My Childhood Sweetheart Wants Revenge—He Pushed Me Off a Cliff

Before my mother poisoned Jasper’s mother, Jasper and I were the childhood sweethearts everyone envied.

Though I was merely the maid’s daughter, he cherished me for ten years—shielding me from even the smallest harm.

But everything changed once blood and vengeance stood between us. To avenge his mother, Jasper forced me to become his servant—for ten years.

When he married Remy Slater, I was locked in the basement over a loose thread on her wedding gown. There, in a pool of blood, I gave birth alone.

By the time I was saved and regained consciousness, I watched him hand our newborn son to his new wife—as a wedding gift.

When that boy turned eight and finally learned I was his real mother, I fell off a cliff.

I watched from below as Leo ran into Remy’s arms, declaring, “I only have one mommy.”

That day marked the end of our ten-year contract.

So I let go, fell into the gorge, and vanished—as they wished.

But in the end, both father and son went mad, scouring the earth for a mere maid.

"What is this?"

Morning sunlight poured in gently as I knelt to help young master Leo Prescott with his shoes. But he suddenly pushed me away.

“Why is it dirty?” Leo raised his foot, pointing at a tiny orange-red smudge on the side of his brand-new sneaker.

“These are the new shoes Mommy bought me! You ruined them!” His lower lip trembled. Then, crying, he stomped down hard on my hand before I could pull it back.

“I hate you! I’m not going to school!”

Agony shot through me. I stifled a cry as I felt the small bones in my hand snap.

The servants swarmed in, shoving me aside. Some comforted him. Others scolded me.

My ears rang with noise as I watched Leo, now wearing another new pair of shoes, strut out surrounded by his caretakers.

He was the precious young master of the Prescott family.

And the boy who just broke several of my fingers—was my own son.

I struggled to my feet, cradling my throbbing hand, and walked out without a word.

Dr. King, the family physician, never treated me. I had to seek help from clinics outside the estate.

But I hadn’t even made it far when someone called out, “Mrs. Prescott wants to see you.”

I stepped into the studio. Remy stood before a canvas, painting a vivid bouquet of garland lilies.

The orange-red paint spilled across the canvas. She turned, smiled faintly, and asked, “Bianca, what do you think of my painting?”

Lowering my head, I murmured, “It’s beautiful.”

Her eyebrows arched, just as a voice came from behind.

“Jasper? You’re back early today.”

Jasper entered, holding a bouquet of fresh lilies. He exchanged a few soft words with Remy before turning to me, his expression freezing over.

“Put the flowers in a vase.”

I took the bouquet. It was heavy, and with my injured hand, I couldn’t grip it properly. The stems slipped from my grasp, scattering across the floor.

“I’m sorry, I…”

I bent down, reaching for a lily. Before I could grasp it, Jasper’s boot struck me hard.

I fell back, staring up into his cold, disgusted eyes.

“You can’t even clean shoes or hold flowers.”

“Bianca, did you forget you’re a maid in the Prescott household? Getting a little too comfortable, aren’t you?”

Before I could respond, he turned to two servants and ordered casually, “Throw her in the basement. No food or water today. Let her reflect.”

The heavy door slammed shut. Laughter echoed behind it as the servants left.

In the dark, I found the battered bed in the corner and lay down slowly, curling into myself.

I had been here too many times before. The first was eight years ago—when I gave birth to our son in agony and silence.

While Jasper married the socially perfect Remy.

He ignored thirty-six calls for help. Only after the ceremony did he send someone to drag my bleeding body to the hospital.

When I woke, he handed the baby to Remy.

“This is our wedding gift,” he had told her.

He didn't want Remy to suffer childbirth. So I suffered it alone.

I closed my eyes, drowning in pain, haunted by memories of what once was.

When I opened them again—he was on top of me.

Jasper’s breath was ragged, his hands tearing at my clothes. I struggled, shoving him away. He snapped, gripping my wrist in fury.

“Bianca, don’t you dare push me away!”

His hand paused.

Something felt wrong.

In the dim light, Jasper finally saw my mangled, swollen fingers.

I let out a scream.

And then—darkness.