The day the true Ashworth heiress returned, my life ended. I became a ghost on the streets, fighting stray dogs for scraps from dumpsters. With a ruined face and missing arm, no one challenged me for meals. "Ugh, she's not even wearing pants!" a passerby sneered. Dignity was a luxury I couldn't afford. I devoured a discarded cake, shoving it into my mouth with what remained of my fingers. Then I noticed him—staring in horrified disbelief. "Must be losing my mind," he muttered, "mistaking a homeless woman for Roxanne Ashworth." As he walked away, his voice warm with love for his wife, my tears mixed with the last bitter bite. I'd walked a thousand miles for this final look at him. Now that I had it... it meant nothing. 01 This cake was incredible. It would keep the hunger at bay for at least three days. I lay back on the cold stone steps, letting out a soft, contented burp. The man pointed at me, his handsome face an unreadable mask. "Mark," he said to his assistant, "take her to a shelter. Help her find her family." The man named Mark crouched down, his gaze sweeping over me with undisguised contempt. "Mr. Gabel, she's been a fixture around here for years. I saw her… 'working'… with a few other vagrants last year, if you catch my drift." He wrinkled his nose. "Are you sure you want to help someone like her?" I was used to that look. The disgust. I let my matted hair fall away from my face and lunged at him with a guttural cry. He yelped, stumbling backward and falling flat on his ass. The man—Ethan Gabel—flashed a brief look of surprise, then shook his head, a frown tightening his lips. "Never mind." "Just get her out of here," he commanded. "I don't want her on the grounds of Gabel Enterprises again. It's bad for the company's image." He looked at me, his eyes as cold as a winter sky, and in them, I saw the Ethan I remembered. "Roxanne hurt Natalia, stole from the family safe, and fled the country. This can't be her." His tenderness, his affection—that was reserved for Natalia Ashworth and Natalia alone. A bitter acid churned in my stomach. Before Mark could say another word, I used a nearby pillar to haul myself to my feet and began to shuffle away. Mark scrambled back to Ethan's side. "Sir, you have an appointment for Ms. Ashworth's prenatal check-up in an hour. Will you go directly to the hospital, or shall I have a car take you home to pick her up?" "Natalia can't stand the way you guys drive," Ethan's voice softened, a note of pure adoration creeping in. "I'll go get her myself. Three years of marriage, a month away from being a mother, and she's still got the temperament of a child. I wonder who spoiled her so badly." The words were like a physical blow, a spike of pain through my ears. I froze, my gaze falling to the small, faded heart tattoo on my wrist with the initials ‘E & C’ inside. We’d gotten them together, the night of our engagement party. Four years. A lifetime ago. They were married now. They were having a child. Tears I could no longer control burned their way down my cheeks. Two years, walking a thousand miles, just to get back to Crestfall City. Another two years, haunting these streets, just for a glimpse of him from afar. And now, my wish was granted. There were no more regrets left to have. Nearby, Mark nodded. "I'll pick you up at 2 p.m., then." Ethan took the car keys from his hand and started toward the parking garage. He noticed I was still standing there, unmoving, and shot me a glare. "Why haven't you gotten rid of her yet?" Mark rushed over, his voice sharp. "What, are you waiting for me to call security to throw you out? You bums are all the same—lazy, freeloading, preying on people's kindness. Gabel Enterprises is not a place you want to mess with." As he spoke, a pair of patrolling security guards hurried over. "It's her! She tried to steal the keys to the guardhouse last time." "Get her out of here!" The words had barely left his mouth before their rubber batons came down on me. I crumpled to the ground, curling into a ball and covering my head with my one good arm. Just endure it, I told myself. Let them get it out of their system, and then you can leave. But one of the guards had other ideas. He kicked my mangled left hand, the one with only three fingers, and then stomped on it, grinding his boot into the fragile bones. "Maybe breaking this one will teach you a lesson." "Let's do it, boys! I'll take the heat if anything happens!" A wave of pure terror washed over me. I knew what was coming. I risked one last look at Ethan, a final, silent goodbye, and squeezed my eyes shut. Ethan, I thought, in the next life, we will not meet again. But the blinding pain I expected never came. A sharp "Stop!" from Mark cut through the air, and then a strong hand gripped my wrist. Ethan Gabel yanked me to my feet, his face pale, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Where," he demanded, his eyes locked on the faded ink, "did you get that 'E & C' tattoo?" 02 I stared up at him through my mess of hair, my face a roadmap of scars, and bit my lip until I tasted blood. What was I supposed to say? That I was her? That I was Roxanne Ashworth, the wild, headstrong girl who was once the bane of everyone’s existence? I, who had used my family’s power to force Ethan Gabel into an engagement. I, who had drugged him, then dragged his unconscious body to a tattoo parlor to brand us with matching symbols of a love he never wanted. I, who had watched him wake up, seething with a fury that was almost beautiful. Now, seeing me like this—a broken, homeless creature—would only bring him a grim satisfaction. His grip on my wrist was crushing, a vice of steel and ice. I tried to pull away, but he was immovable. Just then, his phone rang. I gestured weakly toward his pocket, but he didn't move, his gaze still boring into me. It was Mark who finally answered the call. "Mrs. Gabel, yes. Mr. Gabel is just leaving the office now. He'll be home shortly to take you to your appointment." It must be Natalia. The icy fury in Ethan’s eyes thawed for a moment. He released my wrist, his voice regaining its commanding tone. "Take her to the shelter. Run a background check. Find out who she is." He stared at me one last time before turning on his heel. "I want to know the second you have anything." I watched him go, my eyes fixed on his retreating back long after he disappeared. Mark was efficient. Within the hour, I was not only at a shelter but in a private room. After I had washed, he returned with a doctor. The doctor examined the scars on my face, his expression grim. "My god," he sighed. "Who did this to you? These wounds are at least three years old. A sharp blade, cut deep enough to graze bone. With her scar tissue, reconstructive surgery will be… difficult." Even Mark, a man who I was sure had seen his share of unpleasantness, had to cover his mouth to stifle a gag. The doctor moved to my right side, gently rolling up the empty, tattered sleeve. The beam of his penlight illuminated the stump of my arm. "The right arm was severed. Hacked off, by the looks of it. Probably a cleaver or something similar." He leaned in closer. "But it was clearly an amateur. Or maybe the blade was dull. See the hesitation marks? The ragged flesh? It was a brutal, clumsy job." I looked down, a humorless smile twisting my lips. Natalia, who had never so much as harmed a fly, had complained that my bones were too hard. It took her more than a dozen swings to finally sever the limb. Did that count as an amateur? Mark let out a string of curses under his breath. "Jesus Christ. What kind of monster does something like this?" "That's not all," the doctor said, gently tilting my chin up. He shone the light into my mouth. "Her tongue… it's been partially severed. She can't speak properly." He looked at me, his eyes filled with a pity that felt worse than any blow. "Young lady, who did you cross to end up like this?" I couldn't stand their sympathetic gazes. They were a thousand times more painful than the guards' batons. After Natalia was found and the DNA test proved she was the true Ashworth heiress, everyone I had ever slighted came for their revenge. Natalia had pointed at my right arm with a sweet, girlish smile. "Oh, Daisy, was it this arm she slapped you with? Don't worry, I'll take care of it for you." Her best friend had held a pair of pliers, and with a sickening crunch, had snipped off the tip of my tongue. As I screamed, Natalia had poured a bottle of high-proof gin over my face, the alcohol searing my skin. "Every time you scream," she’d whispered, "I'll cut you again." "You stole Ethan from me," she'd said, her voice a singsong of madness. "So I'll steal your name, your family, your life." "This is what you owe me, Roxanne." The memories of those three days and nights of torture clawed their way back into my mind. I began to tremble uncontrollably, my teeth chattering with a violent, rhythmic clicking. The doctor quickly pulled a syringe from his bag and administered a sedative. As my body went limp, he carefully tied off my good arm and inserted a needle. "Her emotional state is extremely fragile, and she can't communicate. I'll take this blood sample and run it through the database for a match. We should have results in about three days." 03 I drifted in a hazy state, half-asleep, half-drowning in memory. In my mind, I was back in the Ashworth mansion. After Natalia had broken my legs, she’d had me thrown into the cellar. I couldn't make a sound, only listen to the happy chatter of the family I once called my own living their lives above me. On the fifth day of my disappearance, I heard my mother, Eleanor, speaking to Natalia in a hushed voice at the top of the cellar stairs. "It's been a week since Roxanne came home. You two went out together that day, didn't you come back together?" Natalia’s voice was the picture of innocence. "Oh, Mom, you know how Roxanne is. Such a snob. She can’t stand my friends. We went to Daisy’s house, but she left after a little while, said she had something to do. She’s probably shacked up with some new boyfriend." Eleanor sounded worried. "That doesn't seem right. Roxanne can be a handful, but she’s always been responsible. She never stays out all night without calling." She was about to say more when my father, Richard Ashworth, cut her off. "Why are you still talking about that little monster?" His voice was a low growl. "I just went to open the safe. The cash is gone. So are the gold bars. It’s pretty damn obvious who took them." "And look at Natalia's leg!" he roared. "She was a rising star in the National Ballet Company, and that little witch pushed her down the stairs and broke it! Natalia may never dance again! And you're worried about her? I hope she rots out there!" Any lingering concern Eleanor had for me vanished in the face of my father's rage. "It's all my fault!" she spat, her voice thick with regret. "I should have known when I saw she didn't look like me. I should have done a DNA test in secret years ago. Think of all the hardship our Natalia endured with that servant woman. It’s only fair that Roxanne gets a taste of it." "She’s just like her biological mother," Eleanor declared. "Rotten to the core! Heartless! A vile, ungrateful wretch!" I clung to the crack in the cellar door, their curses stabbing into me, a pain far deeper than any physical wound. Seeing me lying on the damp floor like a gutted fish, Natalia had smiled, her face radiant. "Roxanne, Dad and Mom have agreed to let me marry Ethan." "And I have you to thank for it," she'd chirped. "After you threw away all my little gifts to him, he came to find me, to apologize and beg for my forgiveness. Thanks to you, we slept together that very night." My eyes, dry for days, burned with a sudden fire. I turned my head slowly, my lips forming words that would not come out. Natalia’s smile widened. She stepped forward, grinding her heel onto two of my fingers. The agony was so intense it made my scalp tingle. I whimpered, struggling against the pain. So those little things I'd found in Ethan's office—the hand-knitted scarf, the poorly-made clay mug—they were all from her. I had asked Ethan where they came from. He'd looked at me, his expression flat. "Jealous? They're from a student I sponsor. If you like them, you can have them." My possessiveness over Ethan was a fierce, ugly thing. While he was in a meeting, I’d swept everything that wasn't from me into the trash. When he returned, he'd merely glanced at the clean desk. "You actually threw them out? You have quite a temper." At the time, I truly believed he didn't care. Natalia saw the despair in my eyes. She lifted her foot and brought a small hammer down on my already twisted fingers. "Don't blame me for being cruel," she whispered. "It was you who forced your way in. It was you who forced him to marry you." "We were so close, Ethan and I. It was all your fault. Your fault. Your fault!" Natalia's face twisted and warped before my eyes, growing larger and more grotesque until it consumed my vision. I snapped awake, gasping for air, my heart hammering against my ribs. It was just a dream. Thank God. Hearing the movement, Mark stood up from a chair in the corner, a frown on his face. "Mr. Gabel," he said into his phone, "she's awake. Are you planning to come back to ask about the tattoo?"
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