Chapter 4

The alarm kept blaring. The heart monitor was shrieking frantically. I felt myself falling, the whole world spinning.

"Give her a sedative!" Dr. Cross's voice cut through the chaos.

Ice-cold liquid rushed into my veins. But it didn't work. My heart was still racing, my body still convulsing.

"She can't take it!" A nurse's voice rang out.

"Stop the hypnosis! Now!" Mom was screaming.

"No." Dad's voice was hoarse. "Continue. We need to see it through."

"Mr. Sterling! She'll die!"

"Then let her die knowing the truth!" Dad roared. "Three years! What right do we have to run away?!"

Dr. Cross fell silent for several seconds. "...Understood."

No... I don't want to... I really can't take this anymore...

But the hypnosis didn't stop.

That force dragged me into deeper darkness again.

The darkness shattered. Light flooded in. I saw the familiar mahogany desk.

Dad's study.

No... not this...

But I was already standing before that massive desk. My hands were clenched tight, nails digging into flesh.

This was the second year.

"We need to secure that piece of land from the Lawson family." Dad tapped the desk, his voice cold and hard. "Marcus Lawson has a thing for you. Tonight's business dinner, keep him company. Have a few drinks."

My blood turned to ice instantly.

No... not him... please...

"Dad, Marcus, he... at the party he..." My voice trembled.

"That's in the past!" Dad waved impatiently, each word like a knife stabbing my heart. "You can't hold onto it forever! This is for the family!"

For the family.

Always for the family.

A year of rulers, salt, starvation, the balcony... all for the family.

Now he wanted me to see that man... also for the family.

"But I'm scared..."

The door opened. Seraphina walked in, wearing that perfect expression of concern. "Sister, are you being selfish? If something happens to Dad's company, we'll all suffer."

Mom followed behind. "Vivian, just have a few drinks with Marcus. What could possibly happen? Stop making such a big deal out of everything."

I lowered my head. Tears dripped onto the floor.

No one was listening.

Muffled sobbing echoed from somewhere far away... was that Mom?

Too late.

Because I still went.

VIP room in a luxury restaurant. Red velvet curtains, dim yellow lighting, air thick with expensive perfume and cigar smoke.

The moment I was "delivered," Marcus's eyes lit up.

"The Sterling family's precious daughter gracing us with her presence. What an honor."

He grinned, showing yellow teeth, those eyes crawling all over me like a venomous snake.

I sat in the farthest seat from him, my whole body shaking.

"Come, have a drink with me." He poured wine and pushed it over.

"I... I can't really drink..."

"Your father specifically sent you here." His smile turned suggestive. "Don't disappoint him."

I remembered Dad's warning before I left. Trembling, I took the glass.

The wine tasted bitter, or maybe it was my tears mixed in.

My monitoring data must have been going crazy. Fear... endless fear...

After three glasses, I was already dizzy.

Marcus "accidentally" spilled wine on my dress.

"Oops, my fault." He stood up. "Let me wipe that for you." His hand went straight for my thigh.

"No need!" I jumped up, but he grabbed me.

So strong. I couldn't break free at all.

"Stop pretending." His breath hit my face, reeking of alcohol and smoke, making me want to vomit. "Your father sent you here himself. He texted me, said you'd 'cooperate nicely.'"

No... that's not true...

"Let me go!"

Then the memory started twisting, fragmenting.

I was desperately trying to forget. I didn't want to remember.

But the images still flashed—him tearing at my clothes, my helpless struggle, his triumphant leer...

The alarm suddenly became even more piercing.

It was coming from far, far away, as if through water.

"Patient is actively suppressing memories!"

"Heart rate 180! Blood pressure dropping!"

Someone was screaming. The sound was tearing, hysterical.

It was Mom.

Right, Mom. This was the result of your "just have a few drinks."

But the memory continued, like floodwaters breaking through a dam.

That night at home, I rushed straight to the bathroom, turned on the shower. I set the water temperature to scalding. I scrubbed my body frantically.

Dirty. So dirty. Couldn't wash it off. No matter how hard I scrubbed, couldn't wash it off.

My skin broke, blood mixing with water flowing down, and I was still scrubbing.

"Sister, Dad wants to see you in his study." Seraphina was outside the door, her voice soft.

I mechanically put on clothes, walked toward the study.

Dad launched into a tirade. "What's wrong with you? Marcus said you had a terrible attitude! We almost lost the deal!"

I cried. "Dad, he... he violated me..."

"That again!" Dad waved dismissively, the motion making me step back. "That's how business entertainment works! Who do you think you are? Some pristine princess?"

I closed my eyes.

So in Dad's eyes, being violated was my fault.

Someone was retching. The sound was coming from far away, painful and suppressed.

Is that you, Dad? Do you feel disgusted now?

Before I could question him, the images started flashing rapidly. Like a projector out of control, scene after scene.

Seraphina found me: "Sister, the Thompson family CEO wants to meet you..."

"Sister, Mr. Anderson wants to take you to dinner..."

"Sister, this investor is very important, go keep him company..."

Each time after, I returned to the bathroom. Curled up in the tub, scratching my skin with my nails.

"Dirty... so dirty... can't wash it off..." I kept repeating, like a madwoman.

Maybe I already was mad.

A distant voice, Dr. Cross's, ice-cold: "Post-traumatic stress disorder index... breaking threshold..."

Yes, Dr. Cross.

I was insane.

But the memory wouldn't let me go. It kept pushing forward.

Third year, winter. Seraphina pushed open my door.

I sat numbly on the edge of the bed. I couldn't cry anymore. I'd cried myself dry.

From 110 pounds down to 90. My arms and knees were covered in old scars. My eyes were as hollow as death.

"Sister, there's a very important investor. He can inject 500 million into Sterling Corporation."

"What... do I have to do?" My voice was hollow as a ghost's.

"Just keep him company for one night." Her smile was so sweet.

I looked up, suddenly laughed. "You want to sell me again?"

"Such harsh words." She shrugged. "It's 'business networking.' Besides, haven't you gotten used to it?"

Used to it?

"I won't go!" I suddenly exploded. This was my first time fighting back. "I won't go! I'm not merchandise!"

Seraphina's smile disappeared.

"Then I'll tell Mom and Dad you refuse to sacrifice for the family. What will they think of you?"

She always knew my weakness.

That night, I knelt before my parents. This was my last plea for help.

"Dad, Mom, please... don't make me go anymore... those men... they..."

"Enough!" Dad cut me off. "The family raised you, you should give back to the family!"

Mom sighed. "The company's in trouble. As a daughter, shouldn't you do something?"

Seraphina beside them: "Sister, for the Sterling family, just endure it."

I looked up at them. In this moment, something inside me broke. Completely and utterly shattered.

Dr. Cross's voice interrupted the memory: "According to neural feedback data, over three years, Vivian was sent to different men 23 times."

He paused, his voice trembling.

"Every time she resisted, she was scolded for being 'immature,' 'selfish,' 'bringing shame to the family.'"

The observation deck fell into dead silence.

"I did it for the family too!" Seraphina was hysterical. "Those contracts were all signed! Sterling Corporation made billions!"

BANG—

A chair crashed over. Sounds of scuffling. Seraphina's choking sounds.

"You destroyed my daughter!" Dad was roaring.

Security rushed in.

Adrian's voice was very quiet: "Vivian... I'm sorry..."

He knelt beside me, tears dripping on my pale hand.

"I guarded a demon for three years... I'll spend the rest of my life atoning..."

Too late.

"Wait." Dr. Cross stared at the monitoring screen. "There's one more memory. Trauma index... breaking all records."

Silence.

"Continue." Dad's voice was like shattered glass.

The image began to change.

Winter dusk. Rooftop. Wind was strong.

I stood at the edge, looking down at San Francisco. Traffic like a river, crowds like ants.

I closed my eyes.

This was my last moment of clarity.

Dr. Cross's suppressed voice came from afar: "My God..."

Yes.

I had broken.

Because living was more painful than dying.