The Villainous Stepsister's Second Chance

Chapter 3: Death Comes Calling

Two million US dollars?!

Anastasia had never seen that much money in her life. Even if she liquidated every asset she owned—including her savings, apartment, car, and boutique—the total wouldn't even come close to seven hundred thousand dollars. In fact, most of her wealth came from the inheritance left by her biological father and the gifts Rafael had given her.

“When totaled over the past two years, two million US dollars were laundered through a series of payments for vendor services and raw material purchases within the Thomas Group. And once traced, every single cent ended up in a personal bank account under your name.”

Taylor flipped through the printed bank statements. The name printed on the pages was undeniably hers. Yet, the account number was entirely foreign to her. Most of all, she had never opened an account with that private bank in her life.

“That’s not mine. I don't even have an account with that bank.”

Taylor ignored her denial, pulling out another batch of documents.

“Unfortunately for you, your accomplice has already confessed.”

Anastasia’s eyes widened in horror.

An accomplice?

Taylor glanced at one of the men in black, who had remained silent until now. “Bring him in.”

The man gave a curt nod and headed upstairs. Before long, he returned, dragging a middle-aged man whom Anastasia recognized instantly—the CFO of Thomas Group, Hudson Scott.

“Who ordered you to create fake vendors and transfer those funds, Mr. Scott?” Taylor asked, his voice sharp and demanding.

Mr. Scott’s right hand rose, pointing directly at Anastasia, who stared back at him in sheer bewilderment. “Miss Anastasia.”

“Liar! I’ve never even spoken to you in private! I never gave you any orders! I had no part in this!”

“You gave me a thirty percent cut,” Scott countered coldly.

A cruel smirk played on Taylor’s thin lips. He held up a proof of transfer from the account in Anastasia’s name to Mr. Scott’s account for six hundred thousand US dollars. With a subtle flick of his head, he signaled his men to drag Mr. Scott out of the room.

“You and your mother are two-faced snakes! Receiving all those luxuries from Mr. Rafael wasn't enough for you, was it? You wanted to strip him of his entire fortune!”

“Leave my mother out of this! And I’ll say it again—I had no part in this! I never ordered anyone to do anything! I never received a single cent! And I... I never poisoned Dad’s food!”

Anastasia screamed until her voice turned hoarse.

“Mom is already in prison because of your false accusations! What more do you want from her?!”

Taylor raised an eyebrow, an icy, mocking smile spreading across his face—one that made Anastasia’s blood run cold.

“Care to hear an update on your mother?”

Taylor pulled a photograph from his shirt pocket and held it directly in front of the girl’s eyes.

“This morning, right during the morning count, the guard found your mother hanging in her cell. She left behind an apology note—confessing to every single crime.”

Anastasia’s world shattered in an instant. Her eyes locked onto the photograph before her. The photograph showed the swollen, bruised face of a middle-aged woman she knew all too well, her tongue protruding slightly, a dark, gruesome ligature mark around her neck.

“NO! THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE!”

Anastasia screamed hysterically, her entire body writhing as she tried to break free from her bonds.

“Mom would never kill herself! She promised me she’d stay strong! You killed her! You killed my mother!”

“Your mother killed herself out of shame and guilt for what the two of you did!” Taylor shouted back.

“She couldn’t live with the fact that her own daughter is a murderer and a thief.”

“Lies! You’re all murderers!”

Anastasia wailed, tears streaming down her face, washing through the blood on her cheeks. Her chest burned with an agonizing blend of grief and rage so intense it felt unbearable. Her mother was gone. And she had died branded as a criminal.

“AAAAAAHHHH!!!” Anastasia screamed on and on, as if trying to rip the agonizing pain straight out of her chest.

“Make her confess. By any means necessary,” Taylor ordered the two guards.

“Yes, sir,” both men answered sharply.

Taylor settled onto a sofa positioned near the stairs, watching casually as his men approached Anastasia, steel-core baseball bats in hand.

“I will never admit to something I didn't do—not even if it costs me my life!”

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the room as a bat smashed violently into her leg.

“AAAAAARRGGHH!!”

“Still refusing to confess?”

“Never!”

Another blow landed—this time straight to her chest.

Every muscle in Anastasia’s body spasmed violently. Her chest felt as though it had shattered, a sharp, piercing agony tearing into her internal organs. The air in her lungs vanished in an instant. Yet, all this physical agony was nothing compared to the crushing heartbreak of losing her mother.

“Mr. Rafael is in critical condition in the ICU, and your mother is already rotting in the morgue. And here you are, still being stubborn, refusing to own up to your crimes.” Taylor casually flicked an invisible speck of dust off his shirt. “Just sign the confession form to reduce your sentence. Or you’ll be joining your mother in a way that’s far more painful.”

One of the guards lifted a bucket of ice water and dumped it over Anastasia's body.

Anastasia shuddered violently. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, and her legs instinctively curled toward her chest, desperate to ward off the bone-chilling cold. The raw, open wounds covering her body burned with searing pain as blow after heavy blow slammed into her small, battered frame.

Taylor turned and strode toward the stairs with firm, deliberate steps.

“Make sure she regrets ever trying to claim what was never hers.”

BANG!

The door at the top of the stairs slammed shut and locked tight. Anastasia was left behind with two merciless, unfeeling monsters. Blow after relentless blow rained down upon her, but she refused to yield—because she had never committed any of the heinous acts thrown in her face.

Whether the two men had finally grown satisfied with seeing her completely broken or were simply exhausted from failing to wring the answer they wanted out of her, the underground garage plunged once more into a gripping, suffocating darkness.

Anastasia slumped limply in the chair. Her breathing was shallow and ragged, choking on the blood surging up her throat. Every inch of her body was consumed by excruciating agony, yet the torment in her heart cut deeper than any physical wound ever could.

Mom… I’m so sorry, she cried out in her mind, her chest heavy with an unbearable weight of grief. Her heart had shattered into endless fragments, beyond any hope of being pieced back together. Slowly, that suffocating sorrow curdled into a thick, poisonous hatred that consumed her very soul.

She wanted to refuse to believe it, but the picture she had just seen was devastatingly real. Tears and blood bled together, flowing down her bruised face.

An absolute darkness began to enfold her consciousness as the muffled sounds from upstairs receded into the distance. Her heartbeat slowed, growing fainter and fainter, until at last… it ceased entirely.

=o=