My wife's first love manipulated his son into humiliating my daughter—and they took photos.

Looking at my daughter sobbing uncontrollably, looking at those vile photographs, my heart shattered. I slapped them both across the face.

When my wife arrived, her precious first love twisted everything. He claimed my daughter and I had bullied them, that we were the aggressors.

Without a word of explanation, my wife had me locked away in a closed facility called the Men's Virtue Program. She said I needed to learn proper etiquette and manners.

Six months later, she came with a group to take me home.

I served tea with steady hands. I spoke softly. I kept my head bowed, never daring to meet anyone's eyes.

Everyone remarked how effective the program had been. They said I finally had the air of a proper gentleman now—nothing like the arrogant, domineering man I used to be.

Then I knelt on the floor and said: "I'm the most obedient one here. Would any of you ladies like a taste?"

My wife slapped me across the face, trembling with rage. "Timothy Henson! I only sent you here to learn some manners! It was for your own good! Are you really throwing a tantrum over this?"

"You're putting on this degrading act just to disgust me, is that it?"

I smiled back at her—a numb, empty smile. "Isn't this what you wanted, ma'am? For me to become exactly this?"

She shoved me hard. "Where's our daughter?"

My face went blank. "Our daughter? She's been gone for a long time now..."

1.

"Timothy Henson, you have visitors." Instructor Knox's voice cut through the haze.

I flinched.

Another visitor.

Students of the Men's Virtue Program were not permitted to refuse guests. A moment's defiance meant severe punishment.

I had learned only two words in this place: complete obedience.

Instructor Knox had made it clear—only when I mastered obedience would I ever have a chance of leaving.

I walked to the reception lounge with my head down.

A group of familiar faces greeted me.

My wife, Celine Gilbert. Her circle of friends. And her first love, Brent Pruitt.

Six months of "correction" had left my mind... foggy. Slow.

Following my training, I bowed deeply the moment I entered.

Then I poured tea for each of them, presenting every cup with both hands held perfectly steady, exactly as I'd been taught.

Celine nodded with satisfaction. "The Men's Virtue Program really does live up to its reputation. You're so much more sensible now than you used to be."

"If I'd known this place worked so well, I would have sent you here years ago."

"Mrs. Gilbert is right," I murmured, eyes downcast.

She frowned at the formal address.

"The incident where you and our daughter attacked Brent," she continued coolly, "Brent has been gracious enough not to press charges, but you can't just pretend it never happened."

"I've transferred half of the company shares belonging to you and our daughter to Brent. Consider it compensation."

I said nothing. My head stayed bowed.

Celine's voice sharpened. "Timothy! Don't you think you owe Brent an apology?"

Her rebuke sent a jolt through me. Before I could think, I was on my knees in front of Brent Pruitt. "Mr. Pruitt, I'm sorry. I was wrong."

Thud. Thud. Thud.

I pressed my forehead to the floor, again and again.

This was how it worked in the program. Never question right or wrong. When someone raised their voice, you dropped to your knees and begged forgiveness.

The faster you admitted fault, the lighter the punishment.

It had become instinct.

Celine yanked me back roughly. "Timothy, what the hell are you doing?"

My face drained of color. I couldn't stop shaking.

She released me, something flickering in her expression. "Timothy... what's wrong with you? I'm your wife. Why do you look so terrified? Why are you looking at me like you don't even know who I am?"

Brent's voice drifted from beside her, wounded and soft. "He must still blame me. That's why he's mocking us like this."

"You really don't need to apologize to me. It's fine if Timothy hit me a couple of times."

Celine shot Brent a look of tender concern, then turned on me with fury. "Timothy Henson, you're absolutely incorrigible. I shouldn't have come to pick you up today. You can stay here another six months."

Panic seized me.

Every waking moment, I'd dreamed of escaping this hellhole. Six more months in this place would break me completely.

I dropped to my knees, begging. "Mrs. Gilbert, I was wrong. Please, I'm begging you—have mercy."

I pressed my forehead to the floor before Celine, then turned and did the same to Brent. "Mr. Pruitt, I'll never do it again. I'll do whatever you say from now on."

This only enraged Celine further. She kicked me hard. "Timothy, are you putting on this pathetic display just to disgust me?"

"I only sent you to a Men's Virtue Program. Is this really necessary?"

I curled into myself on the floor, sobbing. "Don't hit me. Please don't hit me. I'm begging you. I'll do anything."

Celine froze.

She reached down and grabbed my wrist. "Timothy... do they beat you here often?"

Before I could answer, Instructor Knox—who had been standing nearby—went pale.

She hurried over, her face arranged into an ingratiating smile. "Mrs. Gilbert, you've misunderstood."

"Our program is built on moral cultivation."

"We treat every student here like our own child. We would never lay a hand on them."

Celine shoved her aside impatiently.

She lifted my shirt, checking for injuries.

What met her eyes was unblemished skin.

No scars. Not even a bruise.

Celine shoved me away in disgust. "Timothy, you've really perfected the art of playing victim, haven't you?"

I wept.

When I'd first arrived at this place, Instructor Knox had ordered me to "entertain" clients.

When I refused, they'd beaten me savagely.

But recently, they hadn't touched me.

Because now they had leverage—my daughter.

Whenever I disobeyed, they beat Sophie instead.

Her agonized screams haunted my nightmares.

I had no choice but to submit. To please them. To do whatever it took so my daughter could eat a full meal, so she wouldn't be tortured.

There were times when clients gave me poor reviews.

Sophie would be dragged in immediately and beaten right in front of me.

All I could do was throw myself over her body, sobbing, begging them for another chance, promising I'd do better...

The memories crashed over me like a wave.

But Instructor Knox stood right there, her eyes boring into me with silent warning.

I didn't dare say a word.

I could only kneel there, pleading with Celine over and over. "Please. Take me home."

"I don't have to be your husband. I'll be a servant. A slave. Anything. Just take me away from here."

But my desperation only deepened Celine's contempt. "Timothy, you haven't learned anything useful here, but you've certainly mastered the art of looking pitiful."

"Too bad you're terrible at it. I'm not an idiot. You can't fool me."

Brent's eyes welled with tears. "Timothy, you don't have to do this."

"Making a scene like this—you're not just humiliating yourself, you're humiliating Celine too."

"I swear, from now on, I won't talk back when you scold me or fight back when you hit me. Just stop being so stubborn with her."

He reached out to help me up.

I recoiled as if from a venomous snake, scrambling backward. "Stay away from me."

More than women, I feared the touch of men.

There had been several times when those wealthy wives' husbands discovered what went on at this place.

To smooth things over, the Men's Virtue Program threw me under the bus. They claimed I'd been the one causing trouble—secretly seducing wealthy women.

Their husbands took out their rage on me. They jabbed me with needles, burned me with lighters, stomped on me with their leather shoes until I couldn't breathe...

I was traumatized. Broken.

I was terrified. Truly, deeply terrified.

Now only one thought remained in my head:

Celine belongs to Brent. I'll never dare try to take her again.

At that moment, Celine looked at me with disgust. "Timothy, what happened to you? You're no different from some gutter trash throwing a tantrum in the streets. Clearly, six months wasn't long enough."

I was paralyzed with fear.

Terror had numbed my brain, clouded my thoughts until nothing made sense anymore.

Only one thought echoed: It's over. It's over. Another client is unhappy with me.

"Sophie. Don't hurt my Sophie."

Without thinking, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the "candy." I didn't count how many—I just shoved them into my mouth while no one was watching.

The "candy" was from Instructor Knox.

She'd told me that taking it would make me more "professional." That clients would be more satisfied.

But I had to take it secretly. The clients needed to believe they were the ones who'd reduced me to this state. It gave them a sense of accomplishment.

The candy kicked in fast. I lost all shame, pressing myself against Celine, against every client in the room.

Celine screamed in fury and slapped me hard across the face.

Half my face swelled instantly. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth.

"Timothy, you're a pathetic, disgusting excuse for a man!" She spat the words through clenched teeth.

Her hands closed around my throat, squeezing until I couldn't breathe.

She hissed in my ear: "Rot here. Don't ever expect me to take you out of this place."

"Where's my daughter? I'm only taking her today."

Celine threw me to the ground.

Still not satisfied, she kicked me hard in the stomach.

I curled into a ball on the floor, bent like a shrimp, gasping through the pain.

"Where is my daughter? Bring her to me. We're leaving. Now." Celine's voice was a snarl aimed at Instructor Knox.

The instructor's face tightened with discomfort. "Your daughter... we don't actually know where she is."

Celine's expression shifted to shock, then rage. "What?"

Instructor Knox sighed. "Since your husband and daughter arrived, we've done everything to accommodate them."

"But they used their status as wealthy elites to act however they pleased. They looked down on us completely. If we so much as raised our voices, they'd strike us."

Celine slammed her palm on the table. "I sent them here precisely to fix that attitude!"

"I told you before—discipline them as needed. Don't hold back!"

A bitter smile crossed the instructor's face. "But your daughter... she's young, yet her temper is fierce."

"She refused to let us follow her. She goes wherever she wants. And she made it clear—if we tried to control her, she'd kill herself."

"All we can confirm is that she's still somewhere on the grounds. She hasn't escaped."

Veins bulged at Celine's temples. "Check the surveillance. Find her. Now."

Half an hour later, someone from the security room rushed in, breathless. "We found her, but..."

Celine shoved past her. "But what? Where is she?"

The staff member held out a USB drive. "See for yourself."

Inside was a video.

Her daughter was in a corner, wrapped in the arms of a man.