Chapter 3

The cargo van swayed gently with the truck’s movement. I huddled in the corner of the cage, hugging my knees.

The wound on my arm throbbed relentlessly, and my stomach growled a hollow protest. My tears had long since dried, leaving my eyes gritty and aching.

After what felt like an eternity, the truck suddenly stopped.

The truck driver, a flicker of pity in his eyes, held out a sandwich and a bottle of water. He seemed hesitant.

“Kid, you must be starving, right? Here, take this…”

Before he could finish, a chilling voice cut in from outside. “Who told you to interfere?”

I squinted towards the light. Julian Thorne stood by the van, his face utterly devoid of emotion, his eyes like chips of ice.

He snatched the sandwich and water from the driver’s hand. Without a glance at me, he tossed them directly to Brutus.

I watched Brutus wolf down the food, the hunger in my own stomach clawing at me even harder.

I licked my cracked lips. There was a water bowl for Brutus inside the cage, but the stench was sickening, threatening to make me gag.

Yet, I forced myself to drink, choking it down, ignoring the awful taste. At least it offered a moment’s relief from the thirst.

Julian’s gaze swept over me, raw disgust etched on his features.

He said nothing more, simply tilting his head towards the driver, who quickly closed the van doors. The cargo area plunged back into darkness.

After what seemed like another endless journey, the truck finally stopped.

When the doors opened, I saw an enormous house, grander than any castle I’d ever seen in movies. Fountains sparkled, manicured gardens stretched out, and liveried staff stood in perfectly aligned rows by the entrance.

Julian and Mom walked ahead, Mom cradling the little boy in her arms.

I later learned his name was Lucas Thorne.

Lucas beamed, his face alight with joy. Mom occasionally bent down to whisper to him, her expression soft and tender.

I was yanked from the metal cage, my arm throbbing painfully from the grip.

Julian didn’t even look at me. He simply addressed a staff member.

“Take her away. Find somewhere to confine her. I don’t want her making an unsightly mess of the place.”

I had no room. My assigned space was a damp, perpetually dim corner in the basement.

Every morning before dawn, I had to rise and work – scrubbing floors, doing laundry, tidying the garden. If I missed a single spot, the staff would scold me, and sometimes Mom would even see.

But she never helped. She would either walk away as if I were invisible, or she’d scowl and snap at me to vanish, as if my mere presence polluted her sight.

Whatever toy Lucas wanted, Julian would immediately have someone buy it.

Once, I walked past the living room and saw Mom sitting on the sofa, Lucas nestled in her arms, while Julian sat beside them, reading a story from a book.

That was a happiness I could never even dream of in this lifetime, a happiness I would never possess.

Back in the remote area where we used to live, storybooks were a luxury no one had. But a neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, used to tell her daughter bedtime stories every night.

I always wished Mom would tell me a story, just once.

My body began to move forward again, seemingly against my will.

I wanted to get a little closer, to hear Mom’s voice just a little longer.

Mom seemed to sense something. She suddenly looked up.

The moment her gaze fell on me, her smiling face instantly changed, as if she'd just seen something utterly repulsive. All the tenderness was replaced by fierce revulsion.

“How dare you come here? Who let you in?!”

Her reaction startled me, and I froze, my fingers nervously twisting the hem of my worn shirt.

Mom rushed over, reaching out and shoving me. I slammed against the wall, biting back a cry of pain.

Lucas ran over too, kicking my shin hard. Tears instantly welled up.

“Stay away from my mom!”

Lucas yelled, kicking me several more times.

Mom just stood there watching, making no move to stop him. Instead, she frowned and said.

“Lucas, don’t touch her. You might get dirty. Mommy will take you to wash your hands later.”

I crouched on the ground, clutching my throbbing shin, tears dripping onto the floor.