The Burned Heel

Bang!

My back slammed heavily against the mold‑covered wall of the holding cell.

“Let go of me! How dare you treat me like this! My husband Dominic will make you pay!”

I pounded frantically at the man’s back with my handcuffed hands.

“Hehehe, save your breath, madam. Such a lovely body of yours must be delicious.”

Three prison guards pressed me against the wall with malicious grins, their rough hands tearing at my clothes. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I begged, “Spare me… I’ll give you money!”

One guard pinched my chin and leaned close to my ear in a low voice. “Madam, this little lesson was arranged for you by your own husband…”

I froze completely.

Those three hands kept moving, yet my mind went blank, as if someone had pressed pause.

Until — a voice echoed from the end of the corridor.

“Stand down.”

It was quiet, but all three guards stiffened instantly.

They released me, stepped back against the wall, and bowed their heads like beaten dogs.

Dominic walked toward me down the corridor, dressed in a black suit with cold glints along his cuffs. He did not spare the guards a single glance as he passed them.

He pushed open the interrogation‑room door and stepped inside. I was escorted in behind him.

The night before, Chloe had drunk‑driven at high speed and struck an innocent pedestrian at an unsurveilled crossroads. Instead of stopping, she had gotten out of the car. Annoyed that the dying man blocked her path, she had crushed his face with the sharp stiletto heel of her shoe, landing the fatal blow.

I had been in the passenger seat at the time, briefly knocked unconscious by a concussion from the crash. She had dragged me roughly into the driver’s seat.

I had no idea how long I had been locked up. The sky outside shifted from black to gray, then gray to white — at least nine hours.

Then Dominic arrived.

Slap.

A thin stack of documents landed directly on the concrete floor beside my face.

“Sign it,” he said flatly, no emotion in his tone.

I stared at the words, my palm stinging from scraping against the rough wall. “You know perfectly well I wasn’t the one driving, don’t you?”

“We both know you were behind the wheel, Elena.” Dominic looked down at me with undisguised disgust. “Drop your pathetic act. Skid marks, car fingerprints, every witness statement — everything points to you.”

“Because you forged all of it for her!” I lunged forward, grabbing the hem of his suit tightly, my voice shaking. “Dominic, that was a human life! Chloe hit him, and she even stomped him to death! Are you really going to send your own wife to a maximum‑security prison just to protect that murderer?!”

Dominic’s jaw tightened sharply. He grabbed my wrists and twisted them hard.

I let out a muffled cry of pain, my fingers forced to release his jacket. Revolted, he pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the spot I had touched.

“How dare you mention Chloe?” He pinched my chin hard, forcing me to meet his gaze. “She nearly died because of your recklessness! If she hadn’t fought you for the steering wheel that night, your insane speeding would’ve dragged her to hell with you!”

“I wasn’t drunk, and I’m not lying…” I gritted my teeth, speaking slowly.

“Enough.” Dominic cut me off, his patience gone.

He pulled out his phone from his suit lining, unlocked the screen, and shoved it in front of my face.

On the screen, my father lay in the ICU on a ventilator. At the edge of the frame stood a bodyguard in a black suit, his hand hovering loosely over the ventilator’s power plug.

My mind went numb, and every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.

“Dominic… have you lost your mind!” I scrambled for his phone, but he twisted my arms behind my back with one hand and pinned me roughly against the metal table.

I watched helplessly as the bodyguard pulled the plug out by a single millimetre. My father’s heart rate spiked dangerously on the monitor.

“You have one minute,” Dominic breathed against my ear from behind. “Sign here and admit this was all a jealous outburst against Chloe. Or watch the old man suffocate right now. His body will be cremated in half an hour, with no funeral.”

“How could you do this to me…” Tears spilled onto the table as I sobbed and begged. “I’m your wife…”

“You are nothing more than a decoration I bought with my money,” he corrected coldly. “If Chloe hadn’t carried me out of a burning building years ago, I would be dead. I swore no one would ever hurt her. You hit that man and tried to frame her, Elena. You do not deserve my mercy.”

For that woman who had stolen the title of my saviour, he intended to destroy me completely.

Just then, the silent news channel playing on the television high in the corner of the interrogation room cut to a live broadcast.

Bold scrolling headlines burned into my eyes: Sterling Group Charity Gala: Celebrating Miss Chloe’s Recovery from Car‑Crash Trauma.

The camera panned across the most luxurious five‑star hotel in the city centre — one of Dominic’s properties. Only hours earlier, the venue had blazed with lights, showered with millions of dollars’ worth of rose petals.

Dressed in an immaculate white couture gown and a diamond tiara, Chloe stood before a champagne tower like a noble princess, dabbing fake tears for the cameras in a soft, fragile voice:

“Thank you all for your concern… it was a terrible nightmare. But I believe justice will prevail. Those who have done wrong will be punished. I only hope Elena reflects on her mistakes behind bars…”

I stared at the woman who had crushed a man’s skull beneath her heel, now thriving off my ruined life and soaking up the world’s sympathy.

I turned back to my husband, pinning me down and blackmailing me with my father’s life.

I suddenly laughed.

“What are you laughing at?!” Dominic frowned, genuine irritation flickering across his face.

“I laugh at how foolish I was to think a blind man could see again.” I stopped struggling, the tears drying in my once‑pleading eyes. “Let me go. I’ll sign.”

Dominic released me. He tossed a pen onto the agreement, jerking his chin toward the blank space at the bottom. “Don’t try anything clever.”

My right hand shook as I steadied myself, scrawling the name Elena letter by letter.

“Good.” Dominic snatched the agreement away. On the video, the bodyguard let go of the power cord.

He did not glance at me again and turned toward the iron door. Outside, the two guards re‑entered, holding new handcuffs glinting coldly.

Fifteen years in a maximum‑security women’s prison awaited me.

“Dominic.”

I called out just as he was about to step through the door.

He paused, his tone sharp with impatience. “The agreement is binding. Do not bother me with more of your lies.”

“Do you know what Chloe hid in the trunk of that red Aston Martin?” I pulled into a chilling, broken smile.

Dominic’s shoulders stiffened noticeably. He turned, his sharp gaze slicing across my face like a blade.

“You will find out,” I spat blood‑tinged saliva. “On the day you self‑destruct and crumble under these lies, begging for forgiveness. I promise you will pay an unimaginable price for the name you forced me to sign today.”

“Superstitious nonsense,” Dominic scoffed, annoyance in his eyes. He did not linger and stepped firmly out through the iron door without hesitation.

Bang!

The heavy iron door slammed shut, cutting off all light.