The Scars She Hid From The World

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.

Modern Revenge Scheming Kickass Heroine Comeback Revenge

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Chapter 1

The cobblestone was cold, and my clothes had been torn to shreds by four men. I clung desperately to the remaining fabric, curling up to prevent them from ripping away my last shred of dignity.

A crowd had gathered around me, watching my humiliation with eager eyes and discussing it with relish.

"I heard she used to be the top performer at Moonview, insisting she would only perform, not sell her body."

"Look at that figure, much more alluring than any courtesan."

"This Laura is truly a beauty. If she hadn't offended Krista, with her prideful nature, we wouldn't have the pleasure of this spectacle today."

"Poor Laura. She worked as a performing artist to support Andrew's studies, but once he became the top scholar of the nation, he turned his back on her and climbed up to the princess..."

"Are you crazy? How dare you say that!" someone nearby whispered urgently.

"Her skin is so fair. If I could just touch it, it would be heavenly."

"And that slender waist, I heard dancers are very flexible, they can do any position."

The lewd comments pierced me like daggers. The crowd's heads bobbed in front of me, some laughing obscenely, others pointing at me, watching my torment as if it were a show.

Yes, death. I wished for death more than anything.

Death would be a release.

Death would turn me into a vengeful spirit, seeking retribution from Andrew and that woman.

I forced my head up, glaring at Krista and Andrew sitting on the high platform.

Krista's lips curled into a smile as she teasingly touched Andrew's face. Andrew, with his eyes closed, trembled uncontrollably.

"Andrew, if she becomes a woman everyone can mistreat, you won't think of her anymore, will you?"

"She's been seen by thousands now. Who would want her in the future?"

Andrew's hands were bloodied from clenching them so tightly. He crawled on his knees to Krista, pressing his forehead to her feet. "My heart belongs only to Princess Krista. I have never loved that woman, not even a little. Please believe me, Your Highness!"

His voice was loud, as if he wanted everyone to hear his declaration.

He said he never loved me, not even a little.

So it was all a lie.

I entered the brothel and became a performing artist to support his studies.

I refused to become a courtesan, remaining chaste for him.

I rehearsed tirelessly every day, never slacking off.

I believed his tender promises: if he became the top scholar, he would marry me.

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