I awoke to the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the penthouse windows. The constant beeping of machines was gone. My body, though still sore, felt my own again. The shivering had stopped.My father sat in a leather armchair by my bed, his tailored suit wrinkled. He hadn't slept. The moment my eyes opened, he was by my side, his hand gently touching my forehead."You're awake," he said, relief washing over his tired features. "How do you feel, my little artist?""Better," I whispered, my voice still hoarse. "Much better."He helped me sit up, fluffing the pillows behind me. Then, he handed me a sleek, black tablet. His eyes, however, held no warmth. They were filled with the cold, satisfying light of vengeance."You just rest and get better," he said, his voice a low, chilling promise. "And now, we watch what happens to the people who hurt you."I took the tablet. The first thing on the screen was a security video.It was from a hidden camera in our living room.The quality w
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