He Was My Uncle, My Love, My Biggest Mistake

That one sentence froze me in place, making my scalp tingle. I stared back in horror, fiercely resisting.

Charles, dropping all pretense, dragged me to the bed, abandoning his facade. He slapped me hard, twice.

"Grace, you really think you're still a rich heiress? Playing the virtuous maiden here?"

My face burned with pain, nausea churning in my stomach. Tears blurred my vision, and I sobbed hoarsely:

"If Uncle Percival finds out, he won't let any of you off!"

To my dismay, his laughter grew even more maniacal, disregarding my threat completely. Charles' breath huffed against my skin as he moved over me, whispering sinisterly in my ear:

"Don't you know? Everything you're experiencing now was personally arranged by your Uncle Percival."

His words stopped my heartbeat for a moment. So, they were all in on it.

My pitiful fantasies shattered against the harsh reality. Like a frozen fish, I was rigid on the bed, his vicious words gnawing at my very bones. A multitude of kisses covered my neck and chest, but I was powerless to push him away, tears streaming down my face.

Charles vented his anger violently on me, and I couldn't help but clench my hands, curling my fingers in agony. Percival, so this is how much you despise me.

Suddenly, his gaze from my coming-of-age ceremony flashed in my mind.

As the intensity peaked, my strength ebbed away, and I loosened my grip, losing my final straw. Seeing me lifeless, a puppet without response, Percival scowled and roughly grabbed my hands. The serrated edges of the handcuffs dug into my skin, and I gasped in pain.

Percival’s eyes scanned downward, stopping at the sight of bruises and scars on my bare arms. A flicker of surprise crossed his face as he demanded sharply:

"What happened?"

His forcefulness made my hands tremble uncontrollably. My suffering lodged in my throat, turning into incoherent syllables.

Charles, standing nearby, showed a strained expression and quickly interjected:

"Boss Montgomery, Miss Huxley's illness was extremely severe before. She had significant self-harm tendencies. But after treatment, she’s much better now."

Charles studied Percival's face and assured:

"Our treatment was very effective. You don’t need to worry."

He glanced at me, eyes full of warning.

That same look, dragging me back to five years of darkness. Those madmen kept me bound to the bed, violating me nightly. During that time, I conceived three times, only to be subjected to electric shocks, discarding the unborn like garbage, burying them alive.

Percival frowned slightly, doubt flickering in his eyes:

"Is that so?"

His tone was flat but to me, it sounded like a death sentence.

Charles frowned, sneaking a glance at me.

I didn’t dare utter a single "no". The sheer torture of being tied up in a restraint chair for three days and nights was something I was desperate to avoid.

Taking a deep breath, I suppressed my tremors and nodded.

"Yes."

I buried my true self, behaving docilely as I had learned over the past five years. After a moment, a low chuckle resonated above me. Percival looked at my submissive demeanor, nodding with satisfaction.

"It seems the illness really is cured."

Preparing for discharge was always tricky. So, I rode in a car with the butler. Nathan Pemberton beside me, clenched his fists tightly.

Once onboard, he deliberately kept his distance, not meeting my eyes. I thought he found me repulsive too.

Yet I couldn't help but notice him stealing glances.

Unlike those who lusted after me, his gaze was clean, devoid of loathing or disgust. Perhaps because he once had affection for the Grace of five years ago.

Now faced with me, old feelings made room for pity. Nathan's heavy breaths were audible in the confined car space.

"Grace, have you been through...some sort of trauma?"