Chapter 3

Stomach pain was an understatement; my stomach had been corroded and ruined by what they had fed me. I knew all too well the number of times I had vomited blood.

“You’ve changed a lot. Looks like sending you there was worth it,” Vanessa Hale remarked as she sat nearby, observing my compliant behavior.

My body trembled instinctively. At the Crawford Research Institute, daily beatings were routine. They locked me in with pythons, just to see how much a human could endure before being devoured.

If my reactions weren’t up to their expectations, they would escalate to electric shocks, rinse my eyes with pepper spray, burn my chest with searing irons, or let flesh-eating bees sting me until I passed out and needed resuscitation. The mere thought made me shudder, leaving me too scared to even consider disobedience.

Perhaps noticing my fearful demeanor and the blood still clinging to my lips, Vanessa’s gaze softened.

Her voice lost its harsh edge, turning into a gentle reprimand. “I sent you there to learn discipline, not to destroy yourself. Look at you now, your stomach is in shambles.”

She reached out to cradle my face.

To me, the gesture was as terrifying as a death sentence. I flinched, nearly losing control, and dropped to the floor, pleading.

“Please, don’t hit me! I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll do whatever you say—just don’t hurt me again.”

I was like a pitiful dog, desperately begging for her mercy.

I wouldn’t dare desire my master anymore.

When I was first sent to the institute, they warned me: never look at Vanessa Hale that way again—she belonged to Marcus Sterling.

Back then, I was defiant, taking pride in the bond we shared, refusing to bow to anyone.

The first round of beatings didn’t break me, nor did the second.

But when Robert Lang, her trusted bodyguard, injected me with that vile black serum, my spirit shattered.

Under their creative and unending torture, I became an object—a thing to be used and discarded.

What right did someone like me have to get close to Vanessa Hale?

Her outstretched hand froze midair, her eyes glimmering with anger and confusion.

She stared at me, searching for answers in my face.

I could only lower my head, unable to meet her eyes.

A dog has no right to make eye contact with its master.

I understood that well.

Yet, Vanessa seemed even more infuriated.

Why? Isn’t this what she wanted?

To my surprise, instead of taking me back to Hale Estate, she drove me to Sterling Enterprises.

Throughout the five years we had been together, she had never allowed me to set foot in that place.

Even when I offered to visit, wanting to show support and deliver lunch to assert my position over Marcus, she had shut me down with cold finality.

But now, she was taking me there willingly.

The company was hosting a product launch, and the employees lined the halls, clapping as we arrived.

Marcus Sterling stood front and center.

He handed me a bouquet, his smile warm and welcoming. “Welcome back, brother.”

That smile sent an icy wave down my spine, my legs trembling uncontrollably.

I had seen that face too many times at Crawford Research Institute.

Each time, he brought new, creative ways to torment me.

The staff at the institute replicated his ideas, filming my screams and delirium as entertainment.

“Hmm, not brutal enough.”

“What about roasting his back until it oozes, then sprinkling chili powder on it?”

“Dead rats are good, too. Should taste interesting.”

They’d openly discuss the next method of torture, with no hint of remorse.

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