I Was the Foolish Heiress. Now I’m the Executioner

Victor's expression tensed briefly, then he let out a quiet, almost rehearsed sigh.

"Selena, if I hadn't sent you away, your stepmother would've pushed for your arrest. I didn't want you labeled a criminal," he said, as if the words were meant to be comforting. "But you did make a mistake. There had to be a show of consequences."

He paused just long enough to make it feel dramatic, then softened his voice like he thought it might help.

"And Nadine was blind at the time. She couldn't be left alone. I stayed by her side so people would stop gossiping about you."

If I hadn't lived through every second of what truly happened or if I hadn't felt the fire on my skin, heard the laughter bouncing down cold concrete hallways, I might have believed that look on his face. The sincerity. The regret.

Hell, I might've even believed he did it for me.

I was about to speak when a crack of thunder shook the windows. Rain started pouring outside, fast and loud, like the sky was finally done pretending to hold back.

Then, from Nadine's room down the hall, I heard a soft yelp.

Victor stood up so fast it made my stomach turn.

"Nadine's always had trouble sleeping during storms," he said, already halfway to the door. "If thunder wakes her, she won't rest all night. I need to check on her."

He looked back at me just long enough to say, "Selena, finish washing up and get some rest," then turned and left without so much as a second glance.

Of course, he forgot.

Victor had forgotten that what I feared most wasn't the dark or the pain or even him.

It was a night exactly like this one.

Eight years ago, during a storm just like this, my mother was crushed between two runaway trucks. They said she died on impact, but I still remember the aftermath. Her body was torn apart. Blood everywhere. Nothing was left that looked like her.

That night, it was Victor who held me while I shook in the corner of my room. His arms wrapped around me as tightly as a promise, his voice cracking as he whispered through his own tears:

"Don't be scared, Selena… I'm here. I'll always be here. Don't be afraid…"

But people lie. Promises break.

And people like Victor? They disappear the moment it's no longer convenient to care.

The water in the basin had gone cold. The steam had faded, and with it, any trace of comfort.

My stomach twisted like something vile had crawled its way inside me. I stumbled into the bathroom and braced my hands against the sink as I dry-heaved.

Every inch of skin he touched felt dirty, as if it needed to be scrubbed raw.

So I did.

I washed my face repeatedly with cold water—once, twice… ten, twenty times. But no matter how vigorously I scrubbed, the feeling didn't go away.

My reflection stared back at me—pale, hollow-eyed, the ghost of a woman who once believed people meant what they said.

I forced a smile, bitter and dry on my lips.

"Mom," I whispered, voice barely there. "In the end… the only person we can ever count on… is ourselves, right?"

...

The next morning, Victor strolled in with a makeup artist and a stylist in tow, acting like everything was fine. Like nothing had ever happened.

"Selena," he said, adjusting the collar of my outfit with this soft, fake smile, "Nadine said you must've missed your family these past few years."

"She even talked your father into hosting a family banquet tonight," Victor added, as if that made her some kind of saint. "It's her way of trying to help you reconnect. Don't let her kindness go to waste, okay?"

Nadine? Doing something kind for me?

Sure. I couldn't wait to see that with my own eyes.

After all, it was right after my mom died that my father moved Nadine and her mother into our house. I stepped right into the bedroom, which still smelled like my mother's perfume.

I cut ties with him that same day. Packed my bags and walked out of the Stone household for good.

Now, stepping through that door again, the first thing I heard was Marilyn's voice, and it was just as shrill and smug as I remembered.

"Well, well. If it isn't our dear Selena," Marilyn sang, loud enough for the entire room to hear. "Still so good at bullying your poor little sister."

She tilted her head, pretending to think, then laughed. "Oh, wait, that's right! Should I call you 'little bitch’ now, huh?"

My father stood nearby, hands folded in front of him as if he were attending a funeral. He didn't say anything, just stared stiff and sour, like the sight of me was something he had to swallow down.

By then, all the guests had arrived.

Every relative, family friend, and each of Victor and my father's business partners—all of them had the same smug, amused look on their faces—like they were waiting for the next scene in the show.

And then I saw it.

A giant screen was set up in the center of the living room. It was already playing.

I recognized the footage immediately.

It was me from the first year inside that place they dumped me in.

I was on my knees. My clothes were ripped, my mouth bloody. The camera caught it all.

I remembered that exact night like it had been burned into my brain.

One of the men had gotten drunk and tried to force himself on me.

I bit his finger off.

He screamed, and then they came for me.

Iron whips, one after another, lashing across my back like fire.

I clenched my teeth and refused to scream, but the pain still forced broken sounds out of me. Whimpers I'd hidden deep in my mind.

The more they heard, the harder they hit, and they laughed. They loved it.

"You disobedient little bitch. You dare bite me? I'll break every damn tooth in your head!"

"From now on, your name's Little Bitch. Say it! Are you gonna behave? Still think you can bully your sister?!"

I hadn't even moved yet, and Victor was already across the room. He grabbed a stool and slammed it directly into the screen.

The glass cracked with a loud pop, the screen splitting into pieces.

His face darkened, his voice sharp as he barked at the housekeeper, "Who told you to play that?!"

Nadine stepped forward at that moment, guided by a servant as if she couldn't find her own way.

Her eyes were red and teary, theatrical. She gripped Victor's arm as if she needed him to stay steady.

"Victor, don't be mad at them," she said, all sweet and shaky, like she was some martyr. "I asked them to play it. People keep saying my sister hasn't changed at all, that she just ran off to dodge the consequences and lived it up like nothing happened."

She looked down, her tone dripping with sorrow. "I just didn't want people to misunderstand her."

Then, almost like an afterthought, Nadine added in a whisper, "And if Dad saw this, he'd finally feel sorry for her and maybe he'd stop hating her so much…"