dress, her smile perfect. She grabbed my hand—hard, her nails digging into my wrist.

"Come, I'll introduce you to my friends!"

I stumbled after her, the dress hem nearly tripping me.

We stopped at a table. Three young men gathered around, suited up, their gazes frivolous.

"This is the young master from the Lawson family," Seraphina's voice sickly sweet, "this is the Thompson heir, and the Blackwood successor..."

Marcus's eyes roamed over me. His gaze settled on my chest, utterly shameless.

Their stares... so frightening...

I wanted to step back, but Seraphina's hand clamped down on me, her nails pressing harder, I felt the skin break.

"Sister, don't be nervous," she whispered in my ear, breath hot on my neck, "these are all high society friends. You need to learn to adapt."

Dad's voice came from the treatment room: "Who are these people?"

Now you're asking. But where were you then?

Seraphina raised her champagne glass. "Sister, your first party, let's have a toast together!"

"I... I don't really drink..."

Seraphina's smile stiffened, her eyes instantly turning cold.

"Sister, this is social etiquette. If you don't drink, everyone will think you're disrespecting them."

The three men immediately jeered: "Yeah, Miss Sterling, just one glass!"

"Just one drink, don't be a spoilsport!"

"We're all toasting you!"

Trembling, I took the glass. The cold rim pressed against my palm. I looked at that golden liquid, a voice screaming inside—

Don't drink it.

But everyone was staring at me. I had no way out. I tilted my head back and drained it.

The liquid slid down my throat. Bitter with a sickly sweetness, and an indescribable chemical taste.

Something's wrong. The taste is wrong.

Ten seconds later, dizziness hit like waves.

The ceiling was moving. Crystal chandeliers became countless points of light, spinning, twisting, melting before my eyes.

In the treatment room, I heard the urgent alarm of machines. Beep beep beep beep—

"Neurotransmitter anomaly," Dr. Cross's voice cold, "dopamine receptor inhibition, GABA levels plummeting. She was drugged. Gamma-hydroxybutyrate, a date rape drug."

Mom's scream: "What?!"

Seraphina's face appeared again. Her lips curved with satisfaction, her eyes ice cold.

"Sister, you don't look so good, let me take you upstairs to rest."

No... don't...

But I couldn't speak. My tongue felt frozen.

The hallway was spinning.

Walls undulating like waves. The red carpet became a river of blood, ceiling lights dragging long halos.

My steps staggered, completely supported by Seraphina. Her hands were cold, nails digging into my waist.

"We're here, sister," she said, opening the door for me.

The room was large. There was a sofa, a bed. The curtains were drawn tight, only dim wall lamps.

Click. The sound of the door locking.

I was placed on the sofa. The ceiling spun before my eyes, consciousness flickering in and out.

"Just rest for a bit," Seraphina's voice came from far away, "don't worry, sister."

Then came the sound of the door closing.

In the darkness, I heard whispers outside the door. Seraphina's voice, and men's laughter. Low, excited laughter.

No...

Minutes later, the door opened again. Three men walked in.

Marcus led the way. He loosened his tie, eyes naked with excitement: "Seraphina said tonight we can do whatever we want..."

"No... don't..."

I wanted to scream, but the sound came out as a weak whimper. My hands tried to push him away, but they were as powerless as cotton.

In the treatment room came the sound of a chair falling. Mom was retching.

Marcus's hand reached toward me. His hand was hot, reeking of sweat and alcohol.

I saw light in the door crack.

Someone was there with a phone, filming what was happening in the room.

It was Seraphina.

She stood outside the door, phone screen lit, camera aimed at everything inside the room.

I saw her face.

She was smiling—lips curved in a cold smile, eyes devoid of warmth, only icy calculation.

She watched Marcus tear at my clothes. Watched me cry out for help. Watched me desperately call for Mom and Dad.

Then she turned and left.

"Seraphina!"

I screamed out: "Help! Please!"

But there was no more response from outside the door.

Only the music from the party, the clinking of glasses, laughter, and chatter.

My consciousness was collapsing. The images became fragmented.

The sound of clothes being torn.

Rough hands.

Pain.

Dad... Mom... save me...

No one came.

In the treatment room, the alarms shrieked piercingly.

"Heart rate 180," Dr. Cross said urgently, "fear levels at their peak."

Dad's breathing was heavy, voice trembling: "My God..."

On Adrian's side, dead silence.

Suddenly, a loud crash of a chair being knocked over.

Seraphina screamed: "This isn't real! This is a hallucination!"

But the data doesn't lie.

I don't know how much time passed, but when the scene refocused, the pain had numbed. I lay on the sofa, clothes disheveled, consciousness drifting.

The door was suddenly pushed open.

"Sister!"

Seraphina rushed in "horrified," eyes red as if she'd been crying. Perfect acting.

Behind her were Dad, Mom, Adrian.

"I couldn't find sister, I was so worried... searched everywhere... didn't expect..."

Dad saw my disheveled state, his face ashen.

His expression—not heartbreak, not anger.

Disgust.

Like looking at something dirty.

"I originally wanted to stop it..." Seraphina cried, holding up her phone, "but sister she... I captured some footage... wanted it as evidence..."

On the phone screen, a video was playing.

The angle was cunning, the footage making it look like I was "actively" wrapping my arms around Marcus's neck, like I was smiling and accepting the kiss.

She deliberately chose those angles.

I wanted to explain, but my throat couldn't make a sound.

I saw that flash of triumph in Seraphina's eyes.

Just for an instant. But I saw it.

Now, those in the treatment room saw it too.

Then I heard—

SLAP!

A sharp crack echoed through the room.