The One to Blame

My clothes had been ripped away, my hair yanked mercilessly as I was pressed against the coarse cement ground.

Several thugs worked together to restrain me—one held down my legs while another pinned my arms.

They grinned wickedly.

"Her body's incredible," one of them jeered.

"So smooth and soft," another added.

I struggled with all my might, my face streaked with tears, but I was no match for their combined strength.

"Get off me, you beasts!" I screamed, but they didn't listen. My pleas only seemed to embolden them.

I felt myself filthy, as if I were a rat dragged through the gutter.

I wanted to die right then and there, anything to escape this humiliation.

I had come here full of joy, expecting to see fireworks. Why were these monsters here instead?

I cried so hard that my chest ached.

Then I saw them—a familiar pair of casual sneakers stepping toward me. My heart leaped with hope.

"Luke! Help me, please! Save me!"

But his expression was calm, indifferent. He took a long drag from his cigarette, his eyes narrowing with nonchalance.

It was as though my cries hadn't even registered.

"Good work, guys," he said, his voice cold. "Put in some extra effort, and I'll make sure you're paid more."

At that moment, with a loud boom, the first firework shot into the dark sky.

Its dazzling light illuminated Luke McCarthy's face—a face I thought I knew, now eerily devoid of warmth.

My heart plummeted into the abyss as I realized the truth, which shattered my world.

It was Luke. He had orchestrated this.

Why would he do this to me? What had I done to deserve such cruelty?

My fingers clawed at the cement, my body trembling violently as despair washed over me.

"Why?"

This was the same Luke who had once promised to love and protect me forever, the same Luke who had shielded me from harm and been hurt in my place. Why would he hire people to assault me?

He knew this was my worst nightmare.

Luke's gaze swept over me, colder than ice. It was as if he was watching a grotesque play unfold for his amusement.

"Did you really think I loved you?" he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Every time you clung to me, cooing about how much you loved me, I wanted to vomit. Every time you kissed me, I scrubbed myself clean because you disgust me."

His eyes were bloodshot. Holding his cigarette, he pressed the burning tip hard against my arm, twisting it cruelly.

"This is what you owe Sofia," he said, his voice as cold as death. "You'll spend your entire life paying for what happened to her. Sofia's my sister. Didn't see that coming, huh? I've waited two years for this."

Every word he spoke cut through me like a knife to the chest.

The pain—both in my heart and body—made me cry out without thinking.

I clenched my teeth so hard I thought they might crack, as a tidal wave of despair crashed over me.

Luke didn't care. Unlike the man who had once doted on me, this Luke seemed to take pleasure in my suffering.

The burns on my arm deepened as he pushed harder, his hatred spilling out in every motion.

He wanted me destroyed, completely and utterly.

So he was Sofia McCarthy's brother.

He had pretended to love me, all to exact this revenge.

After I had fallen in love with him, he tricked me into coming to see the fireworks. I had thought it was some kind of sweet surprise, but hell awaited me.

This torment was worse than death.

I bit down hard on my lip, forcing myself to endure the pain.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" I whispered over and over. But my apology wouldn't make up for what happened. I had no idea what I could do to atone for it.

Blinded by hatred, Luke didn't hear a word I said.

He instructed the thugs to hurt me again and again, his expression one of grim satisfaction.

Watching me suffer gave him pleasure.

To him, my pain was his victory.