Chapter 3

I held Lily's hand as we walked up the stairs, step by step.

On the top floor, the tiny apartment with the leaking ceiling was my home.

But tonight, two figures, one tall and one short, were waiting at my door.

Seeing me, Christian immediately stubbed out his cigarette under his shoe.

He knew I hated the smell of smoke.

Back when we were together, he never cared. I didn't expect that after five years, he would suddenly remember.

"Evelyn... have you really been living in a place like this all these years?"

I walked past him calmly.

I unlocked the door, walked inside, and immediately took off our wet coats before heading into the kitchen to make some hot cocoa.

The apartment was tiny.

With two extra people standing at the threshold, it felt suffocating.

Lily stood like a little guard at the doorway, glaring viciously at the father and son, refusing to let them take a single step inside.

Her gaze was filled with pure, unadulterated hostility.

I didn't know how much of my past she truly understood.

I didn't know how much her little heart ached for me.

But I knew I didn't want a seven-year-old child's eyes to be consumed by hatred.

I ruffled Lily's hair, handed her a warm mug of cocoa, and told her to drink up.

Then, I looked up at the two people at the door, my tone completely indifferent.

"Mr. Vance, please leave."

"I won't press charges against your son for stealing my daughter's wallet. Just keep a leash on him, and make sure he never bothers my daughter again."

Hearing the words "your son," the little boy's eyes instantly welled up with tears.

He hung his head, trying to hide his crying face from me.

I saw it.

But my hand still gripped the doorknob, preparing to close the door.

Christian reached out, blocking the door frame.

His gaze locked onto the horrific, jagged scar on my left cheek. Suddenly, he whispered,

"Evelyn... are you refusing to let me in because you still hate me?"

Hate him?

Seven years ago, the Evelyn who had just escaped the basement hated him to the bone.

Five years ago, the Evelyn whose face was personally slashed by Christian hated him so much her eyes turned red with blood.

But now, five years of quiet obscurity had washed everything away.

Time had numbed the pain.

I realized I didn't even hate him anymore. To me, Christian Vance was nothing more than a stranger.

Seeing the utter coldness in my eyes, Christian's own eyes turned red.

He bowed his head, his voice trembling.

"Evelyn... how can you not even hate me..."

After escaping the basement, I played Chloe's double for two years.

By then, I had already gone completely numb.

But Chloe wasn't satisfied.

To her, the fact that Christian brought me gifts every time he returned from a trip, and the fact that he would sit silently with me for hours on my birthday, was an insult.

She tolerated it for two years before she snapped.

She drove out to the suburban villa, came to my room, and with a sweet smile, told me a devastating truth.

She said, "When you were locked in that basement, Evelyn, your parents were actually still alive."

She said she used my face to lure them onto a yacht, promising them a cruise, and took them out to international waters.

She said, "Evelyn, you have no idea how hilarious their faces looked when I pushed them into the ocean."

"Even as they drowned, they died believing that you were the one who murdered them."

It took a long time for those words to register in my brain.

And then, my dead heart began to throb with an agonizing, suffocating pain.

I remembered when I first learned to ride a bike. My dad had canceled a multi-million-dollar board meeting just to hold the back of my seat, running alongside me to make sure I didn't fall.

My mom had stood by with her camera, filming my clumsy progress,

and when I eventually tumbled, she had rushed over to wrap me in her warm embrace, kissing my scraped knees.

All those precious memories flashed before my eyes.

I completely snapped.

I grabbed the fruit knife on the table and lunged at Chloe like a feral beast.

But she was prepared. She immediately ran out the door, throwing herself behind Christian, trembling and sobbing hysterically.

"Christian, she's trying to kill me!"

"What... what did I do wrong...?"

Christian easily disarmed me, pinning my arms behind my back, his eyes completely devoid of warmth.

"Evelyn, do you want to go back to the asylum?"

He ordered the guards to lock me in my room while he stayed outside, softly comforting Chloe.

My eyes were red with fury.

I broke free, grabbed the knife from the floor, and swung it wildly at Chloe.

Blood splattered across my face.

Christian had stepped in to shield Chloe. I had sliced clean through his pinky finger, and blood was gushing out.

I ran.

That afternoon, many people saw a blood-drenched woman running through the streets in sheer terror.

Later, Christian personally committed me to a high-security private asylum.

He had lost his pinky finger, but he used a blade to destroy my face in return.

"Evelyn, you shouldn't have run that day."

"People saw two Evelyns, one tending to me in the hospital, and one running like a maniac on the streets."

"Chloe needs that face to survive. You don't."

"Once your face heals, I'll bring you back to the estate."