Chapter 56

Chapter 56
Elise's POV:

Scar Neck waved his hand. Several burly men strode into the house, admiring their "spoils of war."

Someone deliberately kicked over a flowerpot in the yard—a sharp "bang" echoed as ceramic shards scattered across the ground.

"I just never liked that thing," the man said dismissively.

Margaret burst out from the side of the house. Her hair was disheveled, her makeup smeared, and her clothes pulled askew. She threw herself at Benjamin, hitting, cursing, and crying—I still couldn't make out exactly what she was saying, but judging from her movements, it probably wasn't far from phrases like "how could you," "what are we going to do," and "you worthless piece of trash."

Anna followed behind her. She was dragging a suitcase—packed at some point, apparently. Her face wore a hollow expression. Not quite fear, not quite sadness. More like someone whose brain had temporarily chosen to shut down after being hit by too much information all at once.

"I thought seeing this would make you happy," Victor said quietly. "Watching the people who hurt you pay the price."

I took a deep breath. "I thought so too, originally."

But what I actually got was only emptiness.

Benjamin, this demon who had haunted me like a nightmare for years, had finally met his judgment today. But all I felt was absurdity.

Look how weak he was, how pitiful, how laughable.

Yet it was precisely this fragile piece of human garbage who had made it impossible for me to sleep peacefully for years—and would continue to do so for the rest of my life.

In every deep night, I would suddenly wake up, terrified that a man's silhouette was standing at the foot of my bed.

Every time I heard people talking behind me, I feared they were gossiping about my inappropriate relationship with an older male.

Benjamin ending up like this couldn't even begin to fill the void of hatred.

"Seems you're still somewhat unsatisfied," Victor observed my reaction, a hint of appreciation in his pale blue eyes. "Don't worry. This is just the beginning."

Victor leaned his body closer to me, close enough that I could see the fury in the depths of his eyes.

"I've never liked it when people lay their hands on what's mine."

I pressed my lips together, somewhat skeptical of his description. But the next second he was kissing me.

Either way, I liked his kisses.

Fervent, irresistible, as if he wanted to swallow me whole.


Anna's POV:

The wheels of the suitcase ground out a gurgling sound against the asphalt.

Unpleasant. In this quiet deep night, unpleasantly grating.

I dragged the case along, following Benjamin and Margaret. They walked ahead, separated by a distance of two or three steps—not side by side, but each on their own path, like two parallel lines that never interfered with each other. If you ignored Margaret's occasional outbursts of wailing and Benjamin's heavy breathing, this road would look like any ordinary night walk.

But it wasn't an ordinary night walk.

Half an hour ago, a gang had surrounded our house. Half an hour ago, Benjamin had been on his knees kowtowing to people. Half an hour ago, a man with a scar on his neck had said he'd take me to the docks to be sold.

Half an hour ago, my home was gone.

Not metaphorically gone. Actually gone—the property deed had been taken, the keys handed over, the locks changed. The three of us had been driven out like stray dogs, each only managing to grab a few pieces of clothing and stuff them into bags.

I was now dragging just such a bag. Inside were two changes of clothes, a toothbrush, a charger, and a half-eaten bag of chips.

This was the entirety of nineteen-year-old Anna Miller's worldly possessions.

The two people ahead stopped.

Not because we'd reached our destination—but because Margaret had finally broken down.

"Divorce!"

Her voice was shrill like nails scraping across a blackboard. On this empty road, it carried far, far away.

"I want a divorce! Benjamin Miller, you bastard! You've been gambling behind my back? How much do you owe? Huh? Say something!"

Benjamin stood motionless.

His back was to Margaret and me. I couldn't see his expression. But I could see his shoulders trembling—not the kind of trembling from fear, but something else. Anger? Shame? Or both?

"Divorce?" He finally spoke, his voice hoarse as if he'd swallowed a handful of sand. "Fine. Let's divorce then."

Margaret froze for a moment—probably hadn't expected him to agree so quickly.

"But get one thing straight first." Benjamin turned around, his face contorted under the streetlight into something I'd never seen before. "Who drove me to gamble? Huh? You did!"

His finger pointing at Margaret was trembling.

"You wanted designer bags every day! Gold necklaces! Anna to go to a good college! Whatever the neighbors had, you had to have too! Was my salary enough? Huh? Was that meager salary enough? Did I not want to take shortcuts? Did I not want to satisfy you?"

"So I—"

"So you borrowed from loan sharks?" Margaret shrieked, cutting him off. "So you mortgaged our only house? Is there something wrong with your brain?"

"Yes, there's something wrong with my brain!" Benjamin suddenly roared, his voice so loud my ears rang. "Something's wrong with my brain for marrying a woman like you! Always wanting the best of everything! Never looking at whether you deserve it!"

Margaret rushed forward and slapped Benjamin.

A crisp sound rang out across the entire street.

Then Benjamin hit back.

I'd never seen Benjamin hit anyone before. At home, he'd always used that dark, controlling method—never raising his voice, never using his hands, just making people afraid with his gaze and silence. But now he seemed like a different person. He shoved Margaret aside, grabbed her hair, and his other fist crashed into her face.

Margaret screamed and fought back. The two twisted together, rolling from the curb onto the road.

The suitcase toppled over to the side, the lid popping open, its contents spilling everywhere. My clothes, toothbrush, chips—that road, which wasn't long to begin with, now seemed even more endless.

I didn't go to break them up.

I just stood there, watching the two people who had raised me for over a decade tear at each other like beasts under the streetlight.

Fear? Sadness? Anger?

I seemed to feel nothing at all. My mind was blank. Only one thought kept repeating:

It's over. All over.

I turned away, not wanting to watch anymore.

My hand reached into my pocket, finding the cigarette pack and lighter. This was the only thing I wanted to do tonight—smoke a cigarette. Even just one. Let me calm down. Let me pretend this was all just a nightmare, and I'd wake up when I finished this cigarette.

I walked a few steps toward the roadside, away from that couple still wrestling with each other. I squatted down against a street tree, my fingers trembling slightly as I lit the cigarette.

When the first drag went into my lungs, that familiar burning sensation helped me calm down a little.

Then I lifted my head.

There was a car parked across the street.

Black. Very large. The headlights were off, but in the reflection of the streetlight I could make out the car's outline and quality—definitely not something ordinary people could afford to drive.