Regret Selling Me on the Black Market Now?

I'm sold into the underground and turned into an anthropodermic fan, suffering endless days of humiliation.

It isn't until my spine shatters from a hammered nail that my brother—Daxon Smyth—and my fiance—Joshua Moore—finally arrive.

The two men who've doted on me for 20 years swear to make the guilty pay in blood. And I think my salvation has come.

But when I overhear their words, I realize the truth—every torment I've suffered is of their doing, all to make me behave and stop me from competing with the true heiress they've found.

When another man carries me away from that place, they lose their minds and scour through all ends of the world, trying to find me.

"Don't be afraid, Madie. We're here."

The underground auction house was in chaos. I was barely hanging on, lying in the arms of my fiance, Joshua Moore.

"Who did this to you? Tell me, and I'll tear them apart." His voice was hoarse and raw. Each word was forced out like it tore his throat.

My brother, Daxon Smyth, stood close with his eyes full of concern.

I greedily clung to the warmth and sense of security I hadn't felt for so long. And just before the darkness swallowed me whole, I gathered the last ounce of my strength to grip their clothes.

I thought I was holding onto salvation.

…

When I woke up in the ICU three days later, I heard Joshua's voice amidst a daze. "They went too far, and that nail shattered her spine. If we'd been just a step too late, Madie would've ended up paralyzed now."

Daxon replied, "It's just a vertebra, and it's not like I had a choice. She'll never know her place if she doesn't learn her lesson.

"Ciara is my true sister. She's suffered out there for over 20 years, so Madie shouldn't have fought her.

"Don't worry. She'll never know we were involved. I've shut down the underground auction house, and it's enough of a cover like we avenged her."

His light, unbothered voice froze the blood in my veins. Though I'd jolted awake, I kept my eyes shut and held my breath.

So the torment and the near-death experience I had gone through had been their doing all along.

Two decades of sibling love and ten years of vows and promises turned out to be the cruelest, most vicious lie I'd ever heard.

When the door opened, a doctor walked in and interrupted their conversation. "Mr. Smyth and Mr. Moore, Ms. Smyth isn't in an optimistic condition. Her third lumbar vertebra is shattered, and we stabilized it with a pedicle screw.

"Luckily, the nerves weren't damaged, but she won't be able to do anything strenuous again. It'd be best if you could get her a wheelchair."

After the doctor left, I fought to control my trembling body. After all, I was only 20 years old, and the weight of his words was too much to bear.

Silent tears slipped from the corner of my eyes, but Joshua and Daxon paid no notice.

I heard Daxon on the phone with his assistant. "For Ciara's birthday party, have Madie's outfit made like a maid uniform. Make sure she doesn't outshine Ciara, understood?"

When Daxon ended the call, Joshua hesitatingly asked, "Daxon, isn't that too much? Madie's already hurt, and she might not take it if she's humiliated at the birthday party.

"You know how ruthless those rich kids could be, and things might get really tough for her."

I could feel a hand brush my cheek and wipe away a tear.

Daxon's voice softened with pity, yet every word he said cut deep. "I know it'll hurt her, but she's been with the Smyths for too long. Ciara won't feel secure if we don't do it.

"It's just making Madie kneel to put on Ciara's shoes, and I told them to make sure her outfit isn't exactly like a maid's. She needs to learn her place now, so it'll hurt less in the long run.

"Besides, she has us. We'll make it up to her after the birthday party, and she won't be around the Smyth family much to care about the rest of the rich kids. We'll pave her path and keep her close, and her world only needs to fit the two of us."

After Daxon's voice died away, a long silence followed before Joshua finally responded nonchalantly with a brief answer, "You're right."

In that moment, the pain was so unbearable that I could barely breathe.

During those days when I had been abducted in the black market, I'd repeatedly dialed their number for help.

Through endless beatings and humiliation, I'd gripped onto hope, only to be met with deeper despair and the hollow tone of calls that'd never been picked up.

I had always thought it was just an unlucky coincidence. But now, I understand that they were never my salvation; they were my hell.