Three Years Stolen — Basement Prison

“Tomorrow, I’ll have her married off.”

My phone and laptop were confiscated, and I was locked in the cold, pitch-black basement—just as icy as my heart.

They weren’t entirely devoid of humanity; they summoned the family doctor to treat my wounds.

He had watched me grow up.

“Miss… you—”

He wanted to say something but didn’t dare. After hastily tending to my injuries, he left.

As soon as he was gone, my parents entered with Sophie trailing behind them.

There wasn’t a trace of pity on their faces.

“Until you learn obedience, everything you own will be managed by Sophie,” my father ordered coldly.

My mother tossed a box in front of me.

“Your passport, ID, bank cards—everything. Hand them over.”

Sophie stood behind them. They couldn’t see it, but I could—the triumphant smile tugging at her lips.

I didn’t resist.

I knew resistance would only invite harsher cruelty.

One by one, I placed every document and card into the box.

Sophie gleefully snatched it up, opened my wallet, and pulled out all the cash, stuffing it into her own pocket right before my eyes.

“Thanks, sister.” Her voice dripped with mock sweetness.

“Good.” My mother nodded with satisfaction, then suddenly seemed to recall something. She pulled out a folder from her bag and tossed it at me.

“Oh, right. One more thing.”

I glanced down. It was a marriage contract.

The groom’s name was Robert Dawson.

A man in his fifties who had clawed his way to wealth through shady dealings—known throughout elite circles for his twisted abuse of women. His two previous wives, one had gone insane, the other had died.

“Sign it.” My mother threw a pen in front of me.

My heart turned to ice.

“Why?”

My voice cracked.

“Why?”

She chuckled as if I had told the funniest joke.

“Mr. Dawson’s projects will pave the way for Sophie’s future company. You marrying him is your final contribution to this family, to your sister. You should feel honored.”

For Sophie, I was to sacrifice my entire life.

So this was my biological mother.

“I won’t sign.”

Each word ground out between my teeth.

Her face instantly darkened.

At that moment, the old butler, Mark Thompson, walked past carrying a tea tray.

Mark!

He had known me since I was a child. Surely, he would help me.

I cast him a desperate look for help.

But my father caught it, sneering.

“Mark, I heard your grandson is applying to one of the top schools owned by our group.”

Mark’s body trembled. The color drained from his face.

“Sir, Madam—I saw nothing.”

His hands shook so badly he almost dropped the tray.

“I’ll be going now.” He turned and fled.

My last hope shattered.

“Sister, why are you so stubborn?” Sophie mocked, walking over gleefully. “Uncle and Aunt are doing this for your own good.”

She picked up a crystal trophy from the table—the one I had received three years ago when I secured my first multimillion-dollar investment. The inscription read Presented to Sophia Bennett.

“This is beautiful,” she mused, turning it in her hands.

“Such a shame—you’ll be married off soon.”