I was in love with Roderick Cooke for seven years. When I was kidnapped, he didn't pay the ransom, all because his female secretary suggested using the opportunity to teach me a lesson—to make me behave.

I endured hellish torture and finally learned to stay away from Roderick. Yet, he cried and begged me for another chance.

***

The day I walked barefoot back into the city, I made the news.

Camille Cantrell—the Cooke family's adopted daughter, kidnapped for months—had finally escaped. Dressed in rags, her feet lacerated and filthy, she had stumbled back to civilization.

Reporters swarmed, their camera flashes exploding around me. Facing the blinding glare, I felt nothing. I was already dead inside.

The Camille Cantrell of the past was gone. That bright, dazzling, willful, and vivacious girl had been destroyed—by the kidnappers, and by Roderick.

Soon, a group of black-clad bodyguards carved a path through the crowd. Their leader was Timothy Glisson. I knew him. During my seven years of pestering Roderick, it was always Timothy who had "seen me off" from Roderick's office and apartment.

"Seen me off" was a polite term. More often, it involved dragging me out, a consequence of my persistence and Roderick's extreme repulsion toward me.

"Ms. Cantrell, Mr. Cooke is waiting for you in the car. This way."

Timothy's gaze faltered as it landed on me. Clearly, I was far more wretched than he had anticipated.

I nodded and stepped forward on my injured feet. A trail of bloody footprints marked my path. The pain had long since numbed, and this short distance was nothing compared to my flight for survival.

Following behind me, Timothy couldn't help but call out, "Ms. Cantrell..."

I didn't respond. Did he pity me? He should be relieved, in fact. After this "lesson", I would never pester Roderick again. And of course, I would no longer cause his job extra trouble.

When I stepped into the car, I saw Roderick in the back seat, eyes closed, resting. His dark hair was impeccably styled, his features exquisitely chiseled.

I imagined my absence had brought him unprecedented peace. Of course, he was in excellent condition.

Hearing the disturbance, Roderick slowly opened his eyes. For a moment, he didn't recognize me. "Camille?"

I nodded obediently. Yes, I had learned to behave. Before, I had never cared about my status as the Cooke family's adopted daughter. I had held my head high, throwing my weight around as if I were their true heir. But the kidnapping taught me the truth—the Cooke family owned my life. If they refused to pay the ransom, I would die.

Roderick frowned, a flicker of displeasure crossing his face. "How did you end up like this?"

Like this? What was "this"? A madwoman? A beggar? I had trekked dozens of kilometers, terrified to close my eyes for a second. Beyond the kidnappers, I had to guard against wild animals in the suburban forests. I drank rainwater and scavenged from highway trash piles. Anyone in my position would go crazy.

I understood his displeasure. My appearance before the media was an embarrassment, likely bringing trouble to his company—the Cooke family's company, to be exact.

"I'm sorry," I said. I apologized for offending his sight.

Roderick paused, then a faint smile touched his lips. "She was right. You've learned to behave."

I didn't know what he meant. The car door closed, and we began to move. Suddenly, he reached out toward me. I instinctively shrank back into the corner. He stopped, his expression twisting with disdain. "Camille, you stink."

Perhaps in the enclosed space, the full force of my odor finally reached him—the pungent mix of blood, sweat, and the fetid decay of mud and garbage.

At his words, I shifted further away. But the car hit a bump, and I slid onto the floor.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry. I won't dirty the seats. I'll just..." I'd just stay down here.

It hurts so much. There were still bloody holes in my knees where the kidnappers stabbed me. They blamed me, saying I meant nothing at all to Roderick. Since no ransom came, they had wasted their time, so they took their anger out on me.

I couldn't stand, so I simply maintained such a position in that small space.

Roderick flew into a rage instantly. He ordered me, "What the hell are you doing? Get back to your seat!"

His face showed repulsion, and he didn't move an inch to help me up. I had no choice but to obey, straining to prop myself up and sit back down. The pain, combined with days of low blood sugar, forced tears from my eyes.

Roderick had always ignored my tears, only looking annoyed. But this time, for the first time, he tossed the handkerchief he'd wiped his hands with at me.

I clutched the clean, white cloth tightly. Once, this would have made me ecstatic, but now, the handkerchief only highlighted how filthy and tattered I was.

Timothy glanced at me in the rearview mirror. I bowed my head. He'd probably never seen me so humiliatingly ridiculous.

When the car pulled back to the Cooke's villa, Roderick ordered me taken to the bathroom to clean up. I refused the servants' help, only asking them to fetch a floor-length dress from my old wardrobe.

They rummaged around, finally pulling out a prim long-sleeved dress, like a school uniform, from among the trendy clothes.

No one defines how students should dress, but staring at myself in the mirror, I did look more like a student than in my previous styles.

I remembered that before the kidnapping, I'd gotten an offer from a top foreign design school. But now, three months had passed since the enrollment deadline.

"Thank you."

The servants looked startled, not expecting gratitude from me.

But after all this, I knew clearly that deep down, I was no different from them. They were servants hired by the Cooke family, while I was a daughter hired by the Cooke family.

When I pushed open the door and stepped out, I saw Roderick standing at the top of the stairs, waiting for me. He leaned half against the railing, lazily sizing me up, then sneered.

"Camille, what game are you playing? Dressed like this."

Did he think it was tacky? Roderick probably took it for another childish trick to get his attention, but I just wanted to cover the scars on my body.

I followed him to the dining room. It was so quiet. Not until Roderick nodded for me to step forward did I see my adopted parents, Kaleb and Talia Cooke, at the table, their faces tight with worry.

The second Talia saw me, she stood up, nearly rushing over. Her steps faltered, and a woman beside her quickly steadied her.

"Madam Cooke, don't fret. Isn't Ms. Cantrell back safe and sound?" The woman then turned to me. "Ms. Cantrell, Madam Cooke has been terribly worried about you. Her hair even turned grey overnight."

I knew her. She was Roderick's secretary, Carissa Barron.

Her hair fell in natural black waves, and she wore a plain turtleneck and jeans. But around her neck hung a delicate rose gold necklace.

"Safe and sound"? She said it like a contrast to Talia's graying hair. With just one sentence, I was no longer a victim but the Cooke family's ungrateful member.

Talia pulled me into a sobbing hug, and Carissa patted her back to comfort her. But I couldn't cry. I looked at Roderick, and his eyes seemed to say, "You're so ungrateful."

Finally, Kaleb cut in, his voice sharp with authority. "Stop clinging to Camille. Let her sit and eat."

Talia wiped her tears, forcing a smile. "It's my fault. Millie, you've been through so much. You must have starved. Here, I made your favorite apple pie!"

Talia tugged me to a seat between her and Kaleb. Roderick sat across from me, and Carissa settled right beside him.

How perfectly family they all looked.

I stared at the food on my plate. It looked so aromatic and appetizing. I'd almost forgotten what normal food tasted like. For a second, I wanted to hurl the fork aside, grab the food with my hands, and stuff it into my mouth.

The closer we'd gotten to the city highway, the stricter the sanitation management had been. Gradually, I couldn't find any dumps, which meant no food. I'd gone nearly three days hungry, reduced to eating leaves to survive.

Under everyone's gaze, I forced myself to stay composed, picking up the fork to send food into my mouth. Even so, I caught Carissa's mocking glance. She ate in tiny, dainty bites, flaunting her poise.

Roderick, seeing this, clearly grew more repelled. But at Talia's nudge, he reluctantly placed a piece of BBQ ribs on my plate with his own hand.

I'd thought I could choke down even the blandest food, but I just stared at those tempting BBQ ribs. Knowing Roderick had put them there, I felt my stomach churn with revulsion.

"Millie, try it," Talia urged. "Roderick knew you liked BBQ flavor, so he asked the chef to make this extra dish just for you."

Bullshit. Roderick had no idea what I liked. If anything, I knew his preferences well. For instance, among all types of gold, rose gold was his favorite.

Seeing me hesitate, Kaleb asked gently, "What's wrong, Millie? Did you and Roderick argue on the way back? Don't worry, I'll teach him a lesson after dinner."

"Dad!" Roderick snapped, likely humiliated in front of Carissa.

I shook my head, said nothing, and forced down the physical disgust, spearing the ribs with my fork and putting them in my mouth.

But the second I swallowed, I retched, vomiting it all up.

Roderick looked stunned. I shot up from my chair, clutching my head, and cowered in the corner.

"I'm sorry. I'll eat it! Don't hit me!"

Everyone froze. Talia's tears spilled again as she rushed over to hug me. "Did they hurt you, Millie? Tell me. Did they abuse you?"

Kaleb and Roderick came over, too. Kaleb's face softened with care, looking at me with pity.

Roderick frowned, silent, his expression unreasonably dark.

What was this about? Hadn't the kidnappers threatened the Cooke family, saying that if they didn't pay the ransom, their adopted daughter would suffer?

Why were they asking me now if I'd been abused?

Actually, back then, even a rotten sandwich or a spoiled bottle of milk never struck me as abuse. After all, what I got to eat afterward was nothing but slop.

I was just so scared of feeling like my life hung in Roderick's hands.

The kidnappers had negotiated with him personally, but he'd chosen to give up on me. He hated me so much.

I think that was where my physical nausea came from.

After dinner, I was called to Kaleb's study.

Kaleb set aside his usual sharp, business-like demeanor, asking me gently and patiently, "Millie, you've loved Roderick since you were little. Do you still like him now?"

I shook my head wildly, so violently that the muscles in my cheeks felt a sharp ache.

I'd loved Roderick for seven years, and it meant I've spent seven years living humbly and suffering. But I'd never learned my lesson. This time, I'd endured hellish torment, and that was the revenge for me.

I couldn't dare to like Roderick anymore.

Kaleb heard my answer and paused thoughtfully before sighing regretfully, "Well, fine. You might not be my daughter-in-law, but you'll always be our daughter. Millie, you're such a perfect, beautiful girl. It's just that Roderick doesn't deserve you."

He pulled a bank card from his desk drawer. "Your parents left this for you. It has 600 thousand dollars in it. They told me to keep it secure and give it to you as a dowry once you were older."

600 thousand dollars. It was the same as the ransom sum.

During those days of being kidnapped, I'd even resented my parents, blaming them for not taking me with them, leaving me to endure this torture. I hadn't done anything wrong.

It turned out they'd left me enough to live comfortably as well. Their love for me had been deeper than I knew.

I bit my thumb to hold back my tears.

"Thank you, Kaleb."

It was already eight o'clock when I left the study. I headed for my room, only to run into Roderick halfway.

He seemed to guess where I was going, and his tone was surprisingly soft when he said, "Carissa will stay in your room tonight. You'll take the guest room next to mine."

I could see that all he cared about was Carissa.

I nodded and turned to walk the other way. When I settled into the Cooke's villa, Roderick's hatred for me was so strong that he relocated his room to the farthest spot from mine: his at the east end, mine at the west.

But my room had been decorated by a top designer at the Cooke family's request, far nicer than most.

Yet it was still the Cooke family's property. If Roderick told me to give it up, I had no choice but to obey.

I'd taken a few steps when Roderick called after me. "Camille, why are you suddenly so obedient?"

I turned around and saw that his face held both sarcasm and a faint flicker of worry.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, hesitating. Beyond apologies, I had no idea what else to say to Roderick.

"That's the third time you've apologized to me today. You're acting weird." Roderick stepped closer, leaning in as if to touch my forehead.

I flinched away as fast as if shocked by electricity. By the time I clung to the corridor railing to steady myself, my legs were so weak I could barely stand.

Roderick stared at me like I was insane, his patience fraying into annoyance.

I forced down the tremor in my voice. "I ... I'll move out tomorrow. I already told Kaleb."

I'd thought Roderick would be relieved to hear it, so that he'd let me go. Instead, his face darkened with anger.

"Move out? Why? I only asked you to let Carissa stay in your room temporarily. She's a guest here. Can't you just make that tiny concession? It won't cost you much."

I shook my head quickly. "No, that's not it."

Roderick's jaw tightened. He grabbed my wrist roughly and dragged me toward the easternmost room.

"Come with me. I need to talk to you."

Fear flooded my mind. Through tears, I fumbled for the bank card Kaleb had just given me, holding it out. "I'm sorry. I have money now. Don't hit me.

"I can pay you. Please don't hit me."

Roderick froze, turning around in shock. I'd crumpled to the floor, but he was still gripping my wrist in a tight clamp.

"Camille, what are you talking about?"

By then, I'd bitten my lips so hard that they'd turned purple. As Roderick's face drew closer, the kidnappers' taunts flooded back. "You're just the Cooke family's pet, still clinging to your owner."

"Rody, no. Mr. Cooke, I won't pester you anymore. I'll never dare again."

Roderick finally sensed something was off with my state of mind. His movements softened. He slipped an arm around my waist and lifted me from the floor.

The sudden weightlessness made me cling to his neck instinctively. At that, the tightness in his expression finally eased a little.

"Camille, it's not that I don't want you to pester me, but..."

He didn't finish. The corridor door clicked open, and Carissa poked her head out of my room, the lights behind her bright.

She covered her mouth, feigning surprise. "Mr. Cooke, Ms. Cantrell."

Roderick's mood soured. "You have the room. What else do you need?"

Carissa's voice turned wronged. "The Australian branch is having a video conference. They need you to attend in person, Mr. Cooke."

Roderick glanced at me in his arms, then let go. My body went rigid, and words were stuck in my throat.

"Wait for me in my room."

After Roderick said that, he walked toward Carissa. The two stepped into the room, and the door clicked shut behind them.

The bright light vanished from the corridor, leaving me with a shaky sense of relief, like I'd narrowly escaped danger. Cold sweat had soaked through the back of my clothes.

Roderick wouldn't come back. I knew Carissa's tricks too well. She'd pulled him away like this so many times: on my birthday, at my graduation. Perhaps he'd intended all along to stay away from me and never return.

And I had to leave as soon as I could. I needed to go somewhere I'd never see Roderick again. I was so scared that if I had to face him even once more, I'd lose my mind.

I sat on the guest room bed until 3 a.m. Roderick's bedroom, the one next to mine, stayed completely quiet the whole time.

In between, I used the phone Talia had given me to log into a rental app. I found an apartment with good security that was available immediately.

As soon as dawn broke, the Cooke's villa still silent, I grabbed my leather shoes and snuck out barefoot.

Stepping outside, I froze. I saw someone leaning against Roderick's car, playing with his phone. My heart jumped in my chest. I was so afraid it was Roderick.

The person heard me and looked up. It was Timothy.

I pretended nothing was wrong, walking past him toward the roadside to hail a taxi. But he followed.

"Ms. Cantrell?"

I didn't answer.

"Does Mr. Cooke know you're..."

"Can you not tell Roderick?" I cut in.

I held back my excitement, forcing myself to stay calm. I was so close to escaping. Why did I have to run into Timothy?

Timothy looked confused. "Mr. Cooke will be worried."

I shook my head frantically, then started pulling off my coat.

Timothy stepped back in a hurry, turning his head away, his ears turning red. "Ms. Cantrell, what are you doing?"

If it meant I could get away, shame didn't matter anymore. My dignity had been worn away by Roderick long ago.

"He doesn't worry about me. He's the one who told those kidnappers to leave these scars on me."

Timothy looked over. Under my coat was a white sleeveless top. He could clearly see the purple whip marks, blue bruises, and scabbed cuts covering my arms.

He looked stunned. Those shocking injuries were beyond anything he'd imagined.

While he froze, I hurried to pull my coat back on, begging, "Timothy, please let me go. If you don't, I'll die."

It was the first time I'd called him by his name. Before, I'd only referred to him as "Roderick's pet", just like the kidnappers had called me "the Cooke family's pet."

Timothy stood silent for a long time. I seized the chance to run toward the roadside to hail a taxi. Suddenly, a large hand grabbed my arm, but the instant he sensed the scars under my clothes, he jolted backward, letting me free immediately.

I almost burst into tears. "Don't stop me..."

Timothy clenched his jaw and said in a firm tone, "You can't get a taxi at midnight. I'll drive you."

I was dumbfounded.

With a jumble of fear and hope, I got into Roderick's car again. Timothy carefully reached over and turned off the driving recorder first.

"Just make do with it. It won't take long."

He assumed I was resisting taking Roderick's car, and truth be told, he was right. But if it let me break free from Roderick and the Cooke family, I didn't care about it at all.

The car arrived at the community that the agent and I had settled on. I'd sent a text to the agent, telling them I wanted to move in immediately. Eager for the commission, the agent brought the contract and keys early, greeting us with a smile at the community entrance.

Timothy still looked worried. He followed me upstairs to see the apartment. It was a fully furnished duplex. It wasn't huge, but it had all the basic daily necessities I'd need.

"It's 120 square meters. This community's largest unit," the agent gushed. "Ms. Cantrell, whether you live here alone or with your boyfriend, it's more than spacious enough."

I glanced at Timothy. He stayed quiet, his head down as he flipped through the contract. Then he asked the agent for details on utilities, water, electricity, and air conditioning, and only handed me the contract once he'd confirmed everything was okay.

Somehow, I trusted him. Maybe it was because he'd never complained about my flailing punches and kicks when he pulled me out of Roderick's office. Or maybe it was because, when Roderick sent him to fetch me from bars, he'd chased off the men who tried to take advantage of me.

I didn't hesitate, signing the contract quickly. I pulled out my bank card and handed it to the agent. He swiped it on the POS machine, tossed a few flattering remarks at Timothy and me, then left happily.

The empty room now held only Timothy and me. He suddenly seemed ill at ease.

"Ms. Cantrell, I need to head back," he said.

I nodded, reaching automatically for a check to thank him. That was my habit. But then I froze, realizing I had no money on me.

I'd snuck out with nothing. I'd wanted to grab a few clothes, but my room was already taken by Carissa, let alone a checkbook.

"Timothy, how can I thank you?" I asked.

Timothy looked a little surprised. "You don't need to. It's my pleasure."

I said nothing more. But if he ever needed something from me later, I'd never say no.

Timothy left. He had to get back to work. Before he went, he said, "Get some good rest."

I certainly wanted to rest. More than that, I felt like I could finally rest.

Over those dozens of kilometers on the run, I'd slept under farmland canopies and on low tree trunks. Calling it "sleep" was a stretch. I'd stayed tense the whole time, wary of anyone coming to catch me, of wild animals that might hurt me.

Back at the Cooke's villa, I'd been waiting for a chance to escape. Even when I sat on the soft guest room bed, I'd pinched the tender flesh on my inner thighs over and over just to stay awake.

I took off my shoes and went up to the bedroom. There was only a bare mattress on the large bed. I hadn't had time to buy any bedding.

Luckily, the duplex came with blackout curtains. I pulled them shut, collapsed onto the mattress, and fell into a deep sleep.

When I finally came to, I heard loud banging on the door. It was so loud it echoed through the apartment and the whole hallway.

But I'd slept too deeply. I sat up in the bed, frozen. I could barely move. It was as though my arms and legs had forgotten how to function.

Then I heard the lock cylinder hit the floor with a sharp click. That jolted me awake.

Who was it?

Was it a kidnapper? Or Roderick? I scrambled to find something in the room to defend myself, but there was nothing.

I got up and hurried downstairs. Panic made me clumsy. I slipped and fell when there were only one or two steps left.

"Camille!"

A clear voice cut through the chaos. I looked up to see Timothy standing outside my door, with a shopping bag in hand, breathless and frantic.

He rushed over to help me up. "Are you okay?"

I froze, confused, wondering what was happening.

Outside, a locksmith was replacing the door's lock core, then packing his tools into a tool bag.

"Oh, young lady," the locksmith said, "your boyfriend's been knocking for two hours and you didn't answer. He was so worried about you."

I held my head, still groggy. In that deep sleep, I really hadn't heard a thing.

The locksmith went on. "He said you've got depression? He was so afraid you'd hurt yourself. Listen to me, girl, you're so young and beautiful. The future is yourself. Take it easy."

I glanced at Timothy. Embarrassed, he let go of me and stepped toward the locksmith. "Sir, that's enough. I'm not her boyfriend. How much for the new lock?"

After taking the money, the locksmith gave us a knowing look, slinging his tool bag over his shoulder. "Young lady, he's a good guy. Why don't you give him a chance?"

Timothy slammed the door shut, avoiding my eyes.

He mumbled, "Sorry, I was scared you might be ... in trouble. So I called the locksmith. I didn't tell him anything, I promise."

I knew Timothy was straightforward. His emotions showed plainly on his face. He must have been truly panicked earlier, which was why the locksmith got the wrong idea.

"It's fine. I was just asleep." Truth was, Timothy didn't need to worry about me like that. If I didn't cherish my life so fiercely, I never would have climbed back from that hell.

I licked my cracked lips. Timothy noticed, reaching into the shopping bag he'd dumped on the floor and pulling out a bottle of milk. He unscrewed the cap and handed it to me.

I took it, sipping slowly. It was ice-cold, like it had just come out of the freezer. He even remembered that I only liked drinking milk chilled.

Timothy glanced around the apartment before his eyes finally landed on me. I was still in that long dress, which was crumpled and a little messy now.

"How long have you been asleep?" he asked, confused.

I thought for a second. "Over two hours?"

Hadn't he said he'd been knocking for two hours?

Timothy's expression turned odd. "Think again. It's been two days since you signed the contract."

"Two days?"

I froze. Timothy was in casual clothes now, but I clearly remembered he'd been wearing a suit early in the morning.

Then I realized I'd slept for two whole days and nights without eating or drinking a thing.

Timothy then knew everything. He reached out and brushed the table. Sure enough, his finger came away dusty. I hadn't cleaned the apartment once since moving in.

He took off his black jacket, tossing it over a chair. A cloud of dust puffed up when the fabric hit the seat.

"Sit here, on my jacket," he said.

I didn't know what he was planning, but I walked over and did as he said.

He rolled up his sleeves and headed for the bathroom. After a clatter of water, Timothy came out with a wet rag, starting to wipe the dining table first, then moving to the coffee table and wardrobe.

"Just rest. Once I'm done cleaning, I'll take you to eat."

Take me to eat? That thought seemed weird, especially paired with the sight of him cleaning my apartment. Timothy was Roderick's bodyguard, a man who spoke with his fists, yet he handled housework so carefully.

About an hour later, after mopping the floor, Timothy went back to the bathroom to splash some water on his face, then wrapped up his chores.

"Getting hungry?" he asked.

Water droplets dripped from the tips of his wet hair. His sharp, rugged features softened into a lazy, natural grin.

I nodded in a daze, then shook my head again.

He laughed loudly. He stepped over, and it looked like he was about to reach up and touch my head. But then he paused, remembering something, and pulled his hand back.

"Let's go."

I stood up, and he picked up the jacket.

"How about French cuisine? It won't be spicy. I heard those girls talking about how delicious it is."

Those "girls" must have been employees at Roderick's company. Timothy dealt with them sometimes. Had he gone so far as to ask them about restaurants, all because of me?

His words stirred a faint hunger in me. I'd slept for two full days, after all. And that night at the Cooke's villa, I'd barely eaten before vomiting it all up.

But I'd only taken two steps when a sharp cramp twisted my stomach. I stumbled to the bathroom, clutching the toilet to retch. There was nothing left in my stomach. So only bitter, brownish blood came up.

Timothy, who'd followed me in, grabbed my shoulders. I was so thin, and I felt like I was curling up in midair against him.

"Camille?"

He helped me to the sink and got some water for me to rinse my mouth.

"Did you go to the hospital for a checkup after you got back?" he asked, his voice tight with seriousness.

I shook my head.

He lifted me up without hesitation, grabbing the keys before heading downstairs. The pain was so bad that I couldn't speak. In the taxi, he used the little first-aid know-how he had, pinching the webbing between my thumb and index finger to ease the stomachache.

"Sir, please, faster," Timothy urged. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror and silently pressed down harder on the gas.

I drifted in and out of consciousness through the whole exam. By the time the gastric lavage was over, Timothy walked into my ward with the report.

He sat on the edge of my bed, frown deep as he scanned the medical records. He was too tall for the hospital stool, so his long legs splayed, knees pushed up.

"Do you want to be hospitalized?" he asked.

"What did the doctor say?"

"The doctor said it's not necessary, but..."

"Then I don't want to." I hated places with constant comings and goings. I wouldn't feel safe.

Timothy was quiet for a moment. "All right. But you'll have to come to the hospital every day for dressing changes and checkups."

I could already feel that some of my wounds had been treated and bandaged.

"For now, you can only have liquid foods every day."

I didn't need him to tell me why. I knew eating spoiled food and slop for three months had ruined my stomach.

"Timothy."

"Yes?"

"But I'm so hungry right now..."

Timothy's eyes softened with obvious pity. He'd learned from the doctor that the food I ate wasn't digested at all. It just sat in my stomach, and I couldn't vomit it out, so a lavage became needed.

He laid a gentle hand on my forehead, as if to soothe me, and promised, "I'll make your food taste good. Trust me, okay?"

Timothy kept his word. He was surprisingly skilled in the kitchen, turning the plainest cereal into something palatable with little tweaks.

Thanks to him, I felt my strength returning day by day.

Today, as I reached for a third share of cereal with milk at lunch, Timothy stopped me.

He grinned, his eyes crinkling. "Sneaking one more share while I was juicing, little glutton?"

Foiled, I huffed and set the tableware in the sink. He put down the half-chopped fruit and stepped over. "I'll wash up. Just go watch TV on the sofa."

I nodded, upset. He suddenly caught my arm and pulled me back. I found myself pinned between the counter and his body.

"Mad at me for stopping the cereal? You won't talk to me?"

I stayed silent, my lips pursed. I just looked away.

He laughed, "The doctor said starting tomorrow, you can have a proper meal. I'll take you for French cuisine."

My eyes lit up. "Really?"

"For sure."

Timothy's expression softened with fondness. He let me go, patted my back gently, and nudged me toward the sofa before returning to the kitchen to finish his work.

I sat down and pulled out the bank card my parents had left me. Beyond the money inside, it held their last thoughts for me.

For a moment, I felt like the luckiest kid. Their love had never left me. Before their accident, they'd been planning for my future.

And Timothy felt like a gift they'd sent me.

I tucked the card away carefully. If it was meant to be my dowry, I'd keep it safe.

The TV was playing the news. After a snippet of music, a glaring headline flashed across the screen.

"The Cooke Family's Adopted Daughter Found Wandering Barefoot After Kidnapping. Ex-Noble Lady Now Disheveled, Acting Erratically."

I switched off the TV instantly, my breath coming fast. I told myself over and over again that it was all over. I'd never see those people or Roderick again.

It took a long time for me to finally calm down. Then the doorbell rang.

I figured it was another delivery Timothy had ordered. He'd been the one designing and furnishing this apartment since I moved in, after all.

I didn't think twice, getting up to open the door. But standing outside was someone I never wanted to see again.