2

I thought the matter would finally settle after I made an example of that maid, but it was far from over.

 

I had begun to withdraw into my own private space, especially after one of Papa’s business partners turned his anger toward me. Everyone around me seems convinced that I abducted my own sister out of jealousy.

 

I can hardly believe it — and honestly, I find it laughable. Their accusations are completely meaningless and baseless.

 

And so here I am now, in a quiet, hidden spot, thankful that I managed to slip away from Zeb’s watchful eye.

 

“This is just how life goes. There is nothing I can do about foolish people,” I muttered, more as a daily reminder to myself than anything else. I tied my hair back securely and slipped on my earbuds.

 

I went for my morning run; it always brings me a sense of peace, away from all the people and problems I have to deal with.

 

For today, just for one day, I wanted to shut everything out. I hoped they would grant me this small freedom — because tomorrow, I would have to return to that hellish mansion again.

 

A bitter smile touched my lips as I passed a happy family out for a walk along my usual route.

 

People were already up and about so early. Then I remembered — it was Sunday. No wonder the streets were busy, and up ahead, I could see a church.

 

I wondered why it was that even those with simple lives looked so genuinely happy. Even if their clothes were plain and worn, and they did not look wealthy or polished, there was a warmth in them I could never understand.

 

I stood watching the crowds filing into the church. Outside stood a man dressed in white, looking like a priest, smiling warmly at everyone who passed.

 

He was handsome.

 

As the crowd began to thin, a small, ragged-looking child tugged at my sleeve. He looked dirty and pitiful.

 

“Miss, can you spare some change?” he asked, holding out his hand.

 

I patted my pockets, only to find I had nothing but a bank card tucked behind my phone. I scratched my head awkwardly.

 

“Would you accept a card?” I asked, realizing immediately how stupid that sounded.

 

Stupid, Vivianne Cora — who pays alms with a card?

 

I rolled my eyes and knelt to meet his gaze.

 

“I don’t have cash on me, but I can buy you food over there.” I pointed toward the 7‑Eleven store nearby.

 

“Pick whatever you want, and I’ll pay for it.”

 

His face lit up instantly, and he nodded eagerly. He followed closely behind me as I walked toward the entrance.

 

I pulled the door open, but the guard stopped the boy from entering. I stepped back immediately.

 

“He’s with me,” I said.

 

The guard looked skeptical, so I added sharply, “I’m treating him. If he’s with me, he is also a customer.”

 

“Of course, Ma’am, my apologies.” He stepped aside and let us in. I grabbed a shopping basket.

 

The boy wandered through the aisles, picking up mostly canned goods and instant meals. I added bread and bottled drinks to his choices.

 

He looked so happy, so I handed him a second basket. His eyes widened in surprise.

 

“Go ahead. Take everything you need.”

 

I stayed back, watching him choose his items. This was something I had never experienced with Papa — going shopping together, or having him buy me whatever I wanted. It was truly a sad thought.

 

“I’m done, Miss,” he said finally.

 

I carried both baskets to the counter, paid, and packed everything into two large bags.

 

“Where should we bring these?” I asked.

 

He pointed toward the side of the church, where two other small children were waiting.

 

We walked over, and I set the bags down before them.

 

“Next time, be careful who you trust,” I warned gently. “Don’t just go with strangers — some people may have bad intentions.”

 

As I stood up, I noticed a man standing behind me, watching me intently. I chose not to look back and simply started running again.

 

Why did I say that to them? I knew the answer. Papa has used children for his illegal dealings for years, and that is why I try my best to be kind to them. Even so, I knew this small act of kindness would never be enough to clear my conscience — because no matter what I do, my father is still a monster.

 

People couldn’t help but stare as I ran past them. Most eyes followed me wherever I went, until I finally left the busier streets behind.

 

Today, I had not worn my colored contact lenses. I was not at home, and Papa would not see me today anyway.

 

I passed the mall, circled around the town plaza, and headed toward my private condominium — a place Papa did not even know existed. I bought it myself, using money I earned from my own side work.

 

The elevator doors were just about to close when I stepped inside. Someone brushed past my shoulder, and my phone slipped, falling right into the narrow gap between the cabin and the shaft.

 

“Damn it!” I shouted, quickly turning to glare at the person who had bumped into me — only to freeze in surprise.

 

It was Arthur.

 

“What the hell are you doing here?” I wiped the sweat from my forehead roughly as the elevator began to rise.

 

“I’m sorry, Vivianne. Your father sent me. I’m just following orders,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. I could not hide how annoyed I was.

 

“Can’t you see what happened? My phone fell down there. My card was inside, and I haven’t backed up any of my data yet!” I snapped, growing even more frustrated when I realized he wasn’t even listening to my complaints.

 

“It’s fine. You can just buy a new one,” he replied, looking at me with a cold, unfeeling stare.

 

I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. That was not the point at all.

 

“Are you that thick?”

 

I didn’t finish my insult as the elevator doors opened onto my floor. Walking toward my unit, I saw the door was already wide open.

 

I hurried inside and found Papa standing on the balcony, his back turned to the room.

 

“Vivianne, are you trying to run away from me?” he asked without turning around, but his voice rang loud and clear — firm, authoritative, and full of anger. When was he ever not angry with me? I could barely remember.

 

“Why would I run away, Papa?” I replied.

 

He finally turned to face me, raising his swagger stick until it was level with my face.

 

“My men still insist that you are the one behind this. You were the last person with Nova, and now look at how you act — as if you really do have something to hide, as if you are the reason we cannot find her.”

 

I shook my head and moved to sit on the sofa.

 

“Did I give you permission to sit, Vivianne Cora?”

 

He hurled the stick at me; it grazed my arm as it struck the wall behind me.

 

I glanced over at Zeb, sitting in the corner of the living room. He looked beaten and bruised all over.

 

“Your so‑called protector is useless,” Papa shouted. “He didn’t know where you were, and you managed to slip right past him!”

 

He signaled to the men behind him, and four of them stepped forward to grab my arms.

 

“You are confined. You will not be allowed out of my sight again. I will lock you back inside the mansion. Too much freedom has poisoned your mind and turned you insolent.”

 

I did not struggle or resist their hold, but I stared back at Papa with unyielding fury — and he glared right back at me, just as fierce.

 

“Now, we are going home,” he said, before his men led me out.

 

---

 

I felt like a prisoner in my own home. Papa kept his word — I was confined to the mansion, and the training sessions became even harsher. It was no longer just Zeb following me around; now six elite guards watched my every move. Even when I went to the restroom, a female guard stood right outside the door.

 

I could not stand this lack of privacy. After every brutal training session, they would question me relentlessly, forcing me to confess to something I did not do. Only when I finally snapped and shouted in rage would they stop their interrogation.

 

This was no longer right. I felt like I could barely breathe inside my own home, and the anger inside me was ready to explode. Yet once I calmed down and repeated again and again that I knew nothing, I kept my true feelings locked deep inside.

 

“You keep ignoring your father’s wishes. Why can’t you just admit it?”

 

I turned my head slowly toward the guard who spoke. She was watching me even as I wiped sweat from my forehead.

 

“Can you just shut the hell up and do your job?” I snapped, flushing the toilet and stepping out.

 

“You’re just jealous,” she sneered.

 

I gasped, feigning shock, as if her words had struck a nerve. But my expression shifted instantly into a cold, dangerous glare.

 

“I am still the daughter of Vladimir Devali — and who are you?” I asked, stepping closer. “Just another elite guard, nothing more.”

 

Before she could answer, I kicked her square in the jaw. She stumbled backward and fell onto the sofa, clutching her now‑crooked nose.

 

“Speak to me with disrespect one more time, and I will feed you to the sharks.”

 

I pulled a dagger from behind my back and drove it hard into the cushion right beside her thigh. She screamed as the blade sank deep into the fabric. None of the other guards dared move — they were clearly terrified.

 

I was at my limit. Why should I have to tolerate being insulted by someone who worked for my father? This was not the treatment I had endured and suffered for all these years.

 

Without knocking, I pushed open the door to Papa’s study. He sat behind his desk in his swivel chair, looking as if he had expected me to come barging in.

 

“This has gone too far,” I said, my voice sharp and loud. “You let your people disrespect me, invade my privacy, and even talk back to my face?”

 

Papa leaned back, clearly surprised by my tone.

 

“Watch your tongue, Vivianne —”

 

“No, Papa. This is no longer discipline — this is torture over something I had nothing to do with! I have never once thought of being jealous or angry toward Nova… though now, I admit, I am angry!”

 

I paused, catching my breath, my hands gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned white.

 

“I am angry that Nova left all these burdens behind and ran away, while I am the one suffering for a problem that is not even mine.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Why are you so unfair? Am I really even your daughter?”

 

The words spilled out before I could stop them. Papa remained silent, still in shock that I was shouting right at him.

 

“You are truly unpredictable, Vivianne,” he said at last. He stood up, opened the drawer of his desk, and took out a handgun, laying it flat on the surface.

 

“You hate being disrespected, yet look at what you are doing right now — shouting at me, questioning how I raise you.”

 

“I do not deserve this kind of treatment! I have done nothing wrong —”

 

“Shut your mouth, ungrateful child! I am not finished speaking!” Papa roared, his voice echoing loudly through the room.

 

“You just need to prove to me that you are not involved.”

 

“But you never listen! You never let me speak, and you have never once tried to understand me! I am so tired of this family, this situation, and this life!” My voice was heavy with disappointment.

 

This was not the life I deserved — not after all I had endured, not after always obeying every order.

 

“This is not a life at all — it is just endless misery. My misery.”

 

Papa simply laughed, shaking his head as he poured himself a glass of whiskey.

 

“If you believe the life I have given you is nothing but misery, then go ahead and end it.”

 

He took a slow sip. Just as I expected — he did not take my words seriously. When had he ever listened to anything I said?

 

Never. Not once.

 

Nova was the only person I had ever truly had, and even she left me — abandoned me, letting me face all of this alone.

 

She promised she would protect me, but now she was gone, nowhere to be found.

 

I stepped forward, reached across the desk, and picked up the gun. It was already loaded, and the bullets were plated in gold — Papa’s favorite kind.

 

“Yes… maybe this is the only way to end my misery.”

 

I raised the gun and pressed the barrel against my temple, then began to squeeze the trigger.

 

But I did not fall. I did not lose consciousness. Zeb was right beside me, grabbing my wrist and yanking my arm away just in time. The bullet grazed my forearm — a shallow wound, but painful enough.

 

“You think pulling stunts like this will change how I see you, Vivianne Cora?” Papa asked, his voice cold and calm, as if he had not just witnessed an attempt on my own life.

 

“Cora, remember what your true purpose in this family is. Yet here you are, spouting nonsense and throwing dramatic words in my face?”

 

Zeb held my arm tightly as Papa stepped closer, leaning down until his mouth was near my ear.

 

“Stop acting like a spoiled child just because you are being watched. Do whatever you want now — but know this: I no longer expect anything good from you. You are the greatest disappointment my bloodline has ever produced.”

 

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone once more.