---- Chapter 7 Farah Moore POV: | don't know how long | was trapped in that room. Hours bled into days. The men didn't leave me alone. They were Caryl's creatures, and they followed her whispered instructions with chilling enthusiasm. They never went all the way, but their torment was constant, a slow, methodical breaking of my body and spirit. My skin was a roadmap of bruises. Pain became a constant companion, a dull, throbbing hum beneath the surface of my consciousness. | learned to curl into myself, to make my body small, to protect the most vulnerable parts of me. | learned to endure. One day, the door creaked open, spilling a sliver of bright, painful light into my dark prison. "Farah?" The voice was soft, hesitant. It was a perfect imitation of Brandon's, but | knew better. It was Danial. My heart seized with a fresh wave of hatred for both of them-the architect of my pain and his willing accomplice. The light, the voice, the sudden shift in my reality-it was too much. The last of my strength gave out, and | succumbed to ---- the darkness, my body slumping to the floor. When | woke up, | was in my own bed. For a confusing moment, | thought it had all been a nightmare. But then | moved, and a symphony of agony erupted from every nerve ending. It was real. All of it. Brandon was sitting in a chair beside me, holding a bowl of dark, steaming medicine. The sandalwood beads were wrapped around his wrist. It was him. The real monster. "Who are you?" | rasped, my voice hoarse. "Are you Brandon, or are you Danial?" "I'm your fiancé," he said, his voice tight. A dry, rattling laugh escaped my lips, the sound tearing at my raw throat and sending a shooting pain through my bruised ribs. "My fiancé," | repeated, the words tasting like poison. "Drink your medicine," he ordered, his patience clearly wearing thin. | summoned every ounce of strength | had left and swiped at the bowl, sending it crashing to the floor. Dark liquid splattered across the pristine white carpet like a stain on my soul. "Don't you dare touch me," | snarled. "Stop this childish tantrum, Farah," he said, his voice dangerously low. "You brought this on yourself. This was your ---- punishment for what you did to Caryl." | just stared at him, at his handsome, cruel face, and | laughed again, a broken, hollow sound. He still believed her. He would always believe her. His phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and his expression hardened. He answered, his voice clipped and formal. "Grandfather." After a moment, he held the phone out to me. "He wants to speak with you." The mention of Grandpa Carlson sent a jolt through me. He was the only member of the Carlson family who had ever shown me genuine kindness. | took the phone, my hand trembling. "Fara, my dear girl," his warm, familiar voice came through the line. "| heard you caught a bad cold. Are you feeling any better?" Tears pricked my eyes. | swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing my voice to sound steady. "I'm much better, Grandpa. Thank you for calling." &6 "That's good to hear," he said, his voice full of affection. "You just rest. I'll make sure that stubborn grandson of mine takes good care of you. If he gives you any trouble, you just tell me, and I'll take my cane to his legs." His words were a small, warm light in my vast darkness. But ---- they also sealed my decision. "| will, Grandpa," | whispered. | hung up the phone and looked at Brandon. He was watching me, his expression unreadable. "I'll go have the maid prepare another bowl of medicine," he said, turning to leave. | had to stay. For Grandpa. He was old and his health was frail. | couldn't bear the thought of my departure causing him any distress. | would wait. | would endure this a little longer, for him. But the moment he was safe, the moment | knew he wouldn't be hurt by the fallout, | was leaving. | would disappear from Brandon Carlson's life forever. The tears that had been threatening to fall finally escaped, tracing silent paths through the grime on my cheeks. This was the last time. The very last time | would ever cry for him.