The Girl They Buried Came Back a Queen

At the scene of the car crash, the socalled daughter, Delilah Wren, crawled out of the wreckage, her face streaked with blood. She collapsed to her knees before me, kneeling like a madwoman.

“Please, I know I was wrong! I’ll never fight for their love again! Don’t kill me—I'll do whatever you say. I’ll leave the house.”

My parents stood frozen, eyes blazing with fury. My brother clenched his fists. My fiancé, Daniel Thorne, stared at me with bloodshot eyes.

Then, without hesitation, they turned on me.

They sent me to prison—"for discipline," they said.

Two years later.

I stepped out of the prison gates, my legs trembling, my clothes hanging off my emaciated frame. Even the smallest size felt too large now.

Dazed, I looked up—and a pair of polished black leather shoes entered my vision.

Daniel stood there, his slender hand reaching toward me, as if to help me into the Bugatti parked nearby.

I dodged him and got in on my own.

He let out a deep sigh, staring at me for a moment. “Don’t blame your parents and brother for not picking you up,” he said softly. “Today’s the premiere of Delilah’s short film. They went to support her.”

He added, “Try to be better this time. Don’t bully Delilah anymore. She’s suffered enough these past few years.”

My chest tightened. I bit back the sting of tears. “And what about me?”

He paused, fingers tightening on the wheel. “What?”

When he looked at my hollowed face, something flickered across his features—regret? But it vanished as quickly as it came.

“If you hadn’t done what you did to Delilah, we wouldn’t have had to send you to prison.”

I turned to the window, watching the scenery blur past. A bitter laugh scratched at my throat.

You all chose her. Then fine. I’ll disappear.

Just the memory of those two years in prison made my body shake with silent sobs. I tried to hold myself together.

Sensing my pain, Daniel opened his mouth to speak—when his phone rang.

Delilah’s syrupy voice spilled out from the speakers: “Daniel, the premiere’s about to start. Where are you?”

His eyes softened instantly. “Silly girl,” he said with a chuckle. “Didn’t I say I’d pick Ava up today?”

“Then bring her with you,” she said gently. “I’ll be waiting.”

He gripped the wheel harder, saying nothing.

A pause.

Then her voice again, soft and noble: “I know you’re worried she’ll hurt me again, but I believe she’s changed. She’s spent two years in prison. Besides… don’t you have me to protect me?”

His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, landing on me.

He smiled faintly. “Alright. I can’t say no to you.”

The call ended.

He made a sharp turn, then said coldly, “I know you resent Delilah for taking your place. But she’s kind. Her whole family is gone. She deserves compassion. I won’t let anyone hurt her.”

“Ava, as long as you learn your lesson, we’ll still care for you.”

I said nothing.

In their eyes, Delilah was the fragile flower I tormented. I was the villain, through and through.

We arrived at the theater.

Daniel went to park, and I was told to head in first.

The cinema was drenched in gold and crimson. Posters of Delilah’s face lined every wall. Her smile glowed from the giant screen above, ethereal and untouched. Towering bouquets and lavish gifts surrounded the entrance.

She was the beloved little princess.

I glanced down at my wornout clothes, tugging at the frayed hem.

Just as I was about to step inside, a horde of reporters rushed toward me, cameras flashing like lightning.

“Ava! Is it true you tried to murder your own sister and nearly killed your parents in the process?”

“Do you feel any remorse now that you’ve been released?”

“Ms. Wren, tell us—what was prison like for someone so vicious?”

I panicked, trying to push through them.

“No—I didn’t! Get away from me!”

But they latched onto me like leeches, relentless.

Tears spilled down my face. I couldn’t hold them back.

Delilah and I had been born in the same hospital, just two hours apart.

Her mother was a poor nanny. To give her daughter a better life, she switched us.

From then on, she was raised in luxury by the Wren family.

I was raised by the bitter, abusive woman who should’ve been her mother.

Four years ago, before my adoptive mother died, she was consumed by guilt and brought me to the Wren family, revealing the truth.

At first, they accepted me.

But then, Delilah began to act.

Slapping herself and blaming me. Throwing herself down stairs. Whispering, “Please don’t blame my sister.”

She broke Dad’s priceless vase, shredded my brother’s blueprints—then cried that it was all my fault.

No one ever questioned her. No one ever listened.

The car crash was the final nail in the coffin.

I remembered the moment my father dragged my mother out of the smoking car.

“Ava,” he said with disgust, “I never thought you could be this heartless. Trying to kill your own sister?”

My brother’s fists trembled. “I won’t let you hurt Delilah again.”

I could barely breathe. “Why don’t you believe me? I’m your daughter!”

“We don’t have a daughter like you!” my father roared.

Even Daniel stood silently, holding the sobbing Delilah in his arms.

She choked out, “Don’t blame her… I forgive her…”

And they praised her for her kindness—while I was dragged to the police car, sirens wailing.

The reporters’ shouts faded as my breath caught in my throat. Cold sweat trickled down my spine.

Then—through the crowd—I saw a familiar face.

My brother.

Julian Wren.

He stood just meters away, watching me.

###2

I looked desperately toward my brother.

Julian stood just a few meters away. I thought—hoped—he’d rush over and protect me.

But when our eyes met, he remained motionless.

Unmoved.

Indifferent.

He watched as reporters spat cruel words in my face, their microphones nearly pressed to my skin.

Suddenly, one of them tugged open the collar of my clothes, revealing a patchwork of scars—faded, fresh, brutal.

Gasps rang out.

“Oh god. That’s disgusting.”

“She must’ve been disobedient in prison. Looks like the guards gave her a lesson. Get some closeups!”

Their jeers sliced through me like knives. I couldn’t even lift my arms to cover myself. I stood paralyzed, every breath a fresh stab of shame. Their contempt rained down on me like acid.

“Miss Wren, are you refusing to answer because everything we’re saying is true? Is this sociopathy just in your blood?”

Flashes from their cameras blinded me. One of them shouted, “We’re live, folks! This is Ava, the infamous daughter of the Wren family—once a socialite, now a convicted criminal. Look at her now!”

I felt like a stripped puppet under the spotlight, paraded in front of the world at my lowest.

“Enough!” someone finally barked. “Stop filming! This is my sister’s premiere, not a circus!”

When most of the footage was already taken and the damage done, Julian finally strode forward. He shoved the reporters aside and crouched down next to me—but not to comfort me.

I collapsed to the floor, clinging to the rags that covered my mutilated body, sobbing uncontrollably.

Just then, Daniel stormed in. He pulled me into his arms with a jolt of panic.

“Where the hell are the bodyguards? Are they all dead? How did reporters even get in here?!”

He was furious—on the surface. As if this were all a tragic accident.

But to me, their concern felt revoltingly performative.

So kind. So gentle.

So hollow it made me want to vomit.

The reporters scattered like flies. Julian stood tall again, voice cool.

“You’ve suffered enough. You’ve learned your lesson. Now leave. Delilah’s been waiting.”

So that was it.

He let me be humiliated like an animal—torn apart, exposed, ruined—just to discipline me. For her.

I curled up on the floor, shaking violently.

I remembered the first day I was brought to the Wren family—how my brother cupped my face and said with guilt in his eyes, “Ava, as long as I’m here, no one will ever hurt you again.”

But today, that same brother handed me over to a public stoning.

All for Delilah.

My sobs were raw and ugly. Still, he sneered and snapped, “Stop pretending. Don’t ruin Delilah’s moment.”

Half an hour later, the microfilm ended.

Delilah took the stage, bathed in golden light, the epitome of grace. The audience applauded wildly as she gave her speech, radiant and confident, thanking her “family” with watery eyes.

They stood behind her—my family. Protecting her.

Once, being an actress was my greatest dream.

Now, stripped and shamed, I could barely stand under the weight of that dream’s corpse.

My parents soon took the stage with smiles and applause, handing Delilah the keys to a limitededition supercar. My father’s voice trembled with pride as he kissed her forehead.

My brother followed, taking the mic. “I’ll be investing hundreds of millions to produce a film just for Delilah,” he announced. “And rumor has it that renowned international director, Jake Monroe Easton, is attending today’s festival. If he sees Delilah’s talent, we might be sending her to Hollywood.”

Delilah blushed and looked bashfully at the crowd. “But I can’t bear to leave Mom, Dad, Brother, and Daniel...”

Daniel strode toward her, chuckling. He affectionately ruffled her hair.

“Don’t worry, little idiot. If Director Jake takes you to Hollywood, we’ll all fly over to visit you.”

Then his eyes sparkled. “And I have a gift for you too. Tonight’s celebration dinner is already set—at the Skyline Hotel. Seven stars, just like you like it.”

They laughed. They praised her. They adored her.

And I stood at the edge of it all, invisible. A stain they’d rather scrub out of Wren family photo.

She took his hand, smiling sweetly. Then, as if noticing me for the first time, she ran over in her flowing gown.

“Ava,” she said with mock concern. “It’s been so long. You’ve lost so much weight.”

I jerked my hand away, the only thing I could still control. “Hmm,” I muttered coldly.

My parents followed her gaze. Instead of tenderness, my father scowled. “Behave yourself at home. And don’t you dare lay a finger on Delilah again.”

They swept her away, holding her like she was something precious.

And I—just a ghost.

At the banquet, dishes were laid out in extravagant rows. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. My hand trembled as I reached for my fork, only to drop it with a clang.

I bent to pick it up—and my collar slipped.

In the harsh lighting, the jagged scars on my shoulders and neck were stark and undeniable.

Daniel's gaze snapped to me. His pupils contracted sharply.

“Ava,” he said, voice low and tight. “Who did that to you?”

###3

My brother and parents turned as well, surprise flickering across their faces.

Who could it be?

Weren’t they the ones who told the prison guards to "keep an eye on" me?

I said nothing, forcing down the bitterness rising in my throat. Daniel reached for my collar, clearly trying to confirm something for himself.

Before he could, Delilah suddenly shrieked from across the table.

"My hand! It’s burning!"

She held up her finger, a faint red mark where the edge of the hotpot had touched her. Tears welled in her eyes.

The entire family sprang into action.

Her mother rushed to her side, cradling her hand like porcelain. Without hesitation, Daniel scooped her up into his arms.

“I’ll take her to the hospital,” he barked, already halfway out the door.

I turned my head away, expressionless. I’d seen enough. I was just about to leave when a voice called out behind me.

"Are you Ava?"

I turned.

A bearded, middleaged man approached with familiarity in his eyes.

"Director Jake? You... know me?"

It was Jake Easton—the internationally acclaimed director. He laughed, stroking his beard. "Of course I do. I saw a short film you directed and starred in. You left a lasting impression. I thought—here’s someone with real talent. Real presence. I had to find you."

My breath caught. Joy surged through me, but I looked down, voice hoarse with shame.

"But... I don’t think you know—I just got out of prison..."

He looked me in the eye, calm and assured. "I know. That’s why I came today. Ava, how would you like to come to Hollywood and become a star? You’ve got what it takes."

I stared at him, stunned. For the first time in years, I felt my heart flutter back to life.

"I—I’d love to, Director Jake."

"Good!" he beamed. "We’ll leave in a week. Rest up."

A week. Just seven days until I start over.

With that faint spark of hope, I returned to what used to be home. I punched in the passcode I’d memorized long ago, but the cold, mechanical voice repeated:

“Incorrect password.”

Again and again. Still wrong.

I waited in the blistering heat, sweat soaking my back, my head swimming as the sun began to set. Just as I was starting to feel faint, they returned—carrying Delilah.

I watched as my brother stepped forward and entered a new code.

The door clicked open.

He’d changed it... to Delilah’s birthday. My birthday, too—but no one seemed to remember that.

I bit down the sting in my nose and quietly followed him inside, heading straight for my old room.

"Wait," he called after me.

"Delilah’s dog really likes your room. We’ve turned it into a pet space now. But don’t worry—Delilah picked out a new room just for you."

I stopped in my tracks.

"She decorated it herself to welcome you back. She’s even forgiven us all. You should learn from her—try being more kind."

He said it without turning around, as if even facing me for another second was too much.

He led me down the hall to the far end of the house.

The “new room” was the old utility closet. Tiny, with barely a window—more like a vent. The walls reeked of mold, and the air was damp and stale.

So this... this was what they called kindness?

Never mind. I just have to survive seven more days.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door—only to be greeted by a room full of flowers.

My throat closed up.

Pollen.

I was severely allergic.

Within seconds, I was on the floor, struggling to breathe, my skin prickling, my vision blurring. I crawled, trembling, searching desperately for my bag.

That’s when I saw a pair of designer heels stop in front of me.

"Sister, oh my—what are you doing on the floor?"

Delilah’s sweet, mocking voice rang out.

"Please... allergy medicine..." I gasped.

She followed my desperate gaze to the bag.

Then she smiled.

With a kick, she sent it skidding across the room.

She squatted beside me, leaning in close. Her breath was sugary sweet and venomous.

"Bitch, you dare come back? After everything? If I were you, I’d have smashed my head into a wall from the shame."

I tried to shove her away, wanting to scream, to ask why she’d done this.

But the moment my hand brushed her leg, she shrieked and collapsed to the ground.

Holding her leg, she burst into tears.

"Hey, why would you hit me? I tried so hard to make you feel welcome—why are you so cruel?"

That was the moment my parents arrived in the doorway.

###4

Disappointment instantly clouded my father’s face.

“Ava, you just got home and you’re already bullying Delilah again? You’re hopeless!”

“Ava, why would you do this?” My mother looked at me with a mix of hurt and disbelief. “You and Delilah are both my daughters. I’ve always cared deeply for you…”

She shook her head, gently pulling Delilah away from me with a pained expression. Delilah leaned against her, but her eyes gleamed with triumph. She mouthed silently at me: “You’re getting kicked out today.”

But what she said aloud was very different.

“Mom, Dad, please don’t blame my sister,” she said softly, her voice trembling with carefully measured sorrow. “We used our connections to make sure she had decent food and drink in prison, but she still wasn’t free. It’s only natural that she feels… bitter.”

She choked back a sob as if heartbroken on my behalf.

With each word she spoke, my father’s expression darkened further.

“Ava, you’ve learned nothing! I knew it—prison life was too easy on you!”

I could barely breathe, the allergic reaction tightening my chest like a vice. I reached out desperately. “Please… medicine…”

But my father waved me off with an impatient bark. “Enough! Since when do you have allergies? Don’t make up more lies to gain sympathy!”

My mother gave a weary sigh. “Forget it. If Ava is willing to admit her mistake, let’s just eat dinner.”

Daniel happened to be walking down the stairs. His eyes paused on me, filled with disappointment.

“Why do you always have to cause trouble for Delilah?” he muttered before continuing on.

They led the sniffling Delilah downstairs like she was the victim.

I collapsed to the floor, frantically searching for the allergy medicine through blurred vision. Finally, I found it, fumbling to unscrew the cap and shove a pill into my mouth before the suffocating pain could consume me.

It took forever for my breathing to return to normal.

I never wanted to go through that again.

I still remember the first time they discovered I was allergic to pollen—how the entire family had stayed up all night in my room, watching over me.

My brother even ordered the gardener to replace every flower in the garden with grass and shade trees. There was always allergy medicine in the house—just in case.

But now, they’d forgotten. Worse—they accused me of faking it.

A servant came to guide me to the table. The smell of rich food hit me, but all I could do was stare at the bowl of rice in front of me. I didn’t dare touch the vibrant dishes piled on the table.

Two years in prison had trained my stomach to survive on stale rice.

On bad days, when the guards were in a foul mood, we got nothing at all.

One time, they threw a hamburger into a corner.

I hadn’t eaten in two days. I crawled to the corner like an animal—but before I could reach it, a pair of steellike hands shoved me back.

From then on, I never dared touch anything that looked “delicious” again.

Seeing me curled over my rice, my mother looked at me with concern.

“Ava, why are you so thin? Here—eat more.” She placed a hamburger on my plate, her tone soft. “This was your favorite, remember? I had it made especially for you.”

The moment I saw it, my body locked up. My breath caught in my throat. My hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

Then, I threw up violently.

“Ava!” my mother cried out, rushing to my side.

A doctor was called.

After a quick exam, he removed his stethoscope, concern etched deep into his features. “She’s exhibiting symptoms of severe trauma—either psychological or physical. Her body is rejecting even familiar stimuli.”

He paused, then added grimly, “I strongly suggest you bring in a psychiatrist. If left untreated, this could have longterm consequences.”

My mother covered her mouth, eyes wide with horror. “What… What happened to my daughter?!”

###5

Delilah’s eyes darted sideways before she scoffed.

“Doctor, stop talking nonsense. We paid the prison off—my sister lived like she was on vacation. What stress could she possibly have?”

The doctor frowned. “I’m not joking. Miss Wren is seriously ill—”

She didn’t get to finish. My brother cut her off coldly.

“Enough!” he snapped. “Dr. Linwood, you’ve been our family physician for years. Don’t tell me you’ve started lying for her now?”

His eyes turned on me, full of disdain. He looked at my pale face lying on the hospital bed and gave a cold sneer.

“Ava, what a performance. Faking illness, bribing the doctor—you’re really desperate for attention.”

Delilah’s eyes turned red. “Ava, if you really hate me, I’ll leave. There’s no need to pretend to be sick just to win sympathy from Mom, Dad, and Brother.”

Dad exploded with anger. “Not only have you failed to repent, you’ve learned to scheme. If that’s the case, forget the welcome party!”

Mom sighed, clearly disappointed. “Ava, why are you still so childish?”

Then she softened. “Don’t be angry with your sister. Just let it go this time.”

And just like that, under Delilah’s coaxing, the welcome party went on—like a performance of kindness for the girl they believed deserved it.

That morning, Delilah was the perfect picture of elegance in a diamondstudded tiara her brother gave her and a custommade dress from a famous designer.

Me? I wore a dress she’d thrown out. It sagged on my shoulders and clung awkwardly to my thin frame.

“She came back in such a rush,” Delilah said sweetly, holding my arm, “so I gave her something to wear. I’ll buy her a new one later.”

Everyone praised her for being so generous—so beautiful, so kind. The real Wren family daughter. If I refused, I knew she’d twist it into another story that made me look ungrateful.

So I let her drag me into the car.

“Come on, sister,” she smiled, “Let’s go try on new dresses. Mom, Dad, Brother—we’ll see you at the party!”

We passed the site of the accident from two years ago. And then—it happened again.

The car flipped. My head slammed against the window. Blood poured down my face. Just before I lost consciousness, I heard a voice murmuring to Delilah.

“Everything’s ready, Miss Wren. The Wren family and Mr. Thorne have been contacted. Just wait and watch.”

I forced my eyes open. Pain seared through me. “Delilah… what are you doing?!”

She crouched beside me, smiling like it was her birthday.

“What do you think? I want you to suffer.”

Her voice was soft, her expression radiant.

“You shouldn’t have come back, Ava. I want you to see—no one loves you. Not Mom, not Dad, not Brother. Not even Daniel. Only me.”

In that moment, I thought of Daniel whispering once that he loved me. For some reason, hope flickered.

Then came frantic footsteps.

My family rushed toward us—Mom, Dad, Brother, and Daniel—faces pale, out of breath.

“Delilah! Ava! Don’t be scared—we’ll save you!”

But the car was about to explode. Smoke hissed. Fire crackled.

Daniel rushed forward, shielding himself from the flames.

Tears ran down Delilah’s face, her voice trembling with fake selflessness.

“Mom, Dad, Brother, Daniel—the car’s about to blow. Only one of us can be saved. I don’t care if I die… Please, save my sister.”

They froze. Their eyes darted between us.

And in that moment, with death looming just seconds away, Delilah and I stared at them.

Would they choose me this time?

###6

But the next moment, their eyes shifted—guilt creeping in like a shadow.

“Delilah was in the accident last time… she still has nightmares,” my father said softly. “Let’s save her first. Once she’s safe, we’ll come back for you.”

I watched them, stunned.

No one met my eyes as they pried Delilah out of the car. They moved quickly, hands trembling—yet not from fear for me. Just for her.

I should’ve stopped hoping by now. But in that moment, my heart shattered anew.

They carried her away without hesitation. No backward glance.

“I was so scared! I thought I’d die and never see Mom or Dad again,” Delilah sobbed into my mother’s shoulder.

Daniel stroked her hair gently, his voice tender. My parents and brother surrounded her, all comfort and warmth.

No one remembered I was still inside.

Gasoline dripped faster now. The acrid scent filled my lungs. Fire flickered at the edge of my vision.

Desperately, I fought with the seatbelt, forcing myself through the window. Shards of glass sliced into my arms, but I kept crawling. Then—

Boom.

A wave of heat knocked me flat, searing my skin. Everything went dark.

When I opened my eyes again, a white ceiling greeted me.

My throat burned. Pain radiated from every limb. I was alone.

No one was sitting by my side.

Two young nurses passed by the door.

“Miss Wren is so lucky,” one said. “Barely scratched, and her family booked her a whole floor! The best specialists, toptier care…”

“Her fiancé stayed all night,” the other added. “So handsome. So devoted. I’d trade places with her in a heartbeat.”

Their voices faded.

I lay there, heart aching. Then—footsteps.

“Ava, you’re awake.”

Daniel entered with a forced smile and helped me sit up. “Still hurting? Hungry? Want water?”

Concern laced with guilt.

I almost laughed.

You caused this. You all did. Who are you pretending for?

I forced a smile. “You look awful. Get some sleep.”

He hesitated, then lay down beside me and quickly drifted off.

His phone was right there. I picked it up. The lock screen lit up—a photo of him and Delilah. She was beaming in his arms.

I opened the album.

Thousands of pictures. All of her.

One video played automatically—her birthday. Daniel carried a cake he’d baked himself, smudging frosting on her cheek. Her brother gifted her a dazzling dress.

She giggled, hugging them both. The perfect little princess.

And me? I share her birthday.

But that day, I was humiliated in prison.

We met in college. He promised forever. The photos of our life? Deleted. Trashed. Gone.

Tears blurred my vision.

I tapped into a group chat by accident—him, my brother, and Delilah.

My blood froze.

A kidney donation agreement.

Recipient: My brother.

Donor: Delilah.

I touched the scar on my waist. My breath caught.

My brother’s message echoed:

“Back then, Delilah risked her life to save me. One day, you must risk your life to protect our princess in return.”

Risked her life?

Then what about me?

The anesthesia wearing off midsurgery. The scalpel carving me open. The pain that never fully left.

The screen slipped from my hand. My fingers curled over my eyes, tears spilling silently.

The phone rang.

“Ava,” said Director Jake, “I’ve booked the plane tickets. We leave in four days.”

A flicker of joy broke through.

“Thank you, Director Jake,” I said quietly.

Before I could hang up, a hand seized mine.

Daniel was awake.

His grip tightened. His eyes were no longer gentle.

“Plane tickets?” he asked coldly. “What plane tickets?”

###7

"Nothing. You're just dreaming, confused," I murmured, sliding the phone beneath my pillow.

Daniel frowned, about to question me further, but his phone rang, interrupting the moment.

“Brother Daniel, I woke up and didn’t see you. I was so scared.”

His expression softened. “Be good. Don’t be afraid. I’ll be right there.”

He stood, glanced at me briefly, and added, “I’ll come pick you up when you’re discharged,” before walking out without another word.

He never looked back.

For two full days in the hospital, not a single person came to see me.

When I was discharged, I left alone, took a taxi back—no one waiting, no one asking.

But the house was far from empty.

The living room was crowded. People murmured in sympathy, comforted someone sobbing in the center.

It was Delilah—crying like a grieving child, wringing her hands pitifully.

I didn’t bother with her act. I went straight upstairs.

I was packing when the door creaked open behind me. My brother and Daniel stepped in, one after the other.

Their eyes landed on the suitcase next to me. For a second, both of them froze.

“Ava,” my brother asked, frowning, “where are you going?”

Daniel’s eyes narrowed with unease.

“Just sorting out some things left over from prison,” I replied coolly.

Relief washed over their faces.

My brother smiled, reaching into his pocket. “You hit your head in the explosion. Here—some ointment. Does it still hurt?”

Daniel pulled me gently toward a chair, pressing lightly against my sore shoulder.

“Sit still,” he said softly. “Don’t move, or it’ll reopen.”

Their concern was strange. Too careful. Too sudden. Too… off.

I stared at the two of them and asked flatly, “What’s going on? Why the sudden kindness?”

They exchanged glances. My brother hesitated before finally speaking.

“Ava… Delilah’s sick. Terminally ill.”

I blinked. So that’s why she cried so dramatically.

“She’s loved Daniel since she was little,” he continued. “But she’s never tried to fight you for him.”

“And now... she doesn’t have much time left. Her last wish is to wear a wedding dress and marry Daniel. Just a symbolic wedding. Ava, please… let her have this.”

Daniel quickly added, “Ava, it’s only for show. You’re the one I love. Always.”

My mother entered just then, eyes red from crying. “Poor Delilah… such a hard life. My poor daughter.”

My father followed, sighing deeply. “When our family was in crisis, it was Delilah who stepped up. Without her, we wouldn’t have recovered. As her father, I have to grant her last wish. It’s just a wedding, after all.”

They’d all made their choice.

I stared at them. For Delilah, they’d trade anything—maybe even me.

But I didn’t explode. I didn’t argue.

I just said calmly, “I don’t care. Do whatever you want.”

“Even if you do get married, I’d prefer not to be informed.”

Then I turned and walked out of the room.

They watched me go—silent, uneasy, unsure. My lack of reaction made them nervous.

Daniel rushed after me and grabbed my hand.

“Ava! I swear I only love you. Once Delilah’s ceremony is over, we’ll get married too, alright?”

But I had no intention of marrying him.

“Okay,” I said softly, pulling my hand free and continuing down the stairs.

There were still things I needed to pack.

In the living room, Delilah stood in my path, arms crossed and eyes gleaming with smugness.

“Hey,” she said sweetly, “you heard it, right? Daniel and I are getting married.”

I gave her a blank look. “Congratulations. I hope that finally puts your mind at ease.”

I moved to step around her, but she kicked my knee hard.

I staggered, and as I bent over in pain, she leaned in, voice dripping with venom.

“I lied. I’m not sick. I made that up to get what I want.”

“I’m going to take everything from you—your place in the Wren family, your man, your future. You’ll have nothing.”

“And prison? That hell you lived in? I made sure every second of it was tailored just for you.”

###8

"What?"

All the anger, the pain of over seven hundred days and nights, surged up and blanked my mind in an instant.

"You vicious snake, Delilah—I'll kill you!"

My slap landed hard across her face, leaving a crimson print. She fell with a sharp cry.

I lunged at her, fists flying.

"Ava, are you insane? You know Delilah’s sick and still attacked her!"

Dizzy and trembling, I was yanked off her. My brother shoved me to the floor.

"I didn’t do it—it was her! She bribed the prison—"

"Enough!" he barked. "We saw you hit her. Stop lying. Apologize."

Daniel rushed over, gathering the sobbing Delilah in his arms.

He glanced up at me—her scratches on his beloved’s face had flipped some switch inside him. His eyes darkened.

My parents said nothing, but their faces were etched with disappointment. The blame was always mine.

I knew, then. It didn’t matter what I said—they would never believe me. So why bother?

"I won’t apologize. Why should I bow to a monster like her?"

"Fine," my father snapped. "Send her back to prison. She can rot there until she admits her mistake."

At once, the bodyguards closed in. Their shadows surrounded me like vultures.

Suddenly, the memories slammed back—of lashes, electric shocks, of pain and shame in that hellhole they called a prison.

My whole body began to shake. My nails dug into my palms until blood welled up.

"I’m sorry..."

I broke.

I bent at the waist, a perfect 90 degrees.

"I was wrong. I’m sorry. I’m sorry..."

Ten times I apologized. They made me count them.

Someone hauled me upright. In my blurred vision, the man I once loved looked unfamiliar—twisted. That love had drained away with my dignity.

The wounds that had barely healed reopened, and blood began to stain through my clothes.

Daniel parted his lips, but I met his eyes and cut him off:

"Is that enough? Did it make your princess happy?"

Silence.

They stared at me, finally sensing something had cracked. Not just skin. Not just pride.

Something deeper.

I turned without a word.

Behind me, voices swirled—comforting Delilah, laughter mingling with sympathy. As if nothing had happened.

Then I heard her:

"The wedding was fake… but can I have a kiss from Daniel before I die?"

I paused on the stairs. My back to them, my heart numb.

Daniel hesitated. But my brother stepped in, smug:

"You and Delilah were childhood sweethearts. Won’t you grant her dying wish?"

My parents agreed.

And Daniel… he kissed her. Right there.

I didn’t cry. Didn’t blink.

Later, as I packed, a message popped up in Wren family group chat:

Mom: Ava, we’re planning a wedding for Delilah and Daniel. We’ll be at the hotel until then. Just come on the day.

Dad: Delilah might be upset if you show up. It’s okay if you don’t.

Brother: Don’t come. Don’t ruin her happiness.

Daniel called me.

"You don’t need to travel. Rest. After the wedding, I’ll take you on that honeymoon you wanted. Penguins in Antarctica, remember?"

I smiled faintly.

"Then I won’t go. I’ve prepared a gift. Hope you like it."

Click.

Two days later, they married.

Hours after I left.

That morning, I handed a courier a thick envelope.

Inside: a signed kidney donation agreement.

A medical certificate proving my stomach was perforated after drinking on behalf of the Wren family.

A damning video.

And one final letter, announcing their marriage to the world.

Then, I picked up my suitcase and left.

As I passed a trash bin, I tossed in the diamond engagement ring he gave me—like the worthless promise it was.

And as the plane roared overhead, I walked forward.

Toward a future that was wide, and quiet, and free.