Phoebe had been in a coma for nearly a month. Before her accident, she had asked to meet me.

I had already been unnerved by her manipulative behavior in the past and wanted to refuse, but under Stephen's disdainful gaze, I found myself unable to protest. Instead, I lowered my head and silently acquiesced.

This was always how it went. Years of ingrained self-doubt followed me like a shadow, especially when Stephen was involved.

No matter how much I tried to stand tall, I felt like a balloon—fragile and ready to burst. The closer I got to Stephen, the sharper his edges became, always puncturing my resolve.

…

Phoebe arrived wearing a white dress, her gaze gentle, her voice as soft as her appearance.

"Raelynn," she said, her tone calm and understanding. "I know you once saved Stephen, and I'm grateful for that. But he's my boyfriend. Please, stop interfering with our relationship, okay?"

I clenched my fists, my palms slick with sweat. I had no idea what Phoebe's real intentions were, which only made me more nervous.

In my experience, the softer her tone, the heavier the blame she was about to place on me.

I quickly gestured in sign language, "I haven't been near Stephen lately. Please, believe me."

Phoebe smiled warmly and reached out as if to reassure me with a pat on the shoulder. The moment her hand came close, I instinctively flinched and raised my hands in a defensive push.

She smirked, leaning into the motion before tumbling dramatically down the staircase.

"Raelynn, what have you done?!" Stephen growled.

I knew he had been watching from nearby. I wouldn't dare provoke Phoebe on purpose, but it didn't matter.

…

Phoebe never woke up after that fall.

The doctors said that if she remained unconscious much longer, she might spend the rest of her life in a vegetative state.

Stephen, his eyes red with fury, dragged me to the dark, suffocating basement. He told me that as long as Phoebe remained in her coma, I would never see the light of day.

The basement was cold, damp, and oppressive.

Stephen brought me only one meal a day.

At first, I was utterly terrified, so frightened that I forced my eyes open wide in the darkness, straining to see anything.

When a rat scurried by, my heart pounded uncontrollably. As a mute, however, no matter how terrified I was, I couldn't make a sound.

All I could do was curl up against the wall, clutching myself tightly and trembling as fear consumed me.

I couldn't understand why Phoebe would go to such lengths to frame me.

She already had everything she wanted.

Compared to her, I was nothing more than the mud at the bottom of a pond, looking up longingly at the lotus in full bloom above the water.

People used to say that if it weren't for Stephen, I would never have lived such a comfortable life.

I forced a bitter smile at the thought.

Why did no one believe me, no matter what I said?

Everyone assumed I had ulterior motives toward Stephen, that I was greedy for the wealth and status of the Linnells.

It wasn't like that at all. He was the boy I had saved one rainy night. He was the one who had made me a promise.

He had said he'd take care of me and that I'd never have to scavenge for scraps again. He had said I could go to school, just like everyone else, and someday choose my own life. He had said he'd always treat me like a little sister.

Now, he had locked me in this lightless basement.

Stephen was the Linnells' only son and heir to their immense fortune and doting affection. His life had been smooth and glittering in every way—except for that one day, ten years ago.

That day, Stephen and Phoebe had their first major fight at school.

Out of spite, Stephen decided to shake off his ever-present bodyguards and maids, determined to rely on himself to find his angry childhood sweetheart.

Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned.

The moment Stephen stepped out of the school gates, he was abducted by a group of men who had been lying in wait.

It wasn't random. These men had a vendetta against the Linnells and had been watching for the perfect opportunity.

That day, they finally got their chance.

Stephen was silently whisked away to a run-down neighborhood—a place he would never have ventured into otherwise.

It just so happened to be where I lived.

The neighborhood was slated for demolition, with most of its residents long gone. The only ones left were me, a homeless mute, and a group of desperate criminals with nowhere else to go.

At the time, I was scouring trash bins, propping myself up on bricks as I searched for scraps to eat that night.

The rough men who had kidnapped Stephen lived next door to me. Since they'd moved in, the air had been thick with the stench of smoke and alcohol, accompanied by their constant shouting and cursing.

I avoided them at all costs, venturing out to scavenge only after I was sure they had left. Alone and defenseless, I was terrified.

Their presence significantly shortened the time I had to scavenge and made my already meager food supply even scarcer.

That day, as they returned, I was dragging a sack of plastic bottles home.

The moment I saw them, I instinctively ducked behind a crumbling wall. My small, malnourished body fit easily into the narrow space, keeping me hidden.

Something was different about them that day. They seemed unusually cheerful, their voices filled with glee as they discussed how much money they were about to make.

Peeking out cautiously, I saw the leader, a bald man with a gruff demeanor, directing his men as they carried a bulging sack.

The sack wriggled—it wasn't just cargo.

I didn't know how Stephen managed it, but he cried out, "Help!" as he struggled in the sack.

The bald man swore loudly, "Dang it! Didn't you shut his mouth up properly?"

His men scrambled to silence the voice, shoving the sack into the stairwell of their building.

That cry for help pierced me like a dagger.

My entire body trembled behind the wall. No one had ever taught me what to do, but I knew deep down I had to act.

I couldn't speak or write, and I had no way to call for help. But I remembered seeing a police station on the route where I sold scrap.

By the time I reached the station, night had fallen, and rain poured relentlessly from the sky.

I didn't have an umbrella. My shoes were soaked through, and my body was freezing. I kept going, taking shelter under the eaves only briefly before pressing on.

I don't remember how I made it to the station or how long it took to make the officers understand what was happening as I gestured.

I just remember the relief I felt when Stephen was rescued. Even though I was drenched, shivering, and exhausted, I couldn't help but smile.

That rainy night, the gang was arrested in one swift operation.

Stephen had a few bruises and was understandably shaken, but he was otherwise unharmed.

When Stephen's parents offered me a wad of cash as a reward, I was too stunned to take it. That amount of money was more than I could ever earn, even if I scavenged trash for a lifetime.

Seeing my hesitation, Stephen smiled and patted my rain-soaked, tangled hair.

He said, "Mom, she saved my life. Let her live with us. From now on, she's my little sister."

His parents exchanged startled glances but eventually nodded, unable to refuse their son.

Stephen, bruises and all, still carried the aura of a pampered, noble boy.

I blushed and glanced at him shyly, unsure how to express my gratitude.