Anna’s POV
I stood frozen in the hallway. Claire’s words echoing in my mind. Photos of me? What phones?
Frank emerged from the black door, his face twisted with rage. He towered over Claire, sprawled on the floor, her golden har disheveled avant her gule face, het emply pant leg a stark reminder of her loss.
You stupid girl, he snarled, gripping his cane so tightly his knuckles whitened. His cold eyes bore into her. “After everything, you still haven’t Seed: Whe do you think you are? Do you believe you’re worth anyone’s mercy?”
Claire wiped tears with trembling hands, her voice surprisingly strong. “You took me from the hospital! I know it was you! Why resume only to star me? Why not leave me alone? What do you want?
A flecting smile crossed Frank’s face, gone in an instant. He strode forward with agility, using his cane to lift Claire’s chin, forcing her to meet in gaze. “Who humiliated you?” he asked with contempt. You brought this on yourself! Did I ask you to come? You crawled here!
Frank crouched, toying with Claire’s empty pant leg with his cane, his cruel smile fixed on her reaction. ‘I saved you because your current height is satisfactory,” he said chillingly. “After the amputation, you’re shorter. No more ballet. What a shame.”
Claire trembled, eyes wide with terror, backing against the wall. “You sick bastard…” her voice shook. “It was you… you had someone damage any legs.
Frank’s expression turned complex, a disturbing hint of affection in his harsh gaze. “Such a foolish girl,” he said, almost pityingly. Even now, you don’t kater your real enemy. You think it was me?”
He bent down, caressing Claire’s neck with a tenderness that felt wrong, then hardened, fingers digging into her skin. Claire paled, gasping for air, weakly trying to free herself. “If I’d known it would be like this,” he whispered, ‘I’d have had you crippled sooner. You’re more appealing this way.”
He stood abruptly, yanking Claire’s arm and dragging her into the room. She struggled, nails scratching the floor, but it was futile. The door slammed shut. A sharp slap echoed, followed by a thud. Frank’s furious voice carried through: “Weren’t you crawling into my bed before? Why so afraid now? Did you think I’d be gentle?”
Claire’s cries grew audible. “I don’t want to be here! I hate this place! I hate your room! Burn those photos! I hate Anna!” Her voice shrieked, “Why don’t you find Anna instead? Don’t you like her?”
Sounds of tearing fabric and shattering glass filtered out. Frank’s voice turned rabid: “Burn them? Never! She’s my precious darling!”
His tone softened sickeningly: “She’s elegant. Even if your leg healed, you couldn’t compare. She’s more beautiful, smarter, kinder. Even today’s Anna can’t match who she was. The most beautiful girl I’ve seen. Like an angel…”
An eerie silence fell, then Frank’s low command: “Now you are Anna.”
“You’re insane! I won’t!” Claire’s terrified voice was cut by another slap and thud. Frank forced her to roleplay, his tone chillingly gentle: “Anna, I love you, and you love me too, right? Say my name, Anna…”
Claire’s resistance faded, her sob a whisper as she surrendered: “Frank…”
I stood outside, hand over my mouth, cold sweat soaking my clothes, nausea churning.
The “Anna” Frank’s talking about is me? What “photos” does Claire mean? His behavior is revolting, terrifying.
After ensuring they’d left, I stood in the hallway, heart racing, breath short. “Photos” echoed in my mind, dread tightening around my throat. I stumbled to the room, fumbling for the light switch. The door’s elaborate lock wasn’t engaged–Frank must’ve forgotten.
Lights on, my pupils contracted, body freezing. A wall was covered with photos of me–from middle school to high school. The first set: thirteen–year–old me at a sports meet, shirt lifting during a high jump, exposing my midriff.
Memories flooded back as I touched the photo. Only classmates and teachers were there. How did Frank take these?
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Chapter 336
These photos taken from such calculated angles–how did he get them? Did it start that for back? The seemingly friendly Uncle Front from ty forget your retrospect, was nothing short of demonic!
The second set: fifteen–year–old me after swim class, in a swimsuit, adjusting a strap. The angle was hidden, taken with a telephoto lens. My wire caught, disgust rising.
My voice caught in my throat as confusion and disgust washed over me. “How could he have taken this? What kind of sick mind.
The final set–the most devastating–was a photograph taken from above me in the school locker room. In it, seventeen–year–old me was chanpoy my top completely unaware, the camera angle sickening in its intrusion.
My physical and psychological reaction was violent. I doubled over, dry heaving, the nauseating feeling instantly spreading throughout my body.
“Even the locker room… he’s a monster! No, worse than a monster! My youth, what I thought was an innocent, beautiful time in my life, was violated like this!
I lay on the floor, shaking, vomit beside me, tears and sweat mingling. My breathing was erratic, heart pounding. Stay calm, stay calm, this isn’t the time to fall apart. I need evidence. I need to make this monster pay.
Wiping my face with my sleeve, I forced deep breaths. My fingers trembled, but I took out my phone, photographing the wall, ensuring each image was clear.
I’m not just collecting evidence–I’m gathering the courage to eventually expose Frank’s actions publicly. Why me? Why was I targeted? Being a pretty girl isn’t a crime! It’s the sick minds of others that are the problem!
I noticed a glass display case in the room’s center, holding more photos, locked inside. The glass was sturdy, the lock custom–made.
I searched for a key–drawers, under vases, behind shelves, beneath the carpet–but found nothing. Each second heightened the risk of discovery.
Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, palms slick as I wrestled with indecision.
I need these photos–they’re concrete evidence. But without the key, what can I do?
After hesitating, I grabbed a wooden stool from the corner, gripping it firmly, and swung at the case.
The stool hit with a thud, but the reinforced glass didn’t crack. It slipped from my hands, crashing loudly. Breathing heavily, sweat trickling, determination burned in me.
One more try. I have to get these photos!
As I bent to pick up the stool, the case lit up with infrared lines, forming a spider web pattern.
A red warning light flashed at the base.
A deafening alarm blared, red lights flashed from the ceiling, and urgent footsteps and shouts approached from the doorway.
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