Reborn: I'm Not the CEO's Substitute Anymore

The cold, damp prison reeked of mildew and despair.

Sylvia Orsini was pinned hard against the rough concrete wall. Before she could even register the shock of cold stone against her skin, the man thrust forward, claiming her body without mercy.

"Damien… I'm sorry. Please, please stop. It hurts so much…"

Her voice was raw. Broken.

Three years. Three full years.

Ever since Damien Nguyen had thrown her into this prison, the fifteenth of every month had become her personal hell.

He would descend on her like a tyrant, forcing himself on her. Sometimes he'd fist her hair and shove her to her knees, treating her like a streetwalker servicing a client.

Sylvia had gone from fury and resistance to something far worse — numbness. Submission.

She'd even learned to cooperate, to make it easier on herself. But today, Damien was rougher than usual. Crueler. She couldn't take it.

"Hurts?"

Damien let out a cold laugh.

He seized her chin, his voice cutting like a blade through ice. "You know what pain is now? When you hired those men to destroy Maggie's innocence — when you left her in a vegetative state — did you ever stop to think about her pain?"

The hatred in his eyes deepened. His grip on her tightened until she felt her bones might snap.

"You owe her this. Every bit of it. What right do you have to cry about pain?"

His snarl, thick with loathing, sent a wave of hopelessness crashing through her.

She shook her head frantically, tears streaming beyond her control. "No — that's not what happened… Back then, I—"

"Enough. You're still trying to lie your way out of this?" Damien stared at her, the disgust and hatred in his eyes so sharp they pierced her chest like physical blades.

"Sylvia, you will spend the rest of your life in this hell, atoning for what you did to Maggie."

His merciless words landed like a death sentence. Sylvia felt as though her body had been split in two by a jagged knife. The agony swallowed her whole, and everything went black.

Splash—

A bucket of ice-cold water crashed over her, shocking her awake.

Sylvia bolted upright, gasping for air.

Before she could get her bearings, someone grabbed her ankle and yanked her forward.

Bucket after bucket of freezing water rained down. Just as she was on the verge of suffocating, rough rags scrubbed viciously across her body.

The burning friction instantly overwhelmed the cold.

Sylvia curled into herself, desperately trying to hold onto some shred of warmth.

Her arms were ripped apart. "You conniving bitch — what are you trying to pull now?"

Several brutal faces loomed over her, sneering down with open contempt. "Are you trying to get pregnant by Mr. Nguyen again?"

One woman shoved her fingers roughly into Sylvia's most intimate area, her face twisted in revulsion as she cleaned her. "You think having a baby is your ticket out of here?"

"Oh, you haven't heard? That kid you secretly gave birth to? Word is… he's about to die."

"Ha! Good riddance. Little bastard's better off dead."

"Exactly. As if a woman like her deserves to bear Mr. Nguyen's child."

What?!

Through the cackling and chatter, Sylvia felt her heart clench like a fist had closed around it.

Milo. Something happened to Milo?

Every ounce of shame and pain vanished in an instant. Sylvia seized the nearest woman's hand in a death grip, her eyes boring into her. "What did you just say?"

"You said Milo is dead? You're lying. Tell me you're lying."

The woman flinched, startled. But she recovered quickly. "Why would I bother lying to you? Everyone out there knows that sickly little runt is dead."

She wrenched free of Sylvia's grip and slapped her hard across the face. "Don't you ever touch me again, you filthy whore. Next time, I'll kill you."

She tossed her rag aside and led the group out.

Seven or eight women filed through the door.

As the cell gate clanged shut, reality crashed over Sylvia. She shook her head violently. "No — no, that's impossible. Milo can't be dead… He can't be! He can't!"

Milo Nguyen was the child Sylvia had given birth to one year ago.

At that time, Damien's childhood sweetheart, Maggie Barnett, had just returned from overseas.

The moment she appeared, she consumed all of Damien's attention.

Birthdays. Anniversaries. The night Sylvia burned with a raging fever. Every single time she needed Damien, Maggie could summon him away with a single call. Every hope Sylvia held was crushed.

Then one day, Damien stormed back and wrapped his hand around her throat, demanding to know why she was so vicious. Why she'd sent men to violate Maggie. Why she couldn't stand to let Maggie exist.

He ignored every word of her explanation. He threw her into prison and began three years of relentless torment.

During that time, she discovered she was pregnant. She carried the baby to term and gave birth to Milo. But before she could even look at her son's face, Damien took him away.

"Sylvia," he'd said, "someone as vile as you doesn't deserve to be a mother."

For an entire year, Sylvia begged Damien to let her see her child. Every single request was denied without hesitation.

"You think giving birth to a baby earns you a way out of prison?" Damien's tone was flat, indifferent. "Dream on. You'll spend the rest of your life in here, paying for what you did to Maggie."

Sylvia told herself it was fine. As long as Milo was okay, nothing else mattered. But now — why would something happen to him?

"Milo… my Milo…" Sylvia staggered to her feet, tears rolling uncontrollably down her face. "I have to get out. I have to see Milo. Yes — get out…"

Her eyes hardened with sudden resolve.

Her gaze swept the cell and caught on something in the corner. A fork.

Sylvia lunged for it without a second's hesitation, snatched it up, and drove the prongs deep into her wrist.

Blood erupted from the wound. She threw herself against the cell door, pounding wildly. "Help! Somebody help me!"

"What the hell are you screaming about, you—"

The guard shuffled over, irritated. His voice shot up an octave when he saw her wrist. "Are you out of your mind?! What are you doing?!"

He fumbled for his keys, threw open the door, and called for backup. They rushed Sylvia to the hospital in a panic.

After all, Damien had given explicit orders: Sylvia was to suffer every torment imaginable in that prison, but she had to stay alive to atone. That was why, no matter how badly they abused her over the past three years, they always stopped just short of killing her.

Sylvia said nothing. Once inside the hospital, she waited until they were running tests, then asked to use the restroom.

She climbed through the window and ran.

She barely made it two steps before the guards' shouts erupted behind her.

"She's running! Go after her!"

Sylvia's pulse spiked. She pushed herself faster, not watching where she was going — and slammed straight into someone coming from the opposite direction.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry — are you—"

"Sylvia?"

The words died on her lips. The person stared at her, eyes wide with shock. "What are you doing here?"