Chapter 3

Selena's POV

The next afternoon, I went to the music room alone.

I hadn't touched a piano in years. Over the last eight years, to match Harrison’s tastes, I had taken up oil painting because he loved art, learned golf because he played, and abandoned the piano—the one thing I truly adored. Now that I was leaving, I wanted to reclaim a piece of myself.

Sitting on the bench, I lifted the lid. The instrument had fallen out of tune from disuse. Patiently, I took out my tuning tools, adjusting the pins key by key. Sunlight poured through the French windows, washing over me in a quiet, cool glow.

Suddenly, the door swung open, shattering the peace.

Pearl walked in, clutching Harrison’s hand. The moment Harrison caught sight of me, his posture stiffened. Discreetly, he pulled his hand away from Pearl’s grasp.

I caught the subtle motion, but only a faint, tired smirk crossed my lips. I couldn't even muster the energy to mock him.

"Oh, you're here too," Pearl said, her smile faltering for a beat before she tugged affectionately at Harrison’s sleeve. "Harrison, do you remember? Before I went missing, you promised we'd play 'Für Elise' together. That was our special promise."

Harrison gazed at the grand piano, a soft nostalgia warming his eyes. He turned to me, his tone smooth yet entirely cold. "Selena, could you give us some space? I'd like to play a piece with Pearl."

He didn't even bother offering to let me stay. He was simply throwing me out.

I didn't look at him. I stood up and reached out to lower the fallboard. Out of habit, my fingers lightly brushed across the black and white keys.

The instant my pads slid over middle C, an agonizing, sharp pain tore through my hand.

"Ah!"

I jerked my hand back, gasping.

Bright red blood welled up instantly from my index and middle fingers, dripping onto the pristine white keys. Looking closely, I saw razor-thin utility blades wedged maliciously between the keys in the center octave. Anyone pressing down with force—or gliding their fingers across like I just did—would have their flesh sliced open.

"What happened?!" Harrison’s expression shifted, and he rushed forward.

At that exact moment, Pearl let out a bloodcurdling scream. Stumbling backward in sheer terror, she clamped both hands over her mouth, staring at me in horrified disbelief. "Blades... Selena, why would you put razor blades inside the piano?!"

She burst into tears, ducking straight behind Harrison. "Harrison, did she know we were coming here to play? Did she plant those blades to ruin my hands?! How could she be so evil..."

I clamped my bleeding hand, crimson seeping through my fingers and pooling on the polished hardwood. Looking at Pearl’s flawless performance, I didn't even care to defend myself.

I had only tuned the lower register on the left; I hadn't even reached the center yet. If I had planted them, why would I slice my own fingers open?

Logic, however, was entirely lost on Harrison. He looked from the blood on the keys to the shaking girl clinging to him, and his face turned to stone.

"Selena Vance." Harrison raised his head, the usual gentleness in his eyes completely replaced by raw disgust and disappointment. "I thought you were just jealous of Pearl. I never imagined you were this vicious. To stop her from playing music with me, you stooped to this? Slicing your own hand—was that supposed to clear you of suspicion?"

I stared at him in silence, as if looking at a total stranger.

"Harrison," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly from the pain. "Is that really what you think of me?"

"What else am I supposed to think?" Harrison snapped, his glare icy. "You are a complete disappointment. You need to learn a lesson. If you ever try to hurt Pearl again, I won't let it slide."

With that, he scooped up the "traumatized" Pearl in his arms and strode out of the music room without looking back once. Not a single word about getting a bandage for my bleeding hand.

I stood alone in the quiet room. The blood on my fingertips had begun to congeal into a dark crust. But compared to the physical sting, the ache in my chest felt like a gaping wound, cold wind howling straight through it.

Eight years of devotion, and not a single shred of trust to show for it.

That night, the Vance mansion was lit up like a fortress.

Arthur gripped a rattan cane as thick as a child's forearm. Rebecca sat weeping on the sofa, while Pearl hovered near the landing of the stairs, a smug, faint smirk playing on her lips.

"Get on your knees!" Arthur’s shout reverberated through the grand foyer.

I walked over and knelt down stiffly on the cold marble floor. The dried blood was still crusted over my bare, unbandaged fingers.

"We took you in and raised you for eight years, and this is how you repay us?!" Arthur trembled with fury. "Your sister suffered out there for nearly a decade, and not only do you refuse to show her grace, you try to cripple her hands! You ungrateful wretch!"

*Crack!*

The cane whistled through the air, striking my back with brutal force. The thin fabric of my loungewear tore instantly, and a burning welt swelled beneath the skin.

I bit my lower lip hard, not letting out a single sound.

*Crack!* Another blow landed.

"Do you admit your wrongdoing?!" Arthur roared.

Cold sweat beaded across my forehead. I lifted my chin, my gaze clear and unyielding. "I didn't do it. I have nothing to admit."

"You dare talk back?!"

The blows rained down like hail. I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms. I knew Harrison was staying in the guest room on the second floor tonight; I had even heard the faint click of his door opening down the hall.

Yet he never came down.

He stood in the shadows, silently endorsing this one-sided brutality as a fitting punishment for my "crime" against Pearl. Thirty strikes. The pain pushed me to the brink of blacking out, my back soaked in blood.

"That's enough for tonight! Go kneel out in the garden and think about what you've done! If you can't see your error, don't bother eating!" Arthur hurled the cane aside and marched upstairs, breathing heavily.

Forcing myself off the floor, I dragged my heavy legs toward the garden. In the dark, I counted the days in my head.

Thirteen days left.

Almost there.