Chapter 2
“No, please!” Christie scrambled to his feet and grabbed Lionel’s pant leg. “I’ll bark like a dog, Lionel! Just don’t send me down there!”
She lifted a leg, mimicking a dog marking its territory.
My chest seized. I could barely breathe.
Every bit of air came into my lungs with unbearable pain, as if someone was squeezing my heart.
“Don’t touch her!”
My voice cracked through the room. I rushed to her side, helping her up.
“If anyone lays a hand on her, they’ll have to go through me first.”
The room froze.
[Queen move! Tania is finally standing up for Christie!]
[Lionel is disgusting. He can hear Betty’s inner thoughts! He knows Betty framed her and still sides with the fake.]
[I really don’t get him. Is he trying to wife his fake sister?]
That last one made me choke.
I thought Lionel was just as blind and stupid as I was.
However, he was trying to marry Betty?
“Then punish me too,” Betty said softly, stepping between us.
She trembled slightly, tears in her eyes. Clearly afraid, she was still playing the victim to the hilt.
As expected, Lionel softened immediately. He pulled her over, cupped her face, and wiped her tears.
“You’re too kind, sweetheart. My little fool.”
I wanted to throw up.
Betty whimpered.
I clenched my fists.
“This is over. We’re leaving,” I said, patting Christie’s hand.
“Come on.”
She was still in shock, barely moving.
I didn’t wait for Lionel; I just pulled her out of there.
This house was a nightmare. I wasn’t letting her stay here another night. I’d take her to my place in the city.
When I told her, she looked stunned.
“Tania… are you okay?” she asked, touching my forehead.
I batted her hand away, awkward.
“Don’t get used to it. I messed up, okay? I always sided with Betty without thinking.
“But you’re my sister, Christie. My real one.”
She burst into tears and threw her arms around me.
I held her tightly, gently rubbing her back.
After she finally cried herself to sleep, I started digging.
I spoke with the housekeeper and the staff responsible for Christie’s daily care. Soon, I learned about the basement’s secrets.
Lionel, that monster!
He’d forced her to watch videos of herself being harassed by thugs, made her set her own screams as her alarm tone, and pasted their faces all over her room so they were the first and last thing she saw every day.
He turned that basement into her personal hell, torturing Christie for eternity.
It had only been two weeks since she returned. No wonder she looked like a ghost: gaunt, fragile, hollow beneath her clothes.
And standing next to Betty, who always looked pampered and radiant, Christie looked like she’d been dragged out of a war zone.
No trace of the heiress she was born to be.