At my son’s one-month celebration, my sister burst in, covered in blood. She dropped to her knees in front of me, hands shaking as she pulled out a crumpled paternity test. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed uncontrollably.

"Kaitlyn, I promised to keep your affair a secret, but why? Why would you go this far? Why would you kill people why wouldn’t you even spare our parents? Will you only be satisfied when I’m dead too?"

I barely had time to process her words before my husband, Carter Franklin, snatched the report from her hands. Without even reading it, he ripped it to shreds and, right then and there, announced our divorce.

It didn’t stop there. My son was taken away, dumped in an orphanage like an unwanted stray. And me? Carter and my four brothers had me locked away in a mental hospital for "reform."

For a whole year, I lived through hell. I was beaten, tormented, forced to endure five miscarriages, stripped of every last shred of dignity.

It wasn’t until Carter and my sister’s wedding was coming up that my brothers finally decided to bring me home.

By then, I had nothing left in me. I clutched a pillow like it was my child, rocking it gently, smiling like a fool.

——

When I stepped out of the hospital, the world outside felt just as cruel as the one I had left behind. Carter and my brothers stood next to a sleek Maybach, watching me with impatient stares. Cameras flashed, reporters pushed forward, voices buzzing like a swarm of wasps.

"Kaitlyn, you murdered your own parents and ruined your sister’s life, do you really think playing the victim will change anything?"

"If it weren’t for Winona’s kindness, you would’ve been sentenced to death by now!"

"You threw everything away for an affair. You killed your own parents for a man. Do you even feel remorse?"

A slight shove was all it took to send me crashing to the ground. My body was too weak, my clothes hanging off me like I was a child playing dress-up.

The reporters backed away for a second, but their words wrapped around me, suffocating me. My legs burned from the impact, but nothing hurt more than the weight of their accusations.

Still, I didn’t fight back. I didn’t argue. I just held onto my pillow, bent at the waist and bowed over and over, my voice breaking between gasps.

"I was wrong… I’m guilty… I’m a disgrace… I shouldn’t have killed my parents… I shouldn’t have hurt my sister."

After a year of torture, I had nothing left in me to resist. I had learned my place.

Every time I denied it, the punishments got worse; electric shocks that left my body convulsing, beatings so brutal I couldn't even cry out.

And when I finally collapsed, too weak to fight back, those rich brats would swarm like vultures, kicking and laughing as if I were nothing more than a broken toy.

They were criminals, all of them. Shipped off to the mental hospital under the pretense of "reform," but really, it was just a place for them to hide from consequences. They weren’t there to be fixed. They were there to be protected.

And they loved watching someone suffer. The only difference between me and the other victims? They died. I didn’t. Because my brothers and Carter wouldn’t let me.

Their voices haunted me, played on a loop through my earphones, cruel and relentless. "Kaitlyn, you filthy bitch, you deserve to die. You killed our parents. You ruined Winona. This is your punishment."

I slammed my forehead against the ground, the pain sharp and immediate. Warm blood trickled down my face, stinging my eyes. The world blurred red and the five looming figures in front of me became nothing more than shadows.

Then, a polished leather shoe stopped me from bowing again. Carter.

He nudged my chin up with his foot, forcing me to look at him. His gaze was cold, his voice even colder. "Kaitlyn, if you regret it so much now, why’d you do it in the first place?"

My whole body shook. I couldn’t stop it.

"I was wrong," I choked out, my voice barely a whisper. "I was really wrong. Please don’t hit me. I’ll confess, I’ll do whatever you want… Just let me go, please…"

Disgust flashed in his eyes. He leaned down and ripped the pillow from my arms, using it to wipe the blood from my forehead like I was something dirty.

Then he grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "A year in that place and this is what you’ve become?" He let out a low laugh. "You should be thanking me. We could’ve thrown you in prison, but we let you off easy. And now you want sympathy?"

His grip tightened. "Everyone knows the mental hospital’s just a safe house for rich kids to dodge the law. So tell me, Kaitlyn, what the hell are you trying to pull with this little act?"

The emptiness in my arms sent me into a spiral of panic. My hands scrambled over the cold floor as I crawled toward the blood-stained pillow, my breath hitching.

Tears blurred my vision as I cradled it close, whispering, "It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here. Mommy will protect you."

Before I could curl around it, shadows loomed over me. My four brothers.

Their presence blocked out the harsh flashes of cameras, but not the suffocating weight of their judgment. "Kaitlyn! You’re still thinking about that bastard? After everything? You should be grateful we sent you for reform, but no, you’d rather sulk like a victim!"

Yohan, the eldest, didn’t wait for a response. His boot slammed into my chest, knocking me backward. Pain shot through my ribs and the sickly taste of blood filled my mouth before I choked and spat it out. It splattered onto the pillow, merging with the red already smeared across my forehead.

Yohan froze for a second, then scoffed. "Wow. Kaitlyn, seriously? Blood packs now? What, trying to put on a show for us? Guess we didn’t punish you hard enough last year."

The crowd buzzed with murmurs. "I wonder who the mystery man is. Must’ve been something special to make the great Kaitlyn Stafford throw everything away."

The words slithered through the air like poison. I could feel the weight of their pitying stares shifting toward Carter, my ex-husband, the man I had supposedly betrayed.

His expression hardened, his disgust palpable. A chill ran down my spine. I knew that look. Carter was about to lash out.

And if I didn’t act fast, I would be the one paying for it.

I swallowed back the blood pooling in my mouth and forced myself up, bowing my head low in submission. My voice was shaky, desperate. "I was wrong. I shouldn’t have seduced him. I deserve to be punished. Just… just don’t hit me. Do whatever you want, just let me go."

The words felt distant, automatic. My hands trembled as they moved, mindlessly pulling at the fabric of my own clothes because wasn’t that what they expected? Wasn’t that what they wanted? To see me reduced to nothing?

But the truth was, I didn’t even know who this so-called man was. I didn’t know why my parents had suddenly died.

I didn’t know why my son was cast aside like a mistake. I didn’t know what I had done to make my sister turn her back on me.

Carter grabbed my wrist, stopping me cold. His grip was like iron, his eyes filled with rage and something even worse; contempt. "Kaitlyn, a year later and this is what you’ve become? Pathetic."

He pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped his hand as if touching me had left him dirty. Then, he smirked, sharp and cruel. "And you really think you deserve mercy?"

The four brothers finally snapped out of it, their faces dark with determination. "Since you still don’t get it, we’ll just have to remind you ourselves."

Their voices overlapped, sealing my fate. Carter walked over to the car, popped the trunk and pulled something out, something he had clearly prepared in advance.

Then he turned to the cameras, his voice steady and cold. "Once the livestream hits a million viewers, we begin."

My stomach clenched.

So this was their plan all along. They weren’t just here to take me back, they had a whole punishment mapped out, ready to play out in front of a live audience.

And the crowd ate it up. The numbers shot up in real time, comments flooding in, urging them to start. To put on a good show, Yohan stepped forward, smirking like he was about to reveal some grand secret. "Kaitlyn, since you’re struggling to remember what you did, let me refresh your memory."

His words sent a chill down my spine and just like that, it all came flooding back. The fire. The screams. The twisted wreckage.

The day my parents died, they had been on their way to my brother’s party. Just a normal drive. No warning, no signs, until their car suddenly lost control, swerving straight into a roadside guardrail.

Then, boom. The fuel tank ruptured. Fire exploded from the wreckage, engulfing the entire car. Thick smoke rose into the night, flames swallowing everything in sight.

They were trapped inside. They pounded against the windows, their screams drowned out by the roar of the fire.

And then, a recording played. Not just any recording, theirs. Their final, agonized screams, raw and unfiltered, filling the air. My breath caught. My hands shook.

Winona recorded this. She stood there, listening, while my parents burned alive. The sounds cut through me like a blade. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it was useless. I could see them.

Their scorched faces, twisted in pain. Their hands, pounding desperately against the glass. Their fear, their agony, their betrayal.

And all I could do was relive it. Over and over again.

No matter how many times I’d heard that recording, I could never get used to it. I still couldn’t accept it. I still couldn’t believe my parents were gone.

Their deaths left a wound in me that would never heal. But the worst part, everyone thought I was to blame.

They believed I had tampered with the car. That I had murdered my own parents. And now, the entire world was watching, eager to see me pay for it.

The live chat was going crazy, messages flooding in so fast I could barely keep up. Each one was like a knife to the heart.

[Kaitlyn, you murderer! You should’ve died instead of them!]

[Your parents must’ve committed some terrible sin to end up with a daughter like you.]

[Stop acting innocent. You’re disgusting.]

[You deserve every bit of what’s coming to you.]

Their words burned into me, harsher than any wound. I wanted to tell them they were wrong. That I didn’t do it. That I would never hurt my parents.

But what was the point? Nobody would believe me. To them, I was already guilty. I curled up on the ground, clutching the bloody pillow as if it were my last lifeline.

Tears slid down my face, mixing with the blood on my forehead, dripping onto the pillow. "I’m sorry, Mom… Dad… I don’t understand why this is happening."

Yohan’s voice cut through the air like ice. "Still playing the victim, Kaitlyn? You think looking pitiful will change anything? You killed our parents. You destroyed Winona’s life. Do you think you’ll escape punishment for that?"

I looked up at him, my chest tightening. His face was stone-cold, but his eyes were full of hate. The number of viewers kept skyrocketing. The comments kept coming.

They wanted a show. They wanted to see me suffer. For a split second, I wished I could just disappear. That I could close my eyes and never wake up. But I couldn’t.

Because if I died, my son, the little boy they stole from me, would have no one left. He and I were both discarded, both unwanted. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. I didn’t have a choice.

"Let’s begin," Carter said coldly. And just like that, the nightmare started. The four brothers surrounded me, their faces void of warmth.

"Kaitlyn, what happened? No more crazy act? No more games? Beg for mercy!" Yohan’s voice dripped with mockery as he lifted a long, thin whip lined with barbs. He flicked it in the air, the sharp crack making me flinch.

Step by step, he came closer. I tried to back away, but before I could, Julian, my second brother, grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me back. Pain shot through my scalp, sharp and blinding.

"Where do you think you're going?" he taunted. "Isn't this what you wanted? Playing the victim, acting pitiful? Go ahead, keep pretending."

Tears stung my eyes, but I swallowed them down. Crying wouldn’t help. Nothing would.

"I was wrong… I was really wrong," I murmured, my voice trembling, repeating the words like they were some kind of shield.

It didn’t matter. The whip cracked against my back, sending a white-hot wave of pain through me. My body lurched forward, a choked whimper escaping my lips. But I didn’t scream.

I knew better than that. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood, forcing myself not to make a sound. If I cried out, they’d only make it worse.

"What, you think a few fake tears will get you out of this?" Yohan scoffed. "Dream on."

Another lash. And another. The pain was unbearable, every strike ripping through me like fire. "Tell them," Yohan’s voice was cold, emotionless. "Tell everyone what you did wrong."

The whip came down again and all I could do was curl in on myself, bracing for the next.