Discarded, But Deadlier

By the time I returned to the Howell residence, it had begun to snow outside.

Inside, it was warm and comfortable. However, I felt as though ants were crawling all over my body, gnawing at me.

I wished I could escape right there and then.

In the past, I had been afraid of the cold.

However, back in the sanitarium, they would dunk me into ice water repeatedly or force me to kneel in the snow and repent for my "sins" whenever Isabella visited.

The chill from the ice water seeped deep into my bones, and kneeling in thin clothes on ice made me feel even worse.

Over time, I developed severe rheumatism. Now, even the slightest heat would make my joints go numb, ache, and swell.

Suppressing the urge to scratch myself, I stood at the doorway, barefoot and at a loss for what to do.

Once, my pair of bunny slippers had been placed here just for me. Now, in their place sat a pair of bright red, fluffy women's slippers. They weren't mine—likely belonging to Isabella.

Noticing me frozen at the door, Noah frowned. "What's with that face again? Do you expect me to invite you in?"

His tone was sharp. I flinched and quickly replied, "I'll come in right away."

Barefoot, I walked inside and stood in the middle of the living room, looking around. Everything felt familiar, yet ironically not at the same time.

This was the marital home Mr. Duncan Howell, Noah's father, had gifted us. Back then, Noah hadn't cared much, so I had overseen the entire renovation and decoration of the place.

Now, many decorations had been changed.

On the table was the flower I hated the most—lilies. The gramophone had been replaced with a sound system. My coffee table and tea set were also gone, replaced by an espresso machine.

The entire house was laden with traces of another woman.

I withdrew my gaze, wondering when Noah would bring up divorce. At the same time, I was also thinking about where I would go afterward on my own.

My mother had died giving birth to me, and a year ago, my father had sacrificed his life during a mission to rescue hostages.

And that hostage was none other than Noah's father.

Thinking back, I realized Noah hadn't married me because of my persistence. Perhaps Duncan had simply asked him to do it as a way to repay his debt to my father.

To Noah, the person he married didn't matter. In fact, it was easier for him to marry me because he knew my family's background well.

But now that Isabella—his dream girl—had returned, he regretted that decision.

Noah sat lazily on the sofa, loosening his tie. When he saw me still standing in the center of the room, his anger flared.

"Why are you standing there like an idiot? Come over here! Take off that filthy coat and throw it away. It's burning hot in here. Why are you still wrapped up like that?"

Without a word, I removed my coat piece by piece, carefully folding it and handing it to the maid.

There wasn't much that my father had left behind for me. I had to be frugal in the future. Even old clothes had to be kept.

Wearing only a worn long-sleeved T-shirt, I endured the numb ache in my body and forced myself to walk to the couch. I sat down as far away from Noah as possible.

He narrowed his eyes at me for a while before suddenly asking, "Why have you gotten so thin?"

How could I not?

In that terrifying, oppressive place, who could eat properly? Even if I wanted to eat, would they let me?

In fact, they would be happier if I starved to death.

I had tried to force down cold broth with a layer of congealed fat on top, only to vomit all night.

I had tried to swallow spoiled oatmeal, only to get diarrhea until I was completely drained.

Meanwhile, the orderlies stood by laughing.

"Look at her. She's like a starving beggar on the street. Even pigs and dogs wouldn't eat that slop, but she still tries. Serves her right if it kills her."

I thought food-related abuse was the worst it could get. I hadn't expected them to drug the food.

They used potent drugs usually reserved for disobedient women in nightclubs.

That night, four orderlies dragged me into the quiet room.

They pinned down my hands and feet. With wicked grins, they ripped my clothes apart.

One of them straddled me and shouted, "This bitch dares to compete with Ms. Dawson for a man? She must be desperate for a man's touch. Let's all have a turn. Don't bother holding back."

In that moment, my despair reached its peak. I wished for death right there and then.

And what was Noah doing at that moment? He was celebrating Isabella's birthday.

Earlier that afternoon, David showed me a video.

In the video, Isabella stood in the center, surrounded by admirers. Her eyes were closed as she made a wish.

Noah stood beside her, holding a cake lit with candles and smiling brightly.

David said, "Isabella said today's birthday was perfect. The only unpleasant thing was when someone mentioned you. So, you'll have to be punished today."

I had prepared myself for torture, but I hadn't expected this kind of punishment.

As those four orderlies had their way with me, they were merciless and rough. I screamed and sobbed in despair, "Why don't you just kill me? Just let me die already!"

…

From then on, I no longer dared to eat food from the sanitarium. I survived only on nutrient drips.

The painful memories surged, filling me with sudden courage.

I looked at Noah. I wanted to ask if he really wanted to know why I had become so thin.

I wondered if he had the courage to hear the truth. Was this how the Howell family treated the daughter of their savior?

But just as I opened my mouth, a sweet voice chimed in, "Noah, I heard Sadie is back. I came to see her."

All the courage I had mustered vanished instantly. I felt as though I had fallen into an icy abyss and trembled uncontrollably.

The owner of the voice was none other than Isabella.