"Abigail, you're finally awake. Does anything hurt?"
He wiped the corner of his eye and gave me a gentle smile.
We stared at each other in silence for a long moment before I spoke, my voice hoarse.
"Where's Grandpa? I need to see him."
His gaze shifted away, refusing to meet mine.
"You have no idea how worried I was about you. As long as you're okay, that's all that matters. Really."
I looked around the room and immediately realized this wasn't our home.
I struggled to sit up, my fingers trembling as I grabbed my clothes and threw them on haphazardly, ready to leave.
"You're always saying I never have time for you, aren't you?"
He caught my arm, his tone gentle yet brooking no argument.
"Just stay here and rest for a few days, okay? I won't let anyone disturb us."
His grip was iron-tight around my arm. I pried his fingers off and looked him straight in the eye.
"Charles, please let me see Grandpa. He raised me. It's been just the two of us my whole life."
"He means everything to me. I'm begging you—just let me see him once."
"Now isn't the right time."
His voice remained patient, measured.
"Calm down for a few days first. I'll take you to see him soon."
But this was Grandpa.
The person closest to me in this entire world.
My eyes burned with unshed tears as I lowered myself the way I always had, pleading softly.
"Please, just this once. If you're worried, come with me."
After a moment of silence, he frowned and slowly shook his head, his tone firmer than I'd ever heard it.
"Don't make a scene. When the time is right, I'll let you go see him."
In that moment, something inside me died.
No matter what reason I gave, Charles refused without wavering.
He was going to keep me here. Trapped in this invisible cage.
But my grandfather was still waiting for me.
"Abigail, didn't you always want to sketch me?"
He suddenly changed the subject, his voice softening.
"There's paper and pencils in the study. I'll go get them."
A few minutes later, he sat carefully across from me and struck a pose.
When we were dating, I used to draw his portrait almost every month.
Maybe it was because he was so handsome. Maybe it was because I loved him. Either way, my sketches of him always seemed to come alive, as if they had souls of their own.
"Why haven't you started?"
His voice pulled me back from my memories.
I forced myself to focus.
By the time I finished, I was drenched in sweat.
He studied the portrait, then looked at me, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned in to kiss my cheek.
The phone on the nightstand suddenly buzzed.
I glanced over. It was Freya.
He got up and stepped outside to answer.
"Alright, I'll be there soon. But I only have two hours—I need to get back to Abigail."
Once he was sure I was asleep, he slipped out quietly and closed the door behind him.
The sound of the car engine faded into the distance before I finally struggled to sit up.
After getting dressed, I went straight to the study.
I searched every corner meticulously. Any chance to gather evidence against Freya—I wasn't going to let it slip away.
Finally, beneath the safe, I found the USB flash drive from that day.
My fingers trembled as I plugged it into the computer. The footage loaded bit by bit.
A few seconds of video stretched into an eternity.
On the screen, Grandpa stood guard by the machinery—and was brutally beaten.
Tears streamed down my face.
I hid the evidence inside my clothes and hurried out.
The truth deserved to see the light.
But the moment I stepped through the front door, I ran straight into Charles and Freya.
"Where do you think you're going this late?"
He frowned and walked toward me, his gaze sweeping over me with cold indifference.
"Still haven't given up? You're all alone. What could you possibly do to fight me?"
My voice was steady.
