The Scars She Hid From The World

Chapter 3 You are afraid of me

Word Count: 762 | Released on: 30/01/2026

tside. The only sound was the rhythmic thwack-hiss o

gerator console between the seats. H

it out

e it was lined with sandpaper. She was dehydrated

," Ambro

idn't

aned over and shoved the bottle into her hand. Hi

ad burned her with a cigarette. Her hand spasmed, and the heavy

ed his hand back slowl

me," he stated. It

ttle. Her hands were shaking. "No.

t, but she forced herself to take small, measured swallow

to talk a mile a minute, who used to hang off his a

observed, his tone neutral, probin

ed on the water sloshing inside. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head, as if

sarcastic retort. It was a void. An absence of i

en up slightly when she drank. There was a mark there. A da

d slightly. "Let

abric. "Kaleigh is probably waiting for you. You shouldn'

She was deflecting. And she was ri

of a sudden," he said, his

the seat and closed her eyes. "I'm

. They were turning i

The main house loomed ahead, a Georgian monster of brick and glass, blazing

lided to a stop u

. Through the rain-stre

. Her fath

framed by the warm glow of the en

arisa's door. The co

a deep brea

ot hit the pavement, her knee buckled. Th

and come around faster than she expected.

you," he

tinct. She shoved him

oed under the

, his hands raised in surren

. She looked at him, her eyes wide with a feral kind of panic.

ghtened h

voice dropping to a whispe

ng her swollen foot. Ambrose stood in the rain, wat

f security: Get me her file from

Chapter End

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The Scars She Hid From The World

REGINA MCBRIDE Modern

“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.”