Her Last Gift

Daniel would never let me go.

Even if I ran to the ends of the earth, he would use the law, his connections, or the threat against my only living relative to drag me back.

He would break my legs and lock me in the basement.

It had happened before, two years earlier, when I believed I could escape.

I ran to the coast. My feet had already stepped onto a smuggling boat. That night, Daniel appeared behind me in the darkness.

He did not touch me. He sent my best friend, who helped me gather money to flee, to prison.

After he brought me back, he locked me in a basement with no sunlight for thirty days. In the darkness, he said one sentence to me each day.

“Mira, you see? Aside from me, whoever tries to save you will suffer.”

Those thirty days destroyed the Mira Lowe who wanted to escape alive. This time, I chose a different path.

I lifted my head and looked at Morgan without lowering myself.

“Mrs. Cardea, I do not want the money.”

“Not enough for you?”

I shook my head and gave a faint smile.

“No. You do not need to chase me away. In a few days, I will disappear from this world. Then you can introduce the finest heiresses to Mr. Cardea. I will not be an eyesore anymore.”

Morgan stared at me. A strange emotion flickered in her usually cold eyes.

She opened her mouth as if she wanted to speak, but footsteps sounded outside the door.

Her expression changed. She tucked the check away and returned to her usual harsh tone.

“Ungrateful girl.”

She pulled open the door and brushed past my shoulder as she left.

I leaned against the cold tile wall. My chest burned, yet my heart felt strangely light.

Only two more days.

In a daze, I noticed an old emerald bracelet Morgan had left on the counter.

The bracelet was dull in color with a faint crack along the edge. It did not match the expensive jewelry she usually wore.

I remembered an old photograph I had seen while organizing Daniel’s study. In a narrow alley, a young Morgan wore that same bracelet. A man with a stern face stood beside her and gripped her wrist. His gaze looked exactly like Daniel’s did now.

After Morgan left, the villa returned to its heavy silence. Only the wall clock ticked.

Daniel called me to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed and held a tube of burn ointment.

“Come here.” He patted the space beside him.

I walked over and sat down.

He twisted off the cap and squeezed out clear ointment. He used his fingertips to apply it to the red skin on my chest.

The ointment felt cool. His fingers were warm. The mix of cold and heat made goosebumps rise on my skin.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

He pressed slightly on a blister. I trembled from the pain.

Daniel smiled with quiet satisfaction. He lowered his head and blew gently on the area. His breath brushed my skin and caused another shiver.

My gaze drifted to the faint scar on his wrist, left when he was ten years old.

I had learned from his journal that young Daniel once saw his father lock his mother in a storage room. His father had grabbed his face and said, “Women are all the same. A man has to hold a woman tight, or she will run.”

After his father died, Daniel inherited everything, including the need to control others.

As he applied the ointment, he said in a calm tone, “Mom is getting older, and her temper is not great. Be patient with her. You are my legal assistant, so you need professional standards. Patience is one of those standards.”

Yes. I had endured for three years.