She Never Touched Me, But Sold Me to the World

I fixed my gaze on him, speaking slowly and clearly.

"Where are my mother's ashes?"

He blinked, pretending not to understand.

"What ashes...?"

I stepped closer. The fury burning in my chest surged to the surface, making my voice colder, harder.

"Where are my mother's ashes?"

A smirk crept across his lips. He casually took a sip of wine, completely unbothered.

"Oh, that? Who knows what kind of dirt they dug up. Just toss it—let the wind take care of it."

Smash!

Without thinking, I snatched the wine glass from his hand and shattered it against his head.

Screams erupted. The crowd descended into chaos.

Lana's expression shifted instantly. She rushed toward me and shoved me back with such force that I stumbled into a long banquet table behind me.

"Byron! Are you insane?!"

Wayne clutched his bleeding forehead, blood trickling through his fingers, tears mixing with the red.

He collapsed into Lana’s arms, trembling.

"Lana... it hurts..."

Her eyes burned with fury.

"Security! Take him out!"

Hands grabbed me roughly. I was dragged from the banquet hall like a criminal.

Lana's voice rang out coldly behind me.

"Take him to the northern meditation room. Let him calm down."

---

The meditation room was cloaked in silence, the scent of sandalwood thick in the air.

I knelt on the futon, my tears falling without a sound.

They dug up her grave. My mother’s ashes... gone.

With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone and called a number I hadn’t touched in years.

The line connected. A lazy, familiar voice answered.

"What’s wrong, young master? Finally remembered me?"

My voice broke as I spoke.

"I want to go home."

There was a pause. Then the voice turned ice cold.

"Who hurt you?"

I couldn’t say it clearly. My chest heaved with sobs.

"She doesn’t love me... They dug up my mother’s ashes... She locked me up..."

"Wait."

His voice was low, trembling with fury beneath the surface.

"I’m coming. Right now."

The call ended.

Almost immediately, another call flashed on my screen—Lana.

I answered numbly.

Her voice was devoid of warmth.

"Byron, Wayne will never have children now—because of your madness. I was willing to overlook everything. But you crossed the line."

She paused, then added coldly.

"Since you're so stubborn, Wayne recommended a spiritual teacher. He’s skilled at enlightening people with Buddhist teachings. You should listen carefully."

She hung up.

---

A moment later, the door creaked open.

A tall, thin middle-aged man stepped inside. His robe draped loosely over him, but his eyes glistened with something revolting.

He walked toward me slowly, deliberately, then suddenly lunged and wrapped his arms tightly around me.

My blood turned to ice. I thrashed in his grasp.

"Let go of me! This is a place of worship! What are you trying to do?!"

He laughed softly, his breath hot against my ear.

"Lana said you need to be… guided. Lucky for both of us, I happen to love delicate, pretty boys like you."

"Get out!" I screamed, my voice hoarse and desperate.

Smack!

His slap blinded me. Blood flooded my mouth.

Then, with a wicked grin, he lifted his foot and crushed my phone beneath it.

"Let’s see who else you can call now."

I collapsed, hitting the floor hard. My head struck the cold tile, and my vision blurred.

But then I saw it—a white porcelain vase on the coffee table.

I reached for it with all the strength I had left.

Crash!

The vase exploded against his temple. His eyes went wide. Then he dropped, unconscious.

I staggered to the door. Locked.

I turned to the window. It was open. I leaned out—it was the third floor.

Behind me, I heard voices and pounding feet.

"Quick! Don’t let him escape!"

There was no time to think.

I jumped.

A jolt of searing pain shot through my right leg as I hit the ground. I couldn’t move. It was broken—badly.

"Little bastard!"

The leering face of the so-called spiritual teacher appeared above me, twisted with rage.

He raised his foot and brought it down—hard—on my shattered leg.

A scream tore from my throat. The pain blinded me. I clenched my eyes shut in agony as he dragged me back inside like a sack of meat.

"Trying to run?" he snarled, yanking off his belt. "Looks like you need one last lesson."

He sneered, his breath heavy and foul.

"Such fair skin... for a man." His greasy palm crept toward my collarbone.

A red recording light blinked on a nearby camera. My stomach turned.

He licked his lips and reached for me again.

Suddenly—thud! A dagger pierced clean through his palm.

"Ah—!" he shrieked, stumbling backward.