Three Years Stolen — Basement Prison

One of the maids—easily over two hundred pounds—lunged forward to pin me down.

From the hair I had pinned up, I yanked out the hairpin I’d spent all night sharpening, and with a fierce thrust, I drove it into the back of her hand.

“Aaahhh!”

The maid’s shriek pierced the air as blood gushed out.

Seizing the chaos, I scrambled to my feet, shoved another aside, and bolted for the floor-to-ceiling window.

I had only one thought—I have to escape!

I grabbed a nearby chair and hurled it against the glass with all my strength.

Crash!

The window shattered instantly.

Below was the lawn. If I jumped, I still had a slim chance of survival.

I was just about to leap when another maid tackled me from behind.

“She’s trying to run! Somebody come!”

At her cry, a swarm of security guards stormed in, pinning me brutally against the shards of glass.

The jagged pieces dug into my face, my hands, every inch of exposed skin.

“Trying to run?!”

My father stormed into the room, his face ashen with fury as he took in the wreckage.

“You really are beyond redemption!”

Pointing at me, he barked at the guards:

“Bind her! Even if you have to carry her, drag her to the wedding stage! I will watch her marry with my own eyes today!”

I had no strength left to resist. My hands and feet were tied with rope, and tape sealed my mouth.

As I was dragged out of the estate, I caught sight of Sophie.

She was dressed like a true princess, my mother clinging affectionately to her arm.

They were radiant, ready to attend my wedding.

My mother frowned slightly at the sight of me being dragged along and ordered the guards:

“Hurry up! Don’t keep Mr. Dawson waiting.”

Then, with a cold sneer:

“Sophie, come on. Don’t look at her anymore—you’ll dirty your eyes. After today, our family will finally have peace.”

I was tossed into the back seat of a car. After a rough, jolting ride, we arrived amid the sound of blaring music and celebration.

I knew—this was my grave.

A burly man hauled me into a dressing room, where several people smeared grotesque makeup on my face until I looked like something out of a horror film.

They said this was Mr. Dawson’s special request.

Two men then barged in, shouting, and dragged me out—half carrying me—onto the wedding stage.

Glancing out, I saw the hall packed with the city’s elite.

They looked at me with surprise, contempt, and worst of all—amused indifference.

Those who had once partnered with me stared in disbelief.

“How could Miss Bennett… end up like this?”

“Shh, quiet! The Bennett family declared they have only one daughter now—Sophie Miller.”

“What Sophie Miller? Wasn’t she just their niece? I thought her name was Sophie Miller… when did that change?”

“I heard marrying Sophia off was just to clear the way for Sophie. What a shame.”

“Such a waste—Miss Bennett was a business genius. And now, to be handed to that bald creep… what a tragedy.”

Robert Dawson.

My so-called “husband.”

The greasy, balding man stood beside me in a neatly tailored suit, looking me over as though I were nothing more than a plaything about to be delivered into his hands.

My heart turned stone cold.

“And now, the bride and groom will exchange rings—”

But at that very moment—

All the giant screens around the wedding hall suddenly went black.

The next second, they flickered back to life.

On the screens appeared a scene I knew too well—our family’s study.

And in it, my parents.