"You want to ruin my face because you want to get rid of me, don't you?! Ever since you got here, you've taken everything that should've been mine! The nights Boss used to spend with me, you took them. Even Liraine, who should've been on my side, you took her too! Mathias and Maxen, they used to come to me every time they finished a mission, and now? You stole them too! I was always the center of attention, always the one they came to. I was the one who entertained both of them at the same damn time! But ever since you showed up, Maxen goes to you, and Mathias... Mathias talks about you while he's fucking me! You ruined everything!"
Tiffara grabbed a shard of glass from the broken candle holder Isolde had slammed into her head. Her hand trembled with rage as she raised it toward Isolde's face.
"What makes you so special, you fucking bitch?! You're nothing! You're not even pretty, your body looks like a fucking skeleton! So why... why you?! What the fuck is so special about you?!" She was about to slash Isolde's cheek with the shard when a sudden voice from the door made her freeze.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!" Malric stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed in disapproval. But Tiffara only scoffed at the sight of him.
"Stay the fuck out of this, Malric! Go back to your goddamn lab and deal with your damn corpses!" she snapped furiously. She was about to yell more when her mouth snapped shut the moment she saw Severin appear behind Malric.
"B-Boss..." All that fury drained from her in an instant. The glass fell from her hand, clinking as it hit the floor.
Tiffara's friends, holding Isolde down, quickly stepped back, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.
Severin walked past Malric and stopped in front of Tiffara. He tilted her chin up with his thumb and forefinger, his storm-grey eyes scanning the blood on her face.
"How careless of you," Severin said, his deep voice calm but cold. "Your face is your selling point. You shouldn't let that pretty face of yours get damaged." Tiffara nodded slowly and pointed toward Isolde.
"She hit me with the candle. The glass from it cut my forehead." Tears started streaming down her cheeks, making Isolde frown at how quickly Tiffara's attitude had changed.
Just moments ago, Tiffara had been like a rabid chihuahua ready to rip her apart. Now, she played the weak, helpless red panda begging for Severin's protection.
Severin's gaze shifted to Isolde, then to the floor, where broken glass and a shattered candle lay scattered. His eyes returned to Isolde, taking in her condition—which, despite the lack of blood, was far worse.
Tiffara had only a cut on her forehead. Isolde, on the other hand, had a bruised cheek, a split lip, a bleeding nose, hair, a tangled mess, and her shoulder throbbed painfully from where Tiffara had kicked her with everything she had.
Severin's fingers released Tiffara's chin. Now, he turned toward Isolde, his polished black shoes crunching over shards of glass and wax on the floor. When Isolde tilted her head to look at him, Severin's palm lashed across her cheek.
A searing heat exploded on her skin. Tiffara's slap was nothing compared to his. Of course, it wasn't—his hand was larger, and his strength far greater.
Tiffara looked pleased, that bitch grinning while Isolde blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself through the stinging pain and the spinning in her head.
"Don't let something like this happen again," Severin said coldly. "I don't like chaos over trivial shit."
He turned and yanked Tiffara by the wrist, pulling her away from Isolde, who was still standing frozen, her cheek and shoulder pulsing with pain.
Of course, he would defend Tiffara, even though she had started the fight. Isolde was nothing but a prisoner here. Tiffara, on the other hand, was the star of Severin's prized possession, the one who brought him profit, pleasure, and power.
Severin didn't care who threw the first blow or that Isolde was bruised and bleeding.
He enjoyed seeing her that way.
There couldn't be a scratch on Tiffara's face. But Isolde? Her body could be broken by anyone, even by Severin himself, and it wouldn't matter.
Because Isolde meant nothing to Severin, her parents, her ex, or herself, Severin walked Tiffara over to Malric.
"Treat her," he ordered. "Make sure the wound doesn't leave a scar." He turned to look at Tiffara, who smiled despite half her face being smeared in blood.
"Don't let this shit happen again, Tiffara," he warned. "Don't start chaos over nonsense. If your face gets damaged, I'll have no choice but to replace you. Your value is in your beauty. If that's gone, then you're useless to me."
Tiffara's smile faltered. Still, she nodded and followed Malric out of the room to get her forehead treated.
.
.
.
Isolde stared at her reflection in the mirror. That pitiful, frail body. The bruises on her shoulder and stomach. It hurt, but not as bad as the wounds she got in prison. At least today, she was only ganged up on by five people.
In prison, it had been more than that.
The torment Isolde suffered at Tiffara's hands was nothing compared to what she had endured in prison or to what she had gone through as a child at the hands of her father and his mistress.
If she were to rank it, First place would go to the abuse from her father and his mistress because the pain from those who are supposed to be your shelter, your home, and your hope hurts far deeper than anything a stranger could inflict. It wasn't just physical. It was mental. It was betrayal carved into her psyche.
Second place belonged to Severin. Because when Severin used his hands on her, he didn't hold back. She hadn't even been here a whole month, and already he'd left her with more scars than she could count.
Tiffara came in third. It hurt—yes. But not like the others. Her long nails had scratched across Isolde's neck, and now the sting grew worse each time her sweat touched the wounds. The torn corner of her lip throbbed every time she tried to open her mouth. And the aching in her shoulder and stomach from Tiffara and her friends' kicks made it hard to move.
Even the simple act of scoffing at her reflection in the mirror made her wince. Her abdominal muscles flared with pain at the slightest shift. She couldn't even lift her arm properly, and her shoulder was too damaged. Turning the faucet to wash her pitiful face took everything she had.
Two years ago, back when she was still with Maxen, she would have gone to him if she had ended up like this. Maxen would have handed her a hit of ecstasy, letting her float while he touched her in return.
She missed that feeling. That high. That release made her forget all the pain, even briefly. She should've asked him for some before he left. Her eyes stayed locked on her reflection.
Tiffara's insults echoed in her mind, and Tiffara wasn't wrong. Isolde wasn't special. She knew she wasn't as beautiful as Tiffara. Not as lovely as her sister, Olivianne.
Her gaze dropped to her exposed collarbones, sharp and jutting beneath her skin. Tiffara wasn't wrong when she called her a walking skeleton. She was far from complete and far from healthy. As a child, she had been thin because her father's mistress had restricted her food.
As a teen and an adult, she stayed thin out of self-loathing. Constantly compared to the flawless Olivianne, Her self-esteem withered, her appetite died, and eventually, she started purging every time she ate and looked in the mirror.
At that moment, Isolde already saw herself as less attractive than Olivianne, and she didn't want to look even worse by gaining weight. Maybe that was just an excuse—an excuse to hurt herself without leaving visible marks for anyone to see.
When will this hell end? Isolde was starting to lose her patience.
Maybe she didn't need to see it with her own eyes. Perhaps she didn't need to witness her mother being happy with her brother. Maybe it would be enough to know, even if that knowledge came from someone else.
She couldn't leave this place, but Liraine could. Maybe she could ask Liraine for help to check whether Lucien had kept his promise. If Lucien had kept his promise, then Isolde would gladly put a bullet through her skull using the very gun Severin always kept tucked in the back of his waistband.
.
.
.
Liraine was shocked to see Isolde bruised and soaked. Her skin wrinkled from soaking too long in the bathtub, and her lips, usually a soft pink, were now bluish.
"What happened?" Liraine asked, panic flooding her voice as she rushed into the bathroom, pulling Isolde's cold, limp body out of the tub. Isolde didn't answer. But Liraine began to understand as her eyes took in the damage, the bruise on Isolde's cheek, the split at the corner of her lip, and the marks on her shoulder and her stomach.
There were two possible culprits: Severin and Tiffara. But Severin rarely visited Isolde during the day, leaving Liraine with one conclusion: Tiffara.
Tiffara was the only one in this place obsessed with hurting Isolde, and with Liraine gone today off with Nikhael, Tiffara was free to do whatever she wanted.
"Didn't Malric treat you?" Liraine asked gently, tending to the torn skin at the corner of Isolde's mouth. She also wanted to help with Isolde's shoulder, but she had no idea how to treat a dislocation.
"Malric was busy treating Tiffara," Isolde murmured, her voice soft and cracked. "I cut her forehead. Beside, I don't think your brother would've let him treat me anyway. This was my punishment."
Every word made her lip sting. Liraine exhaled shakily. "I won't leave you alone again. If Malric and my brother hadn't shown up when they did, your injuries could've been far worse than this."
Loraine was right; if Malric and Severin had arrived just a few minutes later, Tiffara might've succeeded in slashing Isolde's face with that shard of glass.
"But I want you to go, Lira. I need your help with something." Isolde took Liraine's hand, gently pulling it down from her wounded lip to rest in her lap.
"I want to know how my family is doing. I want you to go check on them, because there's no way I can get out of here to see them myself."
One of Liraine's brows arched. "Your family?"
Isolde nodded, her grip tightening around Liraine's fingers. "I want to know if my mother and sister are okay."
"Why do you care so much about your family's condition?"
"Because I need a reason to live," Isolde whispered. "If they're doing well… maybe that could be the motivation I need to survive this place. So I can see them again someday."
Lie.
She was lying. If her family were fine, Isolde would gladly end her misery here.
Because deep down, she knew that even if she got out of this place alive, she wouldn't have the face to see them again. Her pride was too immense, her shame even bigger.
Liraine looked at her with guilty eyes, realizing how much hope Isolde was placing in her.
Just because she'd been kind didn't mean she was ready to do everything Isolde asked.
"It's not that I don't want to help," Liraine said softly. "But I'm like a prisoner too. I can't leave without Nikhael's supervision."
She gently rubbed the back of Isolde's hand, hoping she'd understand. "You know Nikhael is one of Severin's most trusted men. Whatever I do, Nikhael will know about it—and he'll report it back to my brother."
And she was right. Liraine couldn't come and go as she pleased, especially since she had not traveled from Las Vegas to Canada. She'd need an airtight alibi, and neither Nikhael nor Severin would allow her to leave without a solid reason and heavy surveillance.
"What if we try contacting your family instead?" Liraine offered, trying to lift the gloom on Isolde's face since she couldn't give her what she truly wanted. Isolde's head suddenly snapped up, her eyes, once dim, now wide and hopeful.
Of course. Why hadn't she thought of that?
"But all calls here are monitored," Liraine warned quickly. "Security's insanely tight. If you call your family, my brother's men, who are in charge of monitoring everything, will definitely hear your entire conversation. Nothing here goes unmonitored." No wonder Lucien had such a hard time catching Severin red-handed.
"But, you could use one of the workers' phones," Liraine continued, a spark of possibility in her voice. "If you use mine, Severin will know right away. But if you use someone else's, they'll just think it's one of the workers missing their family."
Another flicker of hope was handed to her gently by Liraine. Isolde nodded, and Liraine immediately stood up. "Alright, then. I'll take care of it. I'll be back with what you need."
…