Chapter 3

I was sent to Greenhill Hospital, a hospital owned by Byron Henson. Just as Marcella Henson had said, everything was under his control.

The first night there, I got a message from Marcella.

She had moved into the old Henson estate, taken over my room, and thrown out everything in my collection.

Her excuse was that I was too dark, that those paintings weren't healthy.

The second night, she posted a set of photos, saying she was afraid of thunder and only felt safe next to her brother.

On the third night, Byron threw a welcome dinner for her, preparing gifts for every birthday she'd had from age one to twenty-three. He said out loud that she was his only sister.

"..."

I sank to the floor, clutching my phone, trembling.

I'd been abandoned again.

But my chest didn't hurt as much this time.

Some sound came from outside the door.

"A fake is a fake. Now that the real sister is back, what's the point of keeping this mute around?"

"Shh, don't let her hear you. You don't know this, but this mute has plenty of blood on her hands! The anti-crime crackdown should throw her in prison."

Tears slid from my eyes. I hadn't cried in years.

I had believed Byron's words, and it left me battered and broken.

I had naively thought we were each other's only one. I believed his lies, and was dragged into an endless abyss of darkness.

Just then,

a thick smell of smoke choked its way in.

"Fire! Put it out, quick!"

The fire spread fast, engulfing my whole room in an instant.

I heard people talking, saying they wanted to burn me, the murderer, alive.

"She killed my daughter! If I don't burn her alive, how am I supposed to avenge my daughter?"

"Letting her live it up in the mental hospital—the law can't punish her, so I will!"

I was choking, nearly passing out, searching for a way out.

And I unexpectedly saw Byron.

He rushed upstairs, but he didn't come looking for me.

The scalding iron door was almost searing my flesh open.

"Brother? Save me."

It was Marcella's voice.

Just as I finally managed to grab the hem of Byron's clothes, Marcella let out a faint cry for help.

"Claire, wait for me. Her leg is hurt and she can't get out. Brother... will be back soon."

My throat was raw from the smoke and my hands were burned, but I didn't make a single gesture. I just clung to the hem of his clothes and wouldn't let go.

The fire was too much, and suddenly Byron snapped at me: "Stop it, would you? Marcella only got dragged into this because she came to see you."

He said I should be more sensible and not drag innocent people into it.

If this dragged on any longer, we'd all die here.

He pushed me away without hesitation and carried Marcella out to safety.

I couldn't tell which way was which anymore. I could only stumble along on survival instinct, the fire spreading up after me.

By the time I got out, I was a human torch, most of my body burned.

"Save her..."

"Why save her? She's a murderer. She deserves to burn to death."

"But Mr. Henson will blame us."

I lay on the ground, barely alive, and all I heard them say was that Byron only cared about his real sister.

"Miss Henson only got a scrape, and Mr. Henson is that worried. Blood ties never lie."

"Leave her. Whether she lives or dies is her fate. It's her own fault for what she owes those families."

It hurt so much.

The pain in my heart was worse than the pain on my body!