I Cut Them Off. Now They Want Me Back!

Evelyn Fenrir dragged a heavy basket of weeds across the prison farm, her thin arms trembling as she struggled toward the haystacks at the far end of the field. The afternoon sun beat down on her back, and every step sent a dull ache through her exhausted body. After three years of hard labor, she had learned that slowing down only invited punishment, no matter how sick or hungry she felt.

A sudden commotion behind her made Evelyn turn. One of the guards had brought out a crate of food, and the prisoners immediately abandoned their work and rushed toward him. Evelyn dropped her basket and hurried after them, ignoring the pain in her legs. Food was never distributed regularly here, and missing one meal could mean going hungry for several days.

She managed to grab half a piece of stale bread before someone shoved her from behind. Evelyn lost her balance and fell hard onto the dirt, but before she could get up, a heavy boot landed directly on her forearm.

A sharp cry escaped her lips as pain shot through her arm. She instinctively curled around the bread, protecting it beneath her injured arm while the other prisoners continued fighting over the remaining food. Someone kicked her leg as they passed, but Evelyn stayed where she was, afraid that moving would cost her the only food she had managed to obtain.

When the crowd finally dispersed, she slowly pushed herself upright. Her forearm was already swelling, and even the slightest movement made her fingers tremble. Nevertheless, she carefully retrieved the bread from beneath her arm and brushed away the dirt.

It was only half a piece, hard enough to hurt her teeth, but it might be the only food she could count on for the next three days.

Evelyn was about to hide it inside her clothes when the familiar crack of a whip made her flinch.

A guard approached with his whip hanging loosely from one hand. Evelyn immediately lowered her head and moved backward, her injured arm instinctively rising to protect her face.

The guard laughed at her reaction. "What's wrong, Fenrir? Still afraid of me after three years?" He watched her shrink away before adding with obvious amusement, "Relax. I'm not here to punish you today. Your sentence is over."

Evelyn slowly raised her head, uncertain whether she had heard him correctly.

"Three years are up. You're going home." The guard gestured impatiently toward the prison building. "Go collect your things, unless you've grown so fond of this place that you'd rather stay forever."

For several seconds, Evelyn could only stare at him. She had imagined this moment countless times during the past three years, especially on nights when hunger kept her awake or the pain from another beating made it impossible to sleep.

Whenever she felt she could not endure another day, she pictured her father waiting outside the prison gates, Marcus pulling her into his arms, and Julian complaining that she had kept everyone waiting.

She had held on to those images because she believed her family was doing everything possible to bring her home.

The guard shoved her shoulder. "Move."

Evelyn stumbled forward and followed him through the prison corridor. When she reached the storage room, she discovered that none of the belongings she had brought three years ago remained. Her clothes, jewelry, and personal items had all been taken by the guards long ago, leaving her with nothing but the faded prison uniform hanging loosely from her emaciated body.

She did not argue. After three years, she knew better than to demand anything from the people who controlled this place.

When the prison gates finally opened, Evelyn stepped outside and immediately searched the road for her family.

There was no one waiting except an older driver standing beside a black sedan.

Walter Bennett had worked as the Fenrir family's driver since Evelyn was a child. He had driven her to school, shopping trips, and countless family gatherings, yet when she approached him now, he stared at her for several seconds before recognition finally appeared on his face.

"Miss Evelyn?" Walter's eyes moved over her hollow cheeks, thin wrists, and oversized prison uniform. His expression tightened with shock, but he quickly opened the trunk and took out a bag. "I brought you some clothes. You can change before we leave."

Evelyn thanked him quietly.

Walter looked as though he wanted to ask what had happened to her, but after noticing the way she held her injured arm against her body, he simply helped her into the car.

During the drive, he explained why the family had been unable to collect her personally.

"The mansion is very busy today, Miss Evelyn. Miss Camille is officially joining the family's core business, and there's a celebration tomorrow. Mr. Kevin Hayes will be attending personally, so Mr. Marcus and the others have been occupied with preparations since this morning."

Kevin Hayes was the head of one of the most powerful Mafia families in the country, and Evelyn understood why his attendance would require considerable preparation.

She looked out the window and swallowed her disappointment.

Perhaps her family had known the date of her release but not the exact time. Perhaps the dinner had been arranged long before anyone realized she would be returning today.

She found one excuse after another for them, unwilling to believe that the people she had missed for three years simply had no time to welcome her home.

Besides, she was exhausted. All she wanted was a hot shower, a proper meal, and a few hours of sleep. Once the celebration ended, she would tell her family everything that had happened at the prison farm.

Surely they would be horrified when they learned how she had been treated.

When the car finally reached the Fenrir mansion, however, no one came outside to greet her.

Servants hurried through the entrance hall carrying flowers, wine, and decorations, while voices drifted from the dining room as preparations continued. Evelyn stood near the doorway for a moment, watching the familiar household move around her without anyone seeming to recognize her.

She quietly headed toward the stairs, but as she passed her father's study, the sound of her name made her stop.

"I still don't think we should release Evelyn too quickly," Marcus was saying. "Three years at the farm doesn't necessarily mean she's learned anything."

Evelyn froze outside the partially closed door.

Her father's voice followed. "That's precisely why we arranged for her to serve the full sentence. Ordinary punishment never worked on that girl. After what she did to Camille, she needed to understand that her actions had consequences."

Marcus agreed, remarking that sending Evelyn to a prison farm under the family's control had been the most sensible solution.

"We made sure the sentence went through," her father continued. "The farm belonged to us, so we could teach her a difficult lesson without putting her in real danger. Three years of hardship should have been enough to correct her attitude."

Evelyn felt the blood drain from her face.

For three years, she had believed her family had tried to save her but failed. Every time the guards beat her, every time she went hungry, she had told herself that her father and brothers must be searching for a way to bring her home.

Now she was hearing that they had personally arranged her imprisonment.

Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her clothes as she remembered the countless nights she had spent waiting for news from home.

Inside the study, the conversation turned to Camille.

"Camille has grown into a remarkable young woman," Marcus said. "She's gentle, responsible, and she's already taken over several duties Evelyn used to handle. If Evelyn had been half as sensible, none of this would have been necessary."

Her father agreed that Evelyn should be kept away from the family's core business until they were certain she had changed.

Evelyn remained motionless outside the door.

The belief that had kept her alive for three years had collapsed in a matter of minutes. Her family had not failed to rescue her. They had deliberately left her there, believing the suffering would make her obedient.

She had planned to tell them about the beatings, the hunger, and the injuries that still covered her body, but now she could no longer imagine asking them for comfort.

Without opening the study door, she quietly walked away.

"Evelyn?"

Camille Starling stood near the staircase, her face pale from her recent surgery. Despite her weakness, she approached with a gentle smile.

"I heard you were coming home today, so I wanted to welcome you." Camille hesitated before continuing softly, "I've always felt guilty about what happened three years ago. If I hadn't gotten hurt, maybe your family wouldn't have sent you away for so long."

Evelyn looked at her but could not respond.

Her stomach cramped painfully, her injured arm throbbed beneath her sleeve, and dark spots were beginning to blur her vision. She was no longer thinking about the accident or Camille's apology. She only wanted to reach a bed before her legs gave out.

Unfortunately, Marcus emerged from the study just as Evelyn turned away.

His expression hardened when he saw Camille standing there, apparently being ignored.

"You really haven't changed," Marcus said as he approached. "Camille is still recovering from surgery, yet she came to welcome you home. She's blamed herself for three years, and you can't even give her a proper response?"

Evelyn lowered her eyes, struggling to remain standing. "I'm tired, Marcus. I just want to go to my room."

Marcus interpreted her exhaustion as resentment. "You've only just returned, and you're already upset because the family is celebrating Camille? After everything that happened, I thought you'd at least learned some consideration for others."

Evelyn had no strength left to argue. She turned toward the stairs, hoping he would let her leave.

Instead, Marcus grabbed her sleeve.

"I'm talking to you, Evelyn. Don't walk away when I'm asking you a question."

His fingers closed around her injured forearm, and Evelyn recoiled violently as pain shot through her arm. The sudden movement pulled her loose sleeve above her elbow.

Marcus's grip loosened.

Beneath the fabric, Evelyn's forearm was covered in dark purple bruises, with older yellowing marks scattered between them. A fresh, swollen injury crossed the middle of her arm where the prisoner had stepped on her earlier that day, while several thin scars disappeared beneath her sleeve.

The injuries were clearly from different times, some recent and others long healed.