When Yasmine woke up, she was already at the Third Hospital.
The first thing that hit her was the stench—thick, nauseating, and impossible to ignore.
It didn't take long for her to realize this wasn't a hospital for the elderly.
It was a psychiatric ward.
And she wasn't here to "take care of" anyone—she was trapped among a group of unstable, violent men.
The first time, one of them cornered her, she screamed until her voice broke.
A rough hand clamped over her mouth, a long rope wound around her neck, tightening until her vision blurred.
Someone laughed as she choked for air. Another struck her across the face—once, twice, again.
Pills she couldn't identify were shoved between her lips and down her throat until she gagged.
For half a month, she lived like that—in a haze of bruises and fear, her reality warped by trauma and drugs.
She stopped knowing what was real and what was a hallucination.
So when Joaquin finally appeared before her, she thought it was another cruel dream.
"How did you end up like this?" His voice carried disgust more than concern.
He took a step back, his expression twisting at the sight of her—hair matted and yellowed, clothes filthy and stiff with dried stains, her lips pale and cracked, her body reduced to skin and bone.
Yasmine half-opened her eyes, staring past him with empty indifference.
Joaquin frowned and stepped forward, but Annie quickly ran up to clutch his arm. "See? Isn't this pitiful look exactly what she wanted—to make you feel sorry for her?"
Joaquin paused. The disgust in his gaze deepened. "Annie's experiment results were successfully published today," he said coldly. "She insisted we bring you back for the celebration banquet."
Yasmine's stomach turned at the thought, but he didn't spare her a glance.
Two bodyguards grabbed her arms and shoved her into a separate car.
'It was finally over,' she thought.
At the hotel, she cleaned up as best she could and changed into a dress.
Just as she opened the door to leave, Annie stepped in front of her, blocking the way.
"After everything those lunatics did to you, you still have the nerve to live?"
Her voice was dripping with venom. "You know that medicine I fed your daughter? It causes suffocation. I heard you have asthma too. Those pills they forced down your throat—didn't they taste familiar? Too bad they didn't finish the job."
Yasmine didn't flinch. She clutched her phone tighter, eyes flicking to the message on her screen.
[Someone's waiting downstairs to take you to the airport.]
Her gaze slid toward the open hotel window, her tone suddenly turned calm—almost mocking.
"So... did you get what you wanted?"
Annie's expression darkened.
Yasmine leaned casually against the window frame, her voice low but edged with challenge.
"You schemed so much, but in the end, Joaquin and I still share the same marriage certificate. He only asked me to apologize to you—did he ever say he'd divorce me?"
She smiled faintly. "In his heart, you'll always be the outsider. I'm his wife."
Annie's face twisted with fury.
"He told me," Yasmine added, her tone light but cutting, "once he helps you finish that research report, he'll cut ties with you completely."
Annie snapped. She lunged forward, fingers digging cruelly into Yasmine's shoulders.
"You bitch!"
Yasmine met her glare with a smirk. "So what? As long as I'm alive, you'll never take my place."
“What, are you planning to kill me now?”
Annie’s laughter grew wild.
“Kill you? Yes. Once you’re dead, Joaquin's wife’s position will be empty, and no one will come between us again!"
"Besides, your half-dead daughter and dying mother will be joining you soon. I might as well send you all together. Joaquin trusts me completely—he’ll never suspect a thing!”
Then she violently shoved her.
Yasmine's body tipped backward, her feet slipping off the edge. The world spun.
The wind roared. Her hair whipped across her face. For a fleeting second, she smiled.
'So this is what freedom feels like,' she murmured.
As she fell, she didn't hit the pavement.
She landed on a soft air cushion, and the next second, a pair of strong hands helped her up.
Her rescuers—hired bodyguards—hurried her into a car waiting nearby.
When the plane lifted into the night sky, Yasmine looked out through the small window.
Below her, the city lights of San Diego flickered faintly in the darkness.
For the first time in years, her chest felt light.
She could finally breathe again. She could finally leave this place that had trapped her for so long.
