KLOE POV:
A high-pitched, inhuman scream tore from Delano Castro's throat.
He scrambled off me, clutching his groin as his body curled onto the floor, folding into a tight ball. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead, plastering his dark hair against his skin. He gasped for breath, his face twisted into a mask of agony.
I rolled off the bed and put distance between us. My limbs trembled uncontrollably, the drugs still lingering in my system, while memories from my previous life flashed through my mind like shards of broken glass—cold, sharp, and painfully clear.
I curled my fingers, feeling the strength of a fifteen-year-old girl's body. A body that had never been starved, beaten, or broken. A body capable of fighting back.
"You bitch!" Delano choked out between ragged breaths. "How dare a worthless piece of trash like you do this to me? My family will never let you get away with it!"
A smile without warmth touched my lips. I walked to the bedside table and picked up the heavy crystal ashtray. It felt solid and satisfying in my palm.
I moved toward him, my heels sinking into the soft carpet. Every quiet step seemed to echo through the silent room, like the ticking countdown to the end of his arrogance.
The ashtray rose high into the air, and as it came down, his threats turned into whimpers. His eyes, wide with pain and fear, finally realized that the girl standing before him was not the timid, fragile Kloe Howe from the rumors.
I knelt beside him, the cold crystal ashtray pressed against his sweat-soaked cheek. I gently tapped his face with it.
"Who sent you?" I asked, my voice low and steady.
His eyes darted frantically around the room, looking anywhere but at me. He feared Candace more than he feared me, so he would never willingly expose her.
Unfortunately, he had made the wrong choice.
I didn't waste another word. I slammed the ashtray onto the floor beside his head. The crystal exploded apart with a sound like a gunshot. A transparent shard grazed his ear, leaving behind a thin line of blood.
He convulsed violently, and a pathetic scream escaped his mouth.
"Candace!" he sobbed. "It was Candace's plan! She wanted to humiliate you!"
I already knew that, just like last time. But this time, the rules of the game had changed completely.
I glanced at the clock running on the mantelpiece. I didn't have much time left. Candace and her audience could arrive at any moment.
I stood and walked to the full-length mirror. My reflection stared back at me—young, vibrant, with green eyes burning with a vitality I had not possessed for years. I quickly smoothed down my dress and pulled the torn corset together as best I could. I ran my fingers through my hair, messing it up until it looked like I had been frightened.
I turned to look at the groveling worm on the floor and let out a contemptuous snort.
"Your jacket," I ordered. "Take it off."
He fumbled clumsily with the buttons, his hands shaking so badly that he couldn't undo them. Impatiently, I tore the jacket off him myself. Using one of the decorative cords from the curtains, I tightly bound his hands behind his back. Then I ripped a strip from the linen bedsheets and stuffed it into his mouth, silencing his whimpering.
I had just finished when I heard hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway. Arriving before Candace herself was her shrill voice filled with fake concern.
"My sister! Are you in there? I heard you weren't feeling well!"
A cold smile of triumph appeared on my face. I let it linger for a single second before wiping every trace of emotion away.
I walked toward the door and listened carefully.
The doorknob rattled violently, and it was locked. Good.
The knocking grew more frantic, and the voice more urgent.
"Kloe! Open the door! Are you okay?" It was Jesse Ellis, Candace's loyal lapdog.
I took a deep breath and controlled my expression. I summoned every fear I had ever felt, every moment of helplessness I had endured. I let it wash over me completely, filling my eyes with unshed tears and making my body tremble.
I disguised myself as a frightened prey animal.
The door shuddered as a shoulder slammed into it from the other side.
I stepped backward and pressed myself against the far wall. I drew my knees to my chest, making myself look small and vulnerable.
The door burst open with the sound of splintering wood.
Candace charged inside, her crowd of sycophantic followers close behind her. Their faces were a mixture of fake concern and greedy anticipation, eager to witness the humiliation of the most prestigious princess of the Howe family.
But what awaited them was nothing like what they had expected.
They saw me, my clothes mostly intact, curled up in a corner and trembling with "fear."
And on the floor, they saw Delano Castro—bound, gagged, and writhing silently in pain.
