My Father’s Test Turns Lovers Into Killers

Sharp pain woke me from unconsciousness.I was lying on the back lawn of the mansion, the night wind cold enough to cut through bone.Crows by the fountain pecked at my open wounds, mistaking me for a corpse.Fighting off a wave of dizziness, I stumbled back to my room, careful not to make a sound.I was done with this endless abuse. I couldn’t just wait to die. I had to save myself.After the third fiancé left, I’d called the police. I suspected they were being hypnotized in that room. But the police sent a doctor who found no signs of hypnosis.My fiancés genuinely, truly hated me.The family elders and the staff all told the police I was hallucinating from drugs.In the end, the cops yelled at me for wasting their time and left.As punishment, Victor locked me in the unheated wine cellar for a week.No food. Only ice water.I’d tried to run away, too.But no matter where I went, my father’s bodyguards always found me.I knew I had to have a tracker implanted somewhere in me.After w

I rubbed my eyes, trying to make it go away.The images playing on the screen were like poisoned knives stabbing into my brain.Impossible. This was impossible.“Do you see it clearly now?” Victor’s icy voice echoed in the room. “Have you given up?”He grabbed my collar and slapped me hard across the face.“You should have been in hell a long time ago, Nessa,” he cursed, his words laced with a bone-chilling cold.This time, I didn’t move.My cheek swelled, and blood trickled from my lip, but I felt nothing.My heart had already been crushed by the disgusting, ugly “truth” on that screen.I closed my eyes in despair.If all of this was real, then I didn’t deserve to live.Everyone who loved me was turned into a monster by this secret.I was a monster.I slowly sat up from the cold floor, my eyes dead.“I understand,” I said to Victor, my voice unnervingly calm. “I’ll end it myself.”Victor narrowed his eyes and sneered. “Trying to trick me and run? Dream on. The Cassano family has eyes

That morning, I had just thrown the motel’s trash into the dumpster outside. When I turned around, I saw Victor.“Good morning, my daughter,” he said, getting out of a car.Before I could scream, two massive bodyguards rushed me, slamming me against the hood of the car. The cold click of handcuffs locked around my wrists.“What are you doing?! Let her go!” the fat motel owner yelled, running out with his phone. “I’m calling the cops!”“I’m so sorry to have frightened you, sir,” Victor said, walking over gracefully.He took several official-looking documents from his briefcase and handed them to the owner. “I’m her father. My daughter suffers from severe schizophrenia with violent tendencies. She escaped from custody two weeks ago after assaulting someone.”To make his case, Victor even played a video on his tablet—security footage of me acting insane, smashing antiques and cutting the elder’s face.In the video, I was a wild-eyed, disheveled madwoman.“Oh my God…” The owner’s expressio