After He Ruined Me, He Couldn’t Let Me Go

Then Elowen stepped inside.

White dress. Red-rimmed eyes. Tears that looked flawless.

“Please, Evander… Leonhart,” she said in a trembling voice. “She’s still our sister. Isn’t this a bit too much?”

She sniffed softly, wiping her cheeks as if she couldn’t bear to see me like that.

And somehow, they pitied her.

I laughed, even as blood filled my mouth.

“You’re incredible, Elowen. Ever thought of acting? You’d probably win a FAMAS award.”

Evander struck me again—harder this time.

Leonhart pulled her into his arms, as if she were the one hurting.

“Please, don’t be too hard on her,” she murmured against his chest, pretending to sob. “She doesn’t mean any of it. She’s just… upset.”

I looked at them—my brothers, who once shielded me from everything, now completely blind. They didn’t see me anymore. Only the monster she had turned me into. And Elowen stood there, fake tears and all, knowing she had already won.

…

Then one day, Elowen got accepted into a fashion school in Paris—and everything inside the house shifted.

For the first time in years, there was silence.

My brothers stopped shouting. They stopped hurting me. They just… stopped noticing me at all.

No punishments. No more nights in the basement.

They looked right through me, like I didn’t exist.

Like I was nothing more than a moving shadow.

It should have felt like peace.

But silence has its own way of hurting.

I started studying in secret—late at night, when the house was asleep. Old library books. Papers I quietly took from Leonhart’s office. I didn’t even know why I was doing it. Maybe I just needed proof that I could still think.

Turns out, I learned quickly. I was good at it.

But what does being smart matter when you’re trapped somewhere you can’t leave?

Months passed like that.

The maids barely acknowledged me anymore.

“Poor girl,” one whispered once. “She used to be the young miss.”

Another scoffed. “Now look at her. Can’t even lift her head.”

A third muttered as I walked past, “If I were her, I’d have run away long ago.”

I wished I could.

Then one evening, everything changed again.

Evander called for a gathering in the dining hall. The entire house was in chaos—cleaning, rushing, voices everywhere. The chandelier was polished until it gleamed, the silverware replaced more than once.

“The Langford company is partnering with the Voss Corporation,” a maid whispered, eyes wide. “It’s a massive deal.”

I froze when I heard the next part.

“The heir himself is coming,” another added. “Darius Voss. They say he’s destroyed three companies just for crossing him.”

Even the guards seemed tense that night. The entire mansion smelled like polish—and fear.

Evander ordered me to serve wine. “Stay silent,” he warned. “Speak only if you’re spoken to.”

So I stood quietly by the wall when they arrived.

Darius Voss entered first.

Tall. Cold. His dark red eyes under the lights felt sharp enough to cut through the room. Everything went still. Even Evander seemed smaller beside him.

Leonhart laughed too loudly, trying to sound welcoming. Evander kept talking—numbers, deals, anything to impress. But Darius looked uninterested. He barely reacted, just observed them like he had already decided their worth.

When it was time for me to pour the wine, I stepped forward, trying to steady myself. My hands trembled anyway.

Then he looked up.

Our eyes met—just for a second. Maybe less. But it was enough.

He didn’t look at me like I was a servant.

He looked at me like he recognized something. Like he actually saw me.

My heart stilled.

Leonhart noticed and let out another laugh. “Ignore her, Mr. Voss. She’s just one of the servants.”

Darius didn’t respond immediately. His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer. I had to look away before my brothers noticed how I struggled to breathe.

It was the first time in ten years that someone looked at me—and didn’t see a ghost.

Weeks went by after that night.

Darius Voss kept returning for meetings with Evander and Leonhart. He never spoke to me, never directly acknowledged me. But sometimes, I could feel it—his gaze, quiet and unreadable, watching from across the room.

Evander seemed uneasy whenever Darius was there. Leonhart, on the other hand, looked irritated—for reasons I couldn’t understand.

One afternoon, I was told to stay in the kitchen while they had a meeting. But the door wasn’t fully closed, and their voices carried through.

Darius spoke calmly. “I want her.”

The glass in my hand nearly slipped.

He… wants me?

Leonhart’s voice rose. “You can’t be serious! She’s a servant—a murderer. She killed our parents. She’s not worth your time, let alone your money.”

Darius remained unfazed. “You’ll get the billion-dollar contract if you agree.”

Silence followed. Then, after a long pause, Evander spoke. “Fine. If that’s the condition.”

Leonhart didn’t answer right away, but eventually muttered his agreement.

My stomach twisted. I didn’t understand fully—until Evander called me into the living room.

He didn’t even look at me. “Pack your things. You’re leaving with Mr. Voss.”

I froze. “Leaving…?”

Leonhart walked over and grabbed my arm, his grip painful. His voice was low, sharp. “You better behave around him. Darius doesn’t tolerate clumsy idiots. And he definitely doesn’t tolerate murderers.”

I nodded, unable to speak. His grip tightened briefly before he let go and turned away.

I went back to my room and packed what little I had. Five sets of worn-out clothes. Nothing else. No jewelry. No perfume. Not even proper shoes.

I folded them slowly, my hands shaking—not out of fear, but because I didn’t know what waited for me next.

Before leaving, I looked around one last time.

The cracked walls. The broken lamp. The thin blanket that never kept me warm.

The place that took everything from me.

Then I shut the door.

…

The drive with Darius was quiet. He sat beside me, composed, unreadable, watching my reflection in the window. I didn’t know what he saw. Maybe just a girl with nothing left.

When we arrived at his mansion, I couldn’t believe it. The air felt different—clean. The lights were soft. No shouting. No footsteps chasing me. No hatred in anyone’s eyes.

He turned to me. “No one will hurt you here.”

Something inside me broke. Tears came—real ones this time, unstoppable. I didn’t even know why I was crying… fear, relief, or maybe just hearing those words for the first time.

He stepped closer and pulled me into his arms. His chest felt warm, steady. I clutched his coat like it was the only thing keeping me upright.

Then he whispered, “If I told you I’ve fallen for you… would you believe me?”

I wanted to. I needed to.

So I nodded, still crying, my tears soaking into his shirt.

He lifted my chin and kissed me—soft at first, then deeper, more certain. It felt like warmth after years of cold.

That night, I gave him everything. In the quiet glow of his home, on the sofa, I gave him the only thing I had left—myself.

I thought it was love.

I thought it meant freedom.

But it was only the start of a different kind of prison.