His Gaslighting Stole My Flame to Spark Another Woman’s Fame

When her consciousness returned, the first thing Tracy saw was thick and suffocating darkness.

Then, a violent force yanked her up by the arms. Rope bit into her wrists as she was dragged and bound tightly against the rough bark of a tree, her body immobile.

Someone ripped the sack off her head.

A few filthy, ragged men stood before her, their eyes clouded with malice.

“Well, Ms. Clairborne sure is thoughtful!” one of them sneered, his thin, rat-like face twisted into a grin. He rubbed his hands together, his lecherous gaze raking over Tracy’s disheveled body. “She said you were a rare delicacy, something to help us unwind. And damn, she wasn’t lying!”

‘Ms. Clairborne…’ Her breath hitched. ‘These men… are sent by Avril?!’

Terror clawed up Tracy’s throat, constricting her chest until she could barely breathe.

She instinctively tried to curl up, but the handcuffs anchoring her to the tree dug into her skin, biting hard enough to draw blood.

The leader stepped forward—a burly man with a scar cutting across the corner of his eye, his face thick with muscle and cruelty. In his hand, he toyed lazily with a gleaming dagger.

Their greedy eyes wandered shamelessly across her torn dress and trembling form, hunger and lust burning without restraint.

Tracy forced herself to stay calm, her voice trembling but pleading, “Please… gentlemen, I beg you. Unlock the handcuffs for me. Let me go. I’ll pay you! However much you want, I’ll give it to you…”

The scar-faced man chuckled darkly. “Pay us? Baby, look at us. Do we look like men who care about money?” He leaned closer, his foul breath grazing her cheek. “Ms. Clairborne already gave us our reward, and we’re very satisfied!”

His calloused finger trailed down her face, slow and mocking. “Don’t be scared, baby. We’re good at what we do. We’ll make you feel real good, better than dying alone in this godforsaken place.”

Whatever faint hope she had sank like a stone into an icy abyss.

They didn’t bother talking anymore. With feral grins, they lunged at her like wolves.

Rough, greasy, and filthy hands clamped around her arms and legs, tearing at the thin fabric of her dress until it split with a shriek of cloth.

“Get away from me! Monsters! You filthy bastards! You all deserve to die!”

Tracy screamed with every ounce of strength left in her body, thrashing and twisting desperately. But her resistance only seemed to excite them more. Their laughter grew louder, crueler.

“Feisty one!” one of them laughed crudely. “I like it when they fight back!”

The man’s movements grew even more frenzied.

Then, just as her consciousness was about to be swallowed by darkness, a deafening roar split through the air, rolling across the forest like thunder.

In the next moment, a blinding white light exploded overhead, flooding the dark woods with searing brilliance as if daylight had been dropped from the sky.

Wind howled, whipping up dust and leaves, forcing everyone to shield their eyes.

Above the treetop, a helicopter hovered low, its blades roaring like judgment itself.

The cabin door swung open.

A middle-aged man stood at the entrance, his expression carved from stone. Cold. Commanding. Terrifying in its calm fury.

His sharp gaze swept over the scene—the struggling men, the chaos—before finally landing on the woman bound to the tree, her clothes in tatters, her face as pale as paper.

And in that instant, beneath his composed exterior, his eyes blazed with unbearable pain and rage.

“Tracy,” his deep voice trembled with emotion, “Daddy’s here to take you home.”

Almost at the same time, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

The screen lit up. It was a message from Alston.

[Someone saw you being taken! Where are you? Tell me your location. I’m coming right now! Reply quickly!]

Tracy’s lips curved into a cold, lifeless smile.

Several men in tactical black gear rappelled down from the helicopter. Within minutes, the thugs who had been laughing moments ago were sprawled across the dirt, groaning in agony, completely subdued.

One of the guards rushed forward, using a specialized tool to unlock her handcuffs.

Her legs gave out the moment she was freed. A guard caught her just in time, wrapping a thick and warm coat around her trembling and bruised body.

Supported by steady hands, she took slow and unsteady steps toward the dangling rope ladder.

Soon, the helicopter lifted off, rising higher and higher, leaving behind that sickening part of the earth.

Through the cabin window, Tracy gazed down coldly.

In the distance, a line of headlights cut through the dark, speeding toward the forest—led by a familiar black Rolls-Royce.

It was Alston’s car.

He was coming.

But it was too late.

‘Alston,’ Tracy thought bitterly, ‘only when I say goodbye to the wrong you can I finally meet the right version of myself—and my new life.’

Without hesitation, she snapped her SIM card in half, dropped both the phone and the broken card out the open door, and watched as they disappeared into the night.