Chapter 3

When they returned to Blackwood Manor, Mia was already waiting in the foyer.

She was wearing the champagne-colored silk gown that Serafina cherished most, holding the Golden Harp trophy that should have belonged to Serafina.

"Sister Sera!" Mia trotted over, her face wearing an expression of perfectly measured sorrow. "I'm so sorry. Because I had to take your place in the competition, I couldn't go to the hospital to pick you up."

Ethan and Liam's gazes were immediately drawn to the trophy in her hands, their eyes softening instantly.

"How did it go?" Ethan asked.

Mia broke into a smile through her tears, lifting the trophy like an offering of treasure. "I won the Gold! The judges said my performance was full of soul!"

Serafina stared dead at the trophy. That was the opportunity she had traded for skin worn off her fingers, practicing twelve hours a day.

A sharp phantom pain shot through her twisted fingers. In a trance, she saw herself standing center stage, the bow sliding across the strings—that should have been her glory.

But now, thanks to her own brother and fiancé, even holding a pen was a luxury.

The three of them chatted and laughed around the trophy, completely forgetting Serafina in her wheelchair in the corner. She silently maneuvered the wheelchair toward the elevator.

Mia immediately chased after her, reaching out to help. "Let me push you, sister."

After the elevator doors opened on the third floor, she suddenly leaned close to Serafina’s ear and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear: "You're truly pathetic, Sera. Look, this dress fits me much better. Tell me, when Liam holds me in the future, do you think he'll remember those hands of yours, wasted and useless like chicken claws?"

Serafina’s face went deathly pale, and her whole body trembled. Before she could speak, Mia suddenly let out a terrified scream: "Ah! Sister, don't push me!"

Immediately after, she threw herself backward, rolling down the stairs in an exaggerated fashion.

"Mia!"

"Oh my God!"

When Ethan and Liam rushed up the stairs, Mia was curled up on the landing, clutching her ankle and weeping. "Don't blame my sister, Ethan, Liam. She's just too sad because I took her trophy—"

"Are you crazy, Serafina?" Ethan grabbed the armrest of the wheelchair, his force nearly flipping it over.

He leaned in, the usually doting look in his eyes now replaced with disgust, glaring at her. "Do you know how important hands are to a violinist? What if Mia’s hands were injured?"

Serafina looked up at Ethan and suddenly laughed. The smile was hollow and desolate, making her pale face look like a broken doll.

"So you do know, Ethan," she murmured softly, her gaze sweeping over her own bandage-wrapped hands. "You know how important hands are to a violinist."

Liam stood to the side, looking at Mia’s swollen ankle. A flash of hesitation crossed his eyes, but ultimately, he stood by Mia’s side.

"Apologize." Ethan’s voice was cold as frost. "Apologize to Mia immediately!"

Serafina straightened her back in the wheelchair; it was her last shred of dignity. "Why should I apologize? She threw herself down the stairs."

The air instantly solidified. Mia suddenly sobbed, struggling to stand up. "It's okay, Ethan. I understand Sister is in a bad mood, I don't blame her—"

"Mia!" Ethan supported her with heartache. "You are just too kind; that's why she's bullied you for so many years!"

Serafina turned her wheelchair around, the tires rolling over the carpet with a dull sound.

She could no longer endure this absurd farce, nor could she bear the triumphant mockery in Mia’s eyes.

...

Late that night, Serafina leaned against the headboard, staring at the pale moonlight outside the window.

The door was gently pushed open, and Liam walked in carrying a glass of warm milk.

"Drink some milk, Sera. I added some honey to help you sleep." He placed the cup on the bedside table and said softly, "Drink it, have a good sleep, and everything will be better tomorrow."

As soon as the door closed, Serafina’s eyes turned cold. She picked up the milk and poured it unhesitatingly into the potted plant by the window.

At midnight, the faint sound of a lock being picked startled her from a light sleep. She narrowed her eyes and vaguely saw a dark figure by the bed.

"Sera?" Liam’s voice was barely audible.

Serafina held her breath, her body stiff and motionless.

Confirming she had no reaction, a pair of large hands suddenly yanked her violently from the bed. Immediately after, a rough sack was pulled over her head.

Serafina struggled instinctively, but was thrown heavily onto the floor. Agonizing pain exploded from her damaged wrists, making her vision go black, but she bit her lip hard, forcing herself not to make a sound.

"Are we going too far, Ethan?" Liam’s voice was trembling. "Sera’s hands are already ruined. You want me to drug her, kidnap her, and bring her to a place like this—just to vent for Mia?"

"Are you going soft now?" Ethan’s cold laugh cut into Serafina’s heart like a knife.

"She was ruthless when she pushed Mia down the stairs. Besides, her hands have no feeling anymore—we're just teaching her a lesson, letting her know who in this house is untouchable."

The rough sack chafed against Serafina’s skin as she curled her body tight. They were right—her hands couldn't feel pain, but her heart felt as though it were being sliced into a thousand pieces.

"Do it," Ethan ordered coldly.

When the first blow of the club landed, Serafina heard the dull crack of her own ribs. She was beaten continuously, kicked back and forth mercilessly like a rag doll.

Finally, a whimper of pain escaped her clenched teeth. The beating stopped abruptly.

"Who's there?" Ethan’s voice pitched up, full of alarm.

The next second, Serafina felt someone trembling as they grabbed the edge of the sack and slowly lifted it.