Chapter 1

I was tortured for three whole years in an underground prison camp in an overseas war zone.

It wasn't until I was barely clinging to life that a man I knew all too well pushed open the door.

Francis Henson walked in with his arm around his secretary, Brenda Summers, his tone offhand.

"Keep her breathing. Don't play her to death. I still want to take her home."

Brenda laughed prettily, swinging a set of luxury car keys in her hand.

"Mr. Henson, she always used to sneer that I had no education, that I wasn't fit to be seen in public."

"I'd love to see how high and mighty she is now."

Francis let out a cold laugh.

"To let you get even, I spent thirty million buying up this mercenary camp and staged this whole kidnapping."

"Those torture tools were all custom-made. Only pain, no risk to her life. It cost me quite a bit of effort."

I looked at my own broken body, closed my eyes in despair, and died in that bitter winter.

But after I died, why did he kneel before my grave and weep until he went blind?

1

The mercenary yanked me by the hair, dragging me out of the dark cell.

But I couldn't feel any pain.

Because my soul had already left this broken body and was drifting coldly in midair.

My face was caked with dried blood, my clothes long since torn to rags, the exposed skin covered in whip marks and burns.

All ten fingers were crudely wrapped in rough gauze, blood already soaking through it.

Francis stood outside the iron gate.

He pressed a white silk handkerchief over his nose and mouth, brows drawn tight.

"Get her out here. The smell in this place is unbearable."

The mercenary leader nudged my stiff leg with his foot.

"Mr. Henson, she doesn't seem to be breathing."

Francis didn't even lift an eyelid.

"Playing dead is her specialty. Don't bother with her."

"When she left three years ago without a word, she should have known this day would come."

"Wrap her in a blanket and throw her in the cargo box in the back."

"Don't let her filthy blood ruin my seats."

Brenda leaned into Francis's arms, fanning the air in front of her face in disgust.

"Mr. Henson, she reeks. She's all slop and blood."

"Do we really have to bring her back?"

"If the media back home catches a picture of this, it'll hit the company's share price too hard."

Francis patted her shoulder gently, his voice turning soft.

"We'll do it your way. Take her to the medical station nearby first."

"Once she's cleaned up and has learned how to be an obedient wife, we'll bring her back home."

The mercenary leader took a heart stimulant syringe out of the medical kit.

"Mr. Henson, her condition is very bad. She needs this injection right now."

Brenda strode over and snatched the syringe out of his hand.

"Wait. She's just pretending to be passed out, trying to win sympathy."

"If we give her the drug now, wouldn't all the punishment before this be wasted?"

"Mr. Henson said it himself. She has to remember this lesson for good, so she never runs again."

The mercenary leader hesitated, turning to look at Francis.

Francis rubbed his temples, a little impatient.

"Enough. If Brenda says no, then no."

"She's plenty healthy. She was a long-distance running champion back in school. She won't die."

The mercenary leader opened his mouth as if to say something.

He crouched down and reached out to feel my carotid artery.

It had long gone cold, with no pulse at all.

Brenda leaned in close to the leader and lowered her voice.

"The balance will be wired to your account this afternoon. Plus another five million."

"You know very well what should be said and what shouldn't."

The leader looked at the bank card Brenda held out to him and shut his mouth at once.

He waved a hand, signaling his men to carry me away.

Francis had already turned around and was striding toward the off-road vehicle parked in the yard.

He didn't even glance back at me once.

Brenda trotted after him, a triumphant smile on her face.

The leader took out his phone, snapped a photo of me being lifted onto the truck, and sent it to Francis.

In the photo, one of my hands hung limp over the edge of the wooden board, all ten fingers a bloody mess.

Francis sat in the back seat, looked at the photo on his phone, and gave a cold laugh.

"Once she's back home, lock her up in the suburban mansion."

"She's not allowed out without my permission."

"I'll grind that temper out of her myself."

Brenda turned her head, her voice sweet and cloying.

"Mr. Henson, you're so good to me."

"Now her ladyship should never dare look down on me again."

Francis closed his eyes, his voice low.

"She has no right to look down on you."

Cold wind blew across the desolate camp. I couldn't feel the cold, but I felt lighter than I ever had.

I would never have to face him again.