“Mm! Mmph!” Clara Whitfield stared at the filthy scene on the computer screen, listening to those obscene sounds. Even when she squeezed her eyes shut, the images still clung to her mind like a curse, impossible to shake off.

It was her husband and her stepsister.

And she could only stay tied up in this room, her mouth stuffed shut, forced to watch until nausea rolled through her stomach.

No one knew how long it went on. Eventually, the two people on screen finally stopped. Then Vivian Whitfield turned to the camera with a smug little smile and switched it off.

“My dear sister, so? How does it feel watching your husband call my name in bed and love me like that?” Vivian walked into the room. Faint red marks still stained her neck, and her smeared lipstick made it painfully obvious just how wild things had been a moment ago.

“Honestly, Sebastian Ashford is seriously young and full of energy,” Vivian said as she circled Clara, then stopped behind her. “Such a pity, sis. You never got to enjoy any of that.”

Then came a crisp burst of laughter, light and cruel.

Clara whipped her head around and glared at Vivian with savage hatred.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Vivian curled her lips into a smile. At some point, a fruit knife had appeared in her hand. The cold blade pressed against Clara’s cheek. “What, are you jealous of the love between me and your husband?”

“Mmph!” Clara bit down hard on the handkerchief crammed in her mouth, trying to force it out. But the cloth pinned down the base of her tongue so tightly she could barely move at all, let alone push out something that thick.

“Tch.” Vivian tapped Clara’s cheek lightly with the fruit knife.

That icy touch came again. Clara’s whole body jolted. When her eyes met Vivian’s mocking stare, her heart dropped straight into an abyss.

There was disgust in those eyes.

And killing intent.

Clara didn’t even know when Vivian had started wanting her dead.

“Since you’re still my sister for now, how about I do you one last favor?” Vivian bent down, pressing her face against Clara’s cheek, then looked at Clara’s frightened eyes reflected in the dark screen before letting out a cold laugh. “Clara Whitfield, you’re really stupid. Seriously. Since you’re dying anyway, I might as well let you die knowing the truth.”

As soon as she finished speaking, Vivian yanked the handkerchief out of Clara’s mouth, grabbed her jaw, and forced her lips apart while making her stare at the black screen.

“Who do you think arranged for you to marry into the Ashford family? Who do you think made you lose your mother? Who do you think pushed you down into this mess?” Clara watched the screen as Vivian’s reflection slowly lifted into a meaningful smile, and then came that sharp, creepy laugh.

The sound echoed through the empty room, bouncing again and again into Clara’s ears.

At the same instant, the freezing blade drove straight into Clara’s heart.

“Ah!” Pain exploded through her body. Then her heart started pounding even harder, her breathing turned frantic, and her mind went completely blank.

“Clara Whitfield, I can tell you this much—every bit of it was done by us. Your father too.”

That was the last sentence she heard.

Clara Whitfield gasped for air, huge, ragged breaths tearing out of her chest. She watched Vivian Whitfield bend down and loosen the ropes on her, then forced herself to use the very last bit of strength she had left. One hand clamped over the knife wound in her chest, hot blood slipping through her fingers. With the other, she snatched the knife from the table and hurled it straight at Vivian Whitfield.

After that, everything in front of her went white.

Her body gave out completely and slammed hard onto the floor, beyond her control.

She hated it. Hated that she had never seen their plan sooner. Hated that she had not become strong and independent fast enough. Hated most of all that, in the end, she was actually killed by Vivian Whitfield.

If she could live this life over again, even once, she would make every single one of them pay. She would make sure they died without a grave to crawl back to.

"Ah!!!" Clara Whitfield’s fingertips dug viciously into the floor, scraping at it like she was trying to hold on to the last thread of life. A final sound ripped from her throat.

But no one was coming to save her.