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The wind swept through the prison's hallway, chilling to the bone.

Drip.

Drip.

The heavy, slow footsteps echoed alongside the mysterious dripping of water, creating an eerie symphony in the cramped corridor.

"That's the girl who hit someone and ran? She looks so young. Pretty, too."

"Right? You're new here, so you only know parts of the story. She got locked up when she was just eighteen, right before her college entrance exams."

"She's getting out now that her time's up?"

"Seems like it. But I don't think life will be easy for her on the outside." The whisper was hushed as if the speaker feared being overheard.

Curious, the other guard leaned in and asked, "Why's that?"

"The woman she hit was conceived, and tragically, she lost the baby. And to make matters worse, that conceiving woman was from the powerful Hawthorne family."

In Brightwood, the Hawthorne name held great influence and power. People spoke of them in hushed tones, as though they were afraid to provoke them.

In Brightwood, people often whispered, "Crossing the Hawthornes is scarier than facing the devil himself."

With a stern expression, the officer at the door addressed Amber Lewis, "You're free to go."

The cold seemed to bite even harder.

This winter was unforgiving.

Amber's hands tightened and relaxed nervously. Her lips, blue from the cold, trembled as she gathered the courage to step outside.

She raised her head and stood motionless, as if time had stopped.

Her eyes caught the night sky outside, where a handful of stars twinkled, almost as if they were signaling to her.

As if they were whispering—

Congratulations, you've made it out at last.

Three long years had passed, and finally, she was free, breathing the sweet air of freedom.

"Congratulations, you're free to go," a chilling, severe voice said, with a rasp that sent shivers down her spine.

Amber's whole body froze.

That voice, dark and dreadful, had haunted her dreams, an echo that had penetrated her soul.

A black sedan sat in the distance, its window sliding down to reveal a man's face partially obscured by darkness.

His hand casually rested on the edge, his fingers long and elegant, the silver ring on his middle finger glinting under the moon's pale light.

James Hawthorne.

It was him—James!

Amber's first instinct was to run!

"Grab her."

At his command, a group of towering bodyguards jumped out of another vehicle, moving swiftly and forcefully.

In an instant, Amber was dragged towards the black car, her knees hitting the ground hard.

"Tsk," James scoffed, casually flicking his fingers. "What exactly are you running from?"

His laugh was low and scratchy. "Are you scared of me?"

Amber trembled uncontrollably, overwhelmed by fear.

She had every reason to be terrified.

She remembered him from the courtroom three years ago, his eyes blazing with fury, his fists clenched tightly as if he wanted nothing more than to tear her apart.

He had wished her dead, seeking her life as retribution.

"W-What... what do you want?" Amber stammered, her breaths coming in sharp gasps.

Her body shook violently, appearing fragile in the grip of the bodyguards.

He showed no mercy.

His presence was icy, suffocating her with his cold demeanor.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly until James finally spoke, his voice filled with grief and anger. "You murdered the heir to the Hawthorne family. We had the ultrasound; it was a boy."

His narrowed eyes held a vengeful intensity, like a spirit seeking revenge. "Aren't you going to pay for what you've done?"

Amber's heart skipped a beat.

Trembling, her calm and soft demeanor now overshadowed by terror, her delicate body shook like a leaf in the breeze, and she could barely whisper, "But, I've served my time, I've paid my dues to you, I..."

Chapter 2
"Paid?" his voice came out icy.

The man turned, his features sharp in the moonlight, handsome yet suffocating.

James's voice turned cold and merciless. "How have you paid?"

The dead baby was the Hawthorne family's future!

Could a mere three-year prison sentence ever settle such a debt?

Amber's body shook, overwhelmed by the oppressive presence around her. Her words faltered, her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

"What do you want from me?" she managed to say.

James tilted his head slightly.

The bodyguard, catching the signal, tossed a document on the floor and forcefully pushed her head down to read the print.

In an instant.

Amber's face drained of color.

She shook her head frantically, tears welling up in her eyes, and began to fight back, desperate to break free from their grip. "No, this can't be happening..."

Her struggle was fierce.

Crack!

The bodyguard's patience snapped, and he delivered a harsh slap across her face. "Settle down!"

The blow sent Amber reeling, her ears ringing. She crumpled to the ground, defeated.

Her small stature was no match for the hulking bodyguards. Her face swelled, her lips split, blood trickling down.

The pain made her shudder even more.

Somewhere in her daze, she thought she heard James let out a weary sigh.

The car door swung open.

Gleaming leather shoes came into view as he loomed over her, his eyes drilling into her as if she were nothing more than a dirty bug.

"In the Hawthorne family," James began, his tone deliberate and dripping with arrogance.

He crouched down in front of her, his slender fingers firmly grasping her chin.

"We have a strict rule against striking women." His touch was gentle as he traced her bruised cheek, stopping at her bloodied lip.

He wiped the blood away with a silk handkerchief, his face emotionless, treating her with a cold intimacy as if she were a cherished possession. "Does it hurt?" he asked, but his voice lacked any genuine concern.

Fear was all Amber felt. His words were gentle, but they carried an ultimatum. "If you stay silent, I'll take it as a yes, alright?"

"My wife can't have kids anymore, all thanks to you," he sighed with a hint of resignation. "It's only right that I seek you out for this."

Amber trembled, too timid to fight back. Her eyes blinked, and tears streamed down her face. She wept silently. A flicker of disgust crossed James's deep eyes, brief yet telling. He dabbed at her tears with the handkerchief, his tone still icy. "No more tears, okay?"

Amber's crying only intensified, her tears flowing unchecked. Losing his patience, James pushed her away harshly.

"Ah!" She hit the ground, her arm scraping against the rough surface, fresh blood seeping out. As he stood up, he cleaned his fingertips with distaste, yet his words remained arrogantly graceful. "I've given you a chance, now take it." For the first time, he said her name, "Amber, don't bite the hand that feeds you."

"I-I've already served my time, I..."

Amber's heart pounded, urging her to fight back, but fear held her captive. Facing this unpredictable man, she was lost, unsure of what move to make.

She had always been the epitome of excellence—gentle, and composed, her voice a whisper among her peers. Amber was the model child every parent compared their own to, as docile as a kitten curled up comfortably at home.

James, a man of his kind, would never have crossed paths with her if fate hadn't thrown them together in that fateful car accident.

Tears streamed down her face as she whispered through her fear, "I don't want to..."

The winter was harsh that year.

The night seemed to engulf the light, darker than ever before.

His silhouette loomed tall and imposing. He squinted, a smirk playing on his lips. "Give me an heir, and you're free."

His voice cut through the cold air, "I need to use your body."

Chapter 3
Amber's signature on the paper had been coerced, and her tears threatened to smudge the ink before the bodyguard quickly dabbed them away.

The bodyguard, quick to anger, shoved her head dismissively, "Stop crying. You’re just causing trouble."

Caught off guard, Amber stumbled and her head hit the ground, leaving a red mark on her forehead.

James barely glanced at her.

Without a word, he got into his car.

As he drove away, he did not even give her a second look. The window rolled down just enough to reveal his face, his voice as dark and aristocratic as ever. "Remember, you're paying for your sins. Don't even think about escaping. You've done time, you have a record. In Brightwood, I hold the power, and my influence doesn't stop at its borders."

He tossed the handkerchief on the ground, his voice cold, yet strangely giving the impression of concern, "Be good, will you?"

Amber lay on the ground, her body shaking.

The car roared to life and zoomed past.

Its tires splashed through a puddle, drenching her without a hint of sympathy.

She was soaked from head to toe.

Amber shivered with an even deeper chill.

She felt utterly alone in the vast emptiness, as fragile as a small boat adrift in a turbulent sea, at the mercy of the waves and ready to capsize with the slightest disturbance.

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly.

Long enough for her limbs to grow numb from the cold.

Finally, Amber snapped out of her daze and picked herself up off the ground.

"No," she whispered to herself, "I'm not alone. I'm not."

After all, she had a sister. Megan Lewis.

Trusting her memory, Amber found her way home, leaving the prison behind.

Brightwood had changed over the past three years. The familiar old buildings were gone, replaced by towering skyscrapers that reached for the clouds.

The streets were no longer lined with the old traffic lights, but with shiny new signs and neon lights that blazed so brightly she could barely keep her eyes open.

Amber had a home.

Despite the drastic changes, she found her way to her district and stopped in front of the little attic she knew so well.

Home.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

She was about to take a step forward when—

"Ah! You little troublemaker! Are you an idiot? I ask you to dry some radishes, and you smash the jar! Looks like someone's asking to be punished!"

The angry voice of a middle-aged woman pierced the air.

Amber froze, taken aback.

That voice—it was unmistakably her aunt's.

"Mom, why waste your breath on an idiot? You know her head's not right," a younger woman's voice added scornfully.

"She's not been hit enough, that's the problem! She'd be better off as a pig with that brain of hers!"

Then came the sound of a stick swinging and the young girl's screams from the attic, so heart-wrenching they echoed through the streets.

Amber's eyes widened in shock.

She rushed up the stairs and through the doorway, catching her aunt, Yasmin Zimmer in the act, her hand tangled in Megan's hair, yanking her down to the floor. The rolling pin in Yasmin's grip came down on the girl's body—her belly, her back—in a brutal, chaotic rhythm, each strike more vicious than the last.

"Stop it!" Amber screamed.

With the next cruel blow aimed at Megan's head, Amber sprinted forward and wrapped her arms protectively around her sister's head.

Thud!

The rolling pin struck Amber's back instead.

Pain exploded through her, and for a moment, the room went black.

"Huh? Who's this?" Yasmin's voice dripped with curiosity.

A young girl, who had been eating, caught a glimpse of Amber's face and gasped, "Mom! That's Amber, isn't it?"

"Amber?! How on earth did you get out? I thought you were stuck in there for good," Yasmin sneered, her voice laced with contempt.

Amber had been on her own since her parents passed away, with only Megan, her sister eight years her junior. A tragic accident had left Megan's mind trapped in perpetual childhood, her actions resembling those of a much younger child, which to anyone else appeared as mental impairment.

Chapter 4
Three years ago, Amber had faced the music and been locked away, forced to leave ten-year-old Megan in her aunt's care.

Now, holding a trembling Megan in her arms, Amber confronted Yasmin. "Aunt, why are you hitting Megan?"

She spoke softly, her tone seemingly gentle, but it was a clear stand against the cruelty. Conflict was never Amber's strong suit, she had always been the kind and gentle type.

Yasmin momentarily felt a pang of guilt, but it quickly vanished. She started bossing around, puffing herself up with indignation. "Amber? What nonsense are you talking? The kid won't listen, so I step in to discipline her. What's the big deal?"

"But you..." Amber tried to interject.

Yasmin's voice soared, "Enough with your rambling. You were locked up for three years. Who do you think cared for this idiot? Me! When you begged me to look after her, tears and all, you weren't so high and mighty."

Amber's lip quivered. "I paid you..."

A very hefty sum.

Every last penny her parents had left her.

Arrested and desperate, with Megan unable to fend for herself, Amber had no choice but to turn to Yasmin for help.

Yasmin, seizing the opportunity, blackmailed Amber for every dime, threatening to abandon Megan if she didn't comply.

Cornered and out of options, Amber had no choice but to give in.

"Money?" Yasmin sneered, her voice escalating.

Yasmin's scowl intensified. "You dare bring up money? Three years of care, hospital bills, medication for her condition—do you think that's free?"

"The money ran out a long time ago! She's been nothing but a drain on my wallet, and I've spent more on her than you can imagine!"

"Now that you're out, it's time to settle the score. You owe me a hefty debt!"

Yasmin's tirade was relentless, leaving Amber reeling.

Amber's fists clenched, her mind racing. "I did the calculations. My parents' savings should have been enough to cover Megan's needs until she was thirty. There's no way it's all gone..."

"What kind of calculations could you possibly do?" Yasmin's voice cut through like a knife. "Do you think you can keep track of everything? Francesca, show her the bill!"

Francesca Lopez, in the midst of her meal, heard the command and immediately dropped her utensils. She hurried to the cabinet, retrieved a thick ledger, and thrust it at Amber. "Take a look, Amber."

Amber's hands trembled as she suppressed her anger, flipping through the ledger. It detailed all the expenses for Megan—exorbitant medical costs and a long list of luxury designer bags and clothing. Amber's eyes darted to Megan's outfit, which was clearly too small, barely reaching her wrists that were covered in a web of scars, both old and new.

"Megan's clothes are clearly from years ago; they're several sizes too small now," Amber stated, her voice tinged with an unusual hint of fury. She gently touched Megan's scarred wrist, her heart aching. "And why buy expensive bags when Megan never leaves the house? She has no clue about these things," Amber's anger grew.

Then she noticed Francesca, decked out in head-to-toe designer logos.

"What's gotten into you, you ungrateful brat? I've treated Megan well, and you think I'm in the wrong?!" Yasmin pointed an accusing finger at Amber, her voice rising in a scathing rebuke.

Amber, known for her patience, reached her breaking point. Her voice rose sharply, "Then where are all these things you supposedly bought?"

"Sold, of course!" Francesca interjected defensively. "Megan's medication costs a fortune. How were we supposed to know if we'd have enough money? When we ran short, we had no choice but to sell them for cheap!"

Amber's grip tightened. She could sense they were lying.

Chapter 5
What could she possibly do about it though?

What was she supposed to do in such a bind?

She had never been in a situation like this before. She had no idea how to handle it and couldn't understand why anyone would be so unreasonable.

Since her parents passed away, she had been juggling school and using the money they left behind to support herself and her little sister.

No one had ever taught her how to deal with these kinds of problems.

Amber was the type of person who avoided conflict, never stirred up trouble, and had never been in an argument, let alone a shouting match.

She was too gentle, too soft-spoken to ever shout back.

Holding Megan close, she spoke with determination, "Forget about the money, but now that I'm here, can you please leave?"

Yasmin could not help but smirk at Amber's first few words, thinking that maybe the poor girl had some sense after all.

However, as Amber finished her sentence, Yasmin's face twisted with anger.

"Leave? Did you forget? You promised me your property, and this house was part of the deal!"

Yasmin was known for her fiery temper, and her voice could cut through steel. Now, with a surge of emotion, she shouted, "The house is in my name now! We had a lawyer, and you agreed to it. You signed the papers. It's mine!"

Amber's eyes widened in shock. "You..."

Three years ago, she was just a high school kid buried in books, oblivious to the world's cunning ways. Yasmin had brought a slick lawyer along, and during the negotiations, Amber had been rushed into signing without a chance to read the fine print. The visit was over before she knew it.

Yasmin had been pushy, promising to take care of Megan, and Amber, naive and alone, had signed.

That was the only time anyone had come to see her.

No one else had bothered since.

"Yeah, this house is mine now!" Francesca chimed in with a sneer, looking down at Amber condescendingly. "Amber, we've been taking care of Megan for you. Surely, that's worth something, isn't it?

"Let's just say the house is our payback," Francesca declared, storming into a room that resembled more of a storage unit. She quickly rummaged through some items and threw them all at Amber's feet. "All this junk belonged to Megan. She's your problem now. We're done with it, and don't you dare come back asking for anything!"

The floor was covered in worn-out clothes, some so old that Amber recognized them from when Megan was just ten. Not a single piece seemed to fit anymore. Poor Megan hadn't had anything new in ages.

Amber tightened her grip, feeling Megan tremble in her arms. She whispered, "It's okay, Megan. Don't be scared."

"What's taking so long? Get out of here already!" Francesca snapped.

Yasmin watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, pretending to be sympathetic. "Don't be too hard on me, Amber. Times are tough. I have my own kids to feed. My son's internship isn't paying well, and Francesca is about to start at a prestigious college. I have to make sure she fits in. Can't have her looking second-rate. Just promise me you won't come begging for help. I'm barely holding on here!"

Amber looked down, those harsh words echoing in her mind. She sifted through the mess and retrieved a metal box, clutching it tightly to her chest. "This is all I need. Let's go, Megan."

The transfer of the house was done. There was no turning back.

She despised the arguing. Locked away for three long years, she had no one to talk to, no shoulder to lean on. She was always hidden in some forgotten corner by herself.

As time went on, her once calm and gentle nature faded into silence. She even started to dread speaking.

If there was a place to hide, she would dive right in, curl up, and get used to the darkness.

She was used to it now.

Chapter 6
As Amber and Megan stepped out of the attic, Francesca slammed the door shut with force.

The cold wind, like an invisible hand, rushed down Amber's neck, leaving her face pale as a ghost.

They were outcasts.

Amber reached out, gently stroked Megan's head, and whispered, "Megan, I'm back."

Amber possessed a gentle and refined beauty, with delicate features framed by a perfectly oval face that exuded an indescribable serenity.

She had a timeless elegance, reminiscent of a classic and ethereal beauty often celebrated in paintings and poetry.

Her voice, in particular, had a soothing magic to it, calming even Megan, who could barely comprehend her words.

"From now on, I will take care of you." Amber embraced Megan, basking in a shared warmth, unsure if it was for Megan or herself. "Megan."

Megan, in her innocent daze, nodded blankly.

A book rested inside the metal box.

Amber discovered a bank card hidden within its pages.

Perhaps it was too well-concealed for Yasmin and her daughter to find, or maybe they deemed the old items not worth rummaging through.

Regardless of the reason, Amber's tension melted away at the sight of the card.

"This was the scholarship I won back in school."

Her voice was soft, tinged with happiness, still gentle. "Let's find a new place to call home."

It was not a fortune, but it would be enough to get them through the tough times.

Amber, with Megan in tow, departed from the bustling area behind them. She balanced a box in one arm while holding Megan's hand with the other. It had been ages since Amber had been a part of the outside world, and it seemed to have moved forward without her. However, she quickly caught up by observing and listening.

She managed to rent a cozy little apartment—just fifty square meters—with a compact kitchen and bathroom. It was small, but it had all the necessities. The only hurdle was the single bedroom with only one bed. "How about you and I share the bed?" Amber whispered gently to Megan.

Amber picked up a comb and began to untangle Megan's waist-length hair, which had been neglected for far too long.

Amber was patient, her touch delicate and caring as she combed through the knots, finally pulling Megan's hair into two neat ponytails. "You look beautiful, Megan," Amber murmured. Megan, who had been lost in a haze, suddenly seemed to come alive.

She may not have understood much, but she recognized kindness when she saw it. At Amber's words, her face lit up with a smile that mirrored Amber's own. The next day, Amber and Megan embarked on a small shopping spree. They returned with new clothes for Megan and a few essentials.

Once they were home, Megan's voice, still slightly slurred, broke the silence. "Sis, what about you? Don't you need anything?"

It was the first time Amber had heard Megan speak after they had been reunited. Her eyes sparkled with joy. It took a moment for her to realize that Megan was concerned about her not having new clothes. "I have clothes," Amber reassured her softly, touched by Megan's thoughtfulness. "These are all for you."

However, the truth was, Amber's wardrobe was nearly empty.

When Amber set out on the mission, she was only determined to pick up a few things for Megan. She hardly spent any money on herself. She was petite, and after comparing Megan's hand-me-downs to her own frame, she figured a few alterations would do the trick. "Once I find a job and earn some cash, we'll go out and have a feast. Sound good?" she said.

"Great!" Megan replied with a smile.

While Megan settled into bed, Amber twirled into the kitchen to prepare their simple dinner. The aroma of simmering spices wafted through the cramped apartment. Just as she was about to call Megan to eat, the doorbell pierced the silence, its chime sharp and clear in the small space.

Amber took off her apron, dried her hands, and went to see who was at the door. "How can I help you—" she began, but her words trailed off, unfinished.

Standing in the doorway was a man with a commanding presence that filled the room. His features were chiseled, his lips pressed together, and the light cast a seductive shadow around his silhouette.

He seemed intimidating.

Chapter 7
He exuded the charm of a seasoned man, his grace and composure almost convincing her that he was a beacon of positivity. But that's the thing about him—he was cool to the core.

"Did you move?" James's voice had a velvety quality, deep and resonant, but with a chilly undertone that sent a shiver down Amber's spine. Panic flooded her face as she remembered the document she had been forced to sign, and she quickly backed away.

His icy gaze swept over her, then disdainfully over the tiny fifty-square-meter space they called home. It was clear he could not fathom how anyone could live there. Without a word, he stepped inside, into the place he clearly despised.

"Please, have a seat," she said in a hushed voice, her words stumbling over each other.

James didn't even spare her a glance, his eyes fixated on Megan, who lay on the bed in the bedroom.

Ever vigilant, Amber noticed this and quickly stepped in front, attempting to shield Megan from view.

"Everyone else, out," he commanded, his voice deep and authoritative.

Amber blinked in surprise. "Megan isn't..."

"If you're fine with her watching what's about to happen, it's no issue for me," he replied, his tone as cold as ice.

In an instant, Amber's face drained of color.

Her lips quivered, her voice barely a whisper, as she tried to reason with him, "Megan can't be left alone, she'll wander off and get lost."

Without warning, James reached out, his hand closing around her delicate neck, pulling her in close. He leaned in, his breath chilling against her ear, "Remember what I told you? Don't mistake my patience for weakness."

She trembled even more.

Amber was terrified, but she didn't want Megan to see her fear, nor was she certain if this man would harm Megan. She couldn't take that risk.

In the suffocating tension, her voice broke with a sob, "I'll just close the door, alright?"

James released his grip on her.

Amber quickly backed away, rushing to the bedroom. She wiped away her tears as she went, whispering reassurances to Megan before closing the bedroom door behind her.

"Strip," came his cold, commanding voice.

Her trembling intensified. When she clenched her hands, her thumbs automatically tucked inward—a telltale sign of her deep-seated anxiety.

She stood frozen, unsure of what to do.

James tilted his head slightly, gesturing towards the chair she had offered him. "Do you know how to bend over?" he asked, his voice devoid of warmth.

Amber was at a loss.

She was as innocent as a blank sheet of paper, her mind and memories frozen at the age of eighteen, despite the three years she had spent behind bars. Back then, her world revolved around nothing but books. So when James forcefully pinned her down on the chair, she reacted like a frightened rabbit, her eyes filled with unshed tears, her face flushed with fear.

Her clothes remained undisturbed above, but below, she felt a chilling vulnerability. He acted as if he were on a mission, relentlessly pounding her. The tears she had been holding back finally spilled over, streaming down her face. She bit into her arm to stifle her cries, tasting the metallic tang of blood in her mouth, but she didn't release her bite. Her muffled sobs were stifled, mingling with her blood, her fragile frame on the verge of breaking at any moment. The pain was excruciating, worse than the slap from the bodyguard the day before.

James looked at her with a hint of surprise. "First time?" His brow furrowed as he observed her trembling. It was a pity, really. He wasn't one to be gentle or compassionate. He did as he pleased, as long as it suited him.

Yet, he was taken aback. "I wouldn't have guessed, given your free-spirited nature, that it was your first time."

Amber couldn't comprehend his words. All she knew was the agony threatening to consume her. She had no concept of how long the assault lasted; her right arm was now a mosaic of bite marks and blood.

All she felt was torment and the piercing disdain in his eyes, the look of contempt as he squinted at her. Or maybe it was hatred, she thought.

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