Chapter 8

Isabella's scream echoed through the backstage area.

The staff froze in shock. Some started screaming in panic, others fumbled for their phones to call for an ambulance.

I pulled the knife free and stood up straight.

"A Romano always repays their debts," I said, looking down at Isabella, who was writhing on the floor, clutching her bleeding hand and sobbing. "Remember that."

I turned and walked away, the sounds of chaos fading behind me.

My steps were steady as I headed for the exit, as if nothing had happened.

Just as I reached the door, Vincent blocked my path.

He was holding a blanket and a thermos, clearly having just returned.

Seeing me, Vincent's face turned to stone.

"What did you do?" he demanded.

I glanced at the thermos in his hand and gave a bitter, humorless smile. "You went to get medicine for her?"

"I asked you what you did!" Vincent's voice was colder now, sharper.

"She put my mother's necklace on a stray dog and called my mother a bitch," I looked him straight in the eye, my own gaze unflinching. "So I stabbed her."

Vincent's expression froze. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," I gestured toward his ear. "Your men must have already reported back to you."

Vincent was indeed wearing a discreet earpiece. He already knew everything that had transpired.

"Even if she put the necklace on a dog, you don't have the right to hurt her!" Vincent's voice was like ice, delivering the final blow.

That single sentence shattered what was left of me.

I looked at the man in front of me, tears finally welling in my eyes.

So, in his world, even if Isabella desecrated the memory of my dead mother, I wasn't allowed to fight back.

"Vincent," my voice trembled. "How are you going to 'discipline' me this time?"

Vincent saw my tears, and for a split second, his resolve seemed to waver.

But then his expression hardened again, colder than ever.

"I can't control you anymore," Vincent took out his phone. "Marco, bring your men to the auction house. Arrest Sophia for assault."

Listening to his cold command, I felt the last bit of my heart get ripped out.

Ten minutes later, two uniformed officers walked in.

"Miss Sophia Romano, you're under arrest for aggravated assault. Please come with us."

I didn't resist. I held out my hands for the cuffs.

As they led me away, I glanced back one last time.

Vincent was holding Isabella, whose hand was now hastily bandaged, comforting her gently.

"It's okay. I'm here," he stroked her hair. "No one will ever hurt you again."

Isabella cried in his arms like a wounded dove.

And I was dragged away like a common criminal.

New York City Detention Center, Cell Block 7.

This was where they held women on remand for minor charges.

When they pushed me into the cell, a few imposing women surrounded me.

"New girl? What're you in for?" The leader was a large woman with tattooed arms.

"Assault," I answered simply.

"Ooh, a little spitfire," the woman grinned, cracking her knuckles. "You know the rules here? Newbies pay a protection fee."

"I don't have any money."

"No money?" The woman's expression soured. "Then you'll have to pay another way."

That night, they doused me with a bucket of ice-cold water.

The next day, I found shards of glass mixed in with my food.

The third day, they started beating me.

And every time, just before they laid a hand on me, the leader would say the same thing: "Boss Vincent said you need to be taught a lesson."

So, this was all Vincent's doing.

He didn't just want me in jail. He wanted me to be tortured here.

Three days later, I was released.

It was my last day in New York.

I dragged my bruised and broken body out of the detention center. The sunlight was so bright it hurt my eyes.

As I reached the gate, a wave of dizziness washed over me.

The world spun, and I collapsed onto the pavement.

When I woke up, I was in another familiar hospital room.

Vincent was standing by my bed, his hands in his pockets, his voice cold and detached.

"Have you learned your lesson this time?"