Chapter 4

On the third morning, the guard shoved the food in and said offhandedly, "The matriarch said to let you out."

I froze for two seconds before realizing what I'd heard.

I pushed myself up against the wall, my legs weak, but my heart felt lighter for the first time in days—leaving meant a chance.

The light seeping down from the top of the stairs was already harsh. I walked up step by step, looked up. Benedict stood at the exit, impeccably dressed, a smug smile playing on his lips, as if he'd been waiting a long time.

I didn't stop, stepping to go around him.

"He's trying to escape!"

He grabbed my wrist, nails digging into my flesh. "Someone, quick! Glen is trying to escape!"

"Rowan ordered me released."

"You're lying! Rowan would never—"

His heel missed a step.

I had no time to reach out. Benedict tumbled down the stairs, crashing onto the stone floor, clothes rumpled, hands clutching his head. His eyes were closed, face pale, motionless, as if unconscious. Father and Mother emerged from nowhere. Father rushed to help him. Mother straightened, sharply turning her face towards me, her eyes like daggers. "You monster! You killed your brother!"

Rowan appeared at the exit with her subordinates. She only glanced at Benedict on the ground, her face changing. Each step down carried a chilling cold.

Father spoke first, his voice trembling with calculated precision. "Glen pushed Benedict. We both saw it with our own eyes—Benedict just tried to stop him, who knew he would resort to violence..."

Mother followed, sobbing. "Benedict suffered a head injury. The doctor said... he might never wake up... It's all because of Glen..."

"The guard said you ordered my release. I didn't push him. He missed a step."

Rowan's eyes fixed on me. "I saw you push him myself just now."

My heart sank heavily. I looked into her eyes. Those eyes I thought I knew now seemed like seeing them for the first time—calm, certain, as if stating a fact she had already chosen to believe.

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, Mother's wail suddenly rose in pitch. "Benedict was chasing after him! The doctor said if he doesn't wake up, he'll be a vegetable... He's the future master of the Sinclair family..."

Rowan slowly clenched her fist, knuckles white, as if something inside her was collapsing inch by inch. She looked up, eyes red, voice hoarse and strange. "Which hand pushed him? You ruined him. You'll pay!"

I didn't answer.

The gunshot came quickly. A searing, burning pain shot through my shoulder. I slammed against the stone wall, my arm hanging limp, blood dripping from between my fingers onto the brick floor. I bit my lower lip, desperately suppressing the urge to cry out.

"No one is to treat his wound."

Subordinates dragged me back, shoved me into the cell, locked the door.

I collapsed to the ground, using my uninjured hand to press the wound. Blood seeped through my fingers, unstoppable. Father's voice leaked in from outside, cold as if stating something irrelevant. "Rowan, he ruined Benedict. Don't go soft." Mother followed, her voice light. "Only death will clean this up."

I pressed my forehead against the stone wall, closed my eyes, telling myself over and over: survive this, and there's a chance.

The body's severe pain and cold triggered the old injury from my past life. A chill and piercing pain rising from deep within my bones swept over me, worse than the gunshot wound. I gasped sharply, my body curling up. Cold sweat instantly soaked my clothes, wave after wave. I tried to push myself up with my hand, a sharp pain in my injured shoulder, and I fell. The brick floor was cool against my face, oddly clearing my head for a moment. Then another wave, deeper than the last. Consciousness slowly scattered in the darkness.

When I woke, Benedict was crouching by the door, looking down at me, a lazy, satisfied smile on his lips. "Brother, I still have to thank you."

I looked up.

"Pretending to be comatose was just a temporary measure. If it went on too long, Rowan would eventually figure it out." He tilted his head. "Thanks to your little scene, I'm now the poor 'almost vegetable,' and she conveniently feels deeply indebted to me... She's going to marry me, to compensate. The wedding is in five days."

Footsteps faded away. The corridor sank into complete silence.

I lowered my head, my body trembling uncontrollably from cold and pain, my consciousness drifting in and out. I don't know how many days passed. Pieces of hard, cold bread were passed through the crack in the iron door. I ate them all. Staying alive was more important than anything. As long as I was alive, Lachlan might still come. I didn't know if she would, but I chose to wait, until the noise outside grew louder and louder—the wedding had begun.

The iron door opened.

"I'm here to take you away."

The voice was so unfamiliar, so right, that I suspected a trap. I didn't look up.

Then, someone picked me up directly.

I froze for a second, then looked up. It was Lachlan, her brow furrowed, her gaze landing on my shoulder, then quickly looking away. She said nothing.

Above the manor, rose petals fell from the sky, spreading everywhere, mixed with the sparkling light of diamonds and gemstones, glittering in the sunlight, blanketing the entire lawn.

I was stunned. "This is..."

"The wedding gift." She carried me forward, her tone flat as if discussing the weather. "For Matriarch Sinclair."

I turned my head. In the crowd not far away, I saw Benedict, dressed in a black suit, looking up with a triumphant smile. Rowan stood beside him, her dress exquisite, her expression as cold and distant as a statue.

Rose petals fell from the sky, covering the lawn, mixed with shattered gems, beautiful as a dream.

I looked up from Lachlan's arms, watching the petals. My eyes suddenly felt hot.

I didn't understand why—not for Rowan, not for that marriage. Maybe just because: it's good to be alive, to still see the sky, to feel someone holding me, to not be dead yet.

I swallowed that hot feeling, gently curling the corner of my mouth, whispering in her arms, "I hope she likes this wedding gift."

Lachlan's arm tightened slightly. She said nothing.

Beneath my feet was someone else's land; above my head was a sky raining roses. And I was finally, no longer someone else's prisoner.