The Girl They Buried Came Back a Queen

###2

I looked desperately toward my brother.

Julian stood just a few meters away. I thought—hoped—he’d rush over and protect me.

But when our eyes met, he remained motionless.

Unmoved.

Indifferent.

He watched as reporters spat cruel words in my face, their microphones nearly pressed to my skin.

Suddenly, one of them tugged open the collar of my clothes, revealing a patchwork of scars—faded, fresh, brutal.

Gasps rang out.

“Oh god. That’s disgusting.”

“She must’ve been disobedient in prison. Looks like the guards gave her a lesson. Get some close-ups!”

Their jeers sliced through me like knives. I couldn’t even lift my arms to cover myself. I stood paralyzed, every breath a fresh stab of shame. Their contempt rained down on me like acid.

“Miss Wren, are you refusing to answer because everything we’re saying is true? Is this sociopathy just in your blood?”

Flashes from their cameras blinded me. One of them shouted, “We’re live, folks! This is Ava, the infamous daughter of the Wren family—once a socialite, now a convicted criminal. Look at her now!”

I felt like a stripped puppet under the spotlight, paraded in front of the world at my lowest.

“Enough!” someone finally barked. “Stop filming! This is my sister’s premiere, not a circus!”

When most of the footage was already taken and the damage done, Julian finally strode forward. He shoved the reporters aside and crouched down next to me—but not to comfort me.

I collapsed to the floor, clinging to the rags that covered my mutilated body, sobbing uncontrollably.

Just then, Daniel stormed in. He pulled me into his arms with a jolt of panic.

“Where the hell are the bodyguards? Are they all dead? How did reporters even get in here?!”

He was furious—on the surface. As if this were all a tragic accident.

But to me, their concern felt revoltingly performative.

So kind. So gentle.

So hollow it made me want to vomit.

The reporters scattered like flies. Julian stood tall again, voice cool.

“You’ve suffered enough. You’ve learned your lesson. Now leave. Delilah’s been waiting.”

So that was it.

He let me be humiliated like an animal—torn apart, exposed, ruined—just to discipline me. For her.

I curled up on the floor, shaking violently.

I remembered the first day I was brought to the Wren family—how my brother cupped my face and said with guilt in his eyes, “Ava, as long as I’m here, no one will ever hurt you again.”

But today, that same brother handed me over to a public stoning.

All for Delilah.

My sobs were raw and ugly. Still, he sneered and snapped, “Stop pretending. Don’t ruin Delilah’s moment.”

---

Half an hour later, the microfilm ended.

Delilah took the stage, bathed in golden light, the epitome of grace. The audience applauded wildly as she gave her speech, radiant and confident, thanking her “family” with watery eyes.

They stood behind her—my family. Protecting her.

Once, being an actress was my greatest dream.

Now, stripped and shamed, I could barely stand under the weight of that dream’s corpse.

My parents soon took the stage with smiles and applause, handing Delilah the keys to a limited-edition supercar. My father’s voice trembled with pride as he kissed her forehead.

My brother followed, taking the mic. “I’ll be investing hundreds of millions to produce a film just for Delilah,” he announced. “And rumor has it that renowned international director, Jake Monroe Easton, is attending today’s festival. If he sees Delilah’s talent, we might be sending her to Hollywood.”

Delilah blushed and looked bashfully at the crowd. “But I can’t bear to leave Mom, Dad, Brother, and Daniel...”

Daniel strode toward her, chuckling. He affectionately ruffled her hair.

“Don’t worry, little idiot. If Director Jake takes you to Hollywood, we’ll all fly over to visit you.”

Then his eyes sparkled. “And I have a gift for you too. Tonight’s celebration dinner is already set—at the Skyline Hotel. Seven stars, just like you like it.”

They laughed. They praised her. They adored her.

And I stood at the edge of it all, invisible. A stain they’d rather scrub out of Wren family photo.

She took his hand, smiling sweetly. Then, as if noticing me for the first time, she ran over in her flowing gown.

“Ava,” she said with mock concern. “It’s been so long. You’ve lost so much weight.”

I jerked my hand away, the only thing I could still control. “Hmm,” I muttered coldly.

My parents followed her gaze. Instead of tenderness, my father scowled. “Behave yourself at home. And don’t you dare lay a finger on Delilah again.”

They swept her away, holding her like she was something precious.

And I—just a ghost.

---

At the banquet, dishes were laid out in extravagant rows. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. My hand trembled as I reached for my fork, only to drop it with a clang.

I bent to pick it up—and my collar slipped.

In the harsh lighting, the jagged scars on my shoulders and neck were stark and undeniable.

Daniel's gaze snapped to me. His pupils contracted sharply.

“Ava,” he said, voice low and tight. “Who did that to you?”