He knew the blade he had driven into me left no room for escape. No chance to breathe, no path to survival.
To clear the way for Amara, the brother who once stood before our parents’ graves and swore to protect me for a lifetime had been the one to deliver my doom.
And Juliette, the friend I once called a sister, had chosen to betray me for the sake of that manipulative adopted girl.
At this moment, I could no longer tell who was truly my brother’s flesh and blood nor who had been Juliette’s inseparable best friend for twelve years.
Even their marriage, I had arranged it myself.
Yet, they had destroyed me with lies, deceit, and merciless betrayal.
I felt nothing. My heart had died long before my body followed.
I no longer spoke.
A doctor approached, holding a bottle of antiseptic, his gaze filled with pity as he took in the sight of my mangled limbs and bloodied wounds.
"Miss Murphy, the specialists haven’t arrived yet. We’ll need to disinfect your wounds first. Please bear with it."
No amount of anesthesia could dull the agony. My teeth clenched so hard that my gums bled, flooding my mouth with the metallic taste of iron.
But the physical pain was nothing.
Not compared to the devastation that hollowed out my soul.
Juliette pressed her hands over her mouth, her eyes welling with tears she had no right to shed.
My brother clenched his fists before abruptly rising to his feet. His back trembled, his movements stiff and unsteady as he turned and walked away.
Their concern seemed almost real, convincing, and flawlessly performed, yet I could no longer feel even a shred of warmth from them.
By the time I opened my eyes again, daylight had already spilled into the sterile walls of the hospital room.
From outside, muffled voices drifted through the door.
"Honey, Camila’s condition is already so severe. Do we really have to call the reporters today and expose her for promiscuity?"
Juliette's voice was hesitant, almost wavering.
A brief silence followed before my brother spoke, his tone firm, certain.
"Yes. She’s already filthy; what’s a little more dirt? Those medical research judges despise scandal. This is the perfect chance to ruin her credibility once and for all. I’m doing this for her own good."
As if betrayal could ever be painted as kindness.
Then, as though he hadn’t just sentenced me to ruin, he reminded her carefully, "Make sure the specialists are ready. Once the reporters leave, they can start treating her immediately."
Juliette nodded without hesitation.
I lay there motionless, staring blankly at the ceiling, my chest hollowed out by something far worse than pain.
Scalding tears traced silent paths down my face.
He knew I had been switched at birth. He knew I had suffered endlessly. He knew I had clawed my way up, working ten times harder than anyone else just to become a pharmaceutical researcher.
Yet, with a single sentence, he crushed everything I had spent half my life building.
Had I known that returning to this so-called family would be worse than death, I would have chosen to let my adoptive mother beat me to death back then.
An hour later, the door burst open. A swarm of reporters flooded in.
They swarmed in, cameras flashing, microphones thrust forward, their voices like the screeches of bloodthirsty bats. Men and women alike rushed toward me, their eyes gleaming with hunger for a story to tear apart.
My breath hitched. My body froze. A deathly pallor spread across my face.
"Miss Murphy, we heard you ended up in the hospital due to excessive promiscuity. Would you say this is karma? How do you feel right now?"
"Miss Murphy, with a reputation like yours, how did you become a pharmaceutical researcher? Did you sleep your way to the top?"
"Miss Murphy, you can’t even move. Are you completely crippled? Have you lost control of your bodily functions?"
Before I could process their venomous words, a hand lunged forward.
In an instant, the thin blanket covering me was ripped away.
A violent shudder tore through me. I couldn’t even lift my arms to shield myself.
Because of my wounds, I hadn’t been able to wear any clothes.
Humiliation crashed over me like a tidal wave, drowning the air from my lungs. My breaths turned ragged, strangled.
"Oh god, this is disgusting! Look at all those wounds!"
"Her limbs are deformed. Hurry, take pictures. This is prime material!"
Their contempt sliced into me like a thousand jagged blades, each word a fresh wound, each laugh a deeper cut.
Tears streamed down my face, hot and endless.
"Miss Murphy, are you refusing to answer because we hit the nail on the head? Were you just born to be a whore?"
