A Canvas Stained with Tears

Amidst the chaos, someone shoved me off the hospital bed. A sharp, searing pain shot through my body, threatening to drag me into unconsciousness. With only a thin sheet covering my wounds, an aggressive female anchor sneered and yanked it away, exposing my battered body to the cameras. The others lunged forward, eager to capture every humiliating detail.

I was nothing more than a spectacle, an object on display, my dignity torn to shreds before a live audience. Biting down hard on my lip, I tasted blood, but the pain was nothing compared to the agony clawing at my soul. Tears streamed down my face as the voices around me grew louder.

"Tsk, tsk, disgusting. She deserves this."

"A woman like this might as well just die!"

"Fans, take a good look—this is what happens when you live shamelessly. A warning to all girls out there: stay pure."

Their taunts sliced through me like knives, each word a fresh wound. My entire body trembled, my sobs uncontrollable, but the cruelty only fueled their frenzy. One of the anchors, emboldened by the flood of donations pouring into her livestream, smirked and leaned in closer.

"Ms. Jain, our viewers are curious—were you always this promiscuous? How about sharing your contact information? Seems like quite a few fans are... interested."

The live chat was filled with a single word, repeated over and over: slut.

Looking at the pitiful wreck I had become, I realized that even death had abandoned me. My only instinct was to curl up, twisting my broken limbs to shield myself from their prying eyes. Their laughter rang in my ears, relentless, suffocating. Then, a roar shattered the torment.

"Who the hell are you people?! Get out!"

My brother stormed into the room, fists flying as he drove the anchors away. Chris rushed to my side, gently lifting me back onto the bed and pulling the blanket over me, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"This is my fault," he murmured, his voice thick with guilt. "If I had stayed with you, none of this would have happened."

Beside him, my brother raised a trembling hand and slapped himself hard across the face.

"Nindy, cry if you need to. This is all my fault. I swear I'll make them pay for this. Those heartless bastards will regret ever laying a hand on you! Don't worry, none of what they recorded will ever see the light of day."

The sincerity in his voice was flawless, his act impeccable. But the more they pretended to care, the deeper my disgust grew. They had orchestrated every step of this nightmare. Why would they stop now? As expected, within hours, the livestream footage had been clipped, edited and spread across every corner of the internet. The entire world now knew me as the depraved, thrill-seeking heiress of the Jain Family.

My name was forever tarnished, my dignity obliterated. For Bella, my own brother and the childhood friend who once swore to protect me had personally thrown me into the flames and left me to burn. The realization hit me like a dagger to the heart, my breath hitching in my throat. Panic surged through my chest, choking me, until my vision blurred and I gasped for air.

Chris bolted out of the room, returning moments later with the team of specialists who had been standing idly outside. They surrounded me, conducting their assessments in grave silence, until finally, one of them spoke.

"The situation is dire. Because the optimal window for surgery was missed, the infection has spread. The damage to the lower body is severe—both the bladder and uterus are compromised. Urinary incontinence is almost inevitable and the chances of pregnancy are nearly nonexistent."

He hesitated before continuing, his voice heavy. "As for her limbs, the tendons and nerves have been severely damaged. The probability of a full recovery is less than ten percent. You need to be prepared for the worst."

My brother lunged forward, seizing the specialist by the collar, his eyes wild with desperation.

"You were brought here to save her, not spout nonsense! I don’t care how much it costs—just do the damn surgery!"