Chapter 2
586 Words
However, Jeffery's gaze remained fixed on Karina's trembling shoulders. Completely blind to my bullet-torn palm, blood gushing out.
I heard my voice turn ice-cold. "Save it. No one's forcing you to keep acting out this pathetic fantasy of the brother-in-law pining for his wife's sister. Jeffery, let's break up."
Jeffery froze, silently mulling over those words for what felt like an eternity.
After all, we'd nearly died together in the kidnappers' van years ago, and I'd never abandoned him then.
Just as he hesitantly reached for my face, Karina let out a mocking laugh.
"Break up? Ava, stop your act. You've got nowhere to go. This is just a cheap trick—trying to bind Jeffery with that debt of saving your life!"
Jeffery's eyes turned to ice. He despised threats above all else.
"People always say our dimples make us look most alike. Why not cut out Ava's dimples? Then you won't mistake us again."
As Jeffery hesitated, Karina immediately doubled over, clutching her stomach.
"It hurts... I've never been hit before in my life! We didn't use protection earlier... What if... What if she's caused me to miscarry our baby?"
Jeffery gave her a resigned look. In the end, he nodded.
Bodyguards instantly wrenched my arms behind my back. My eyes widened in disbelief.
Before I could speak, he dismissed me lightly. "Ava, you've always hated those dimples anyway. My company's medical aesthetics department has cutting-edge technology. Don't worry, there won't be any scars."
The knife tip pressed against both cheeks as excruciating pain exploded simultaneously.
The bodyguard, loyal to Karina, twisted the blade sadistically.
Tears of pain flooded my eyes.
I'd once despised every feature that resembled Karina.
On my eighteenth birthday, I'd waited eagerly for Jeffery to celebrate my coming of age. But Jeffery's phone remained unreachable.
When I returned, devastated to our temporary hideout, I saw two bodies tangled on that narrow bed. In that moment, my ears filled with nothing but roaring as I trembled, vomiting violently against the wall.
Jeffery knelt before me, clutching my hands as he swore that he was drunk and had mistaken Karina for me.
Shaking uncontrollably between sobs, I kept asking him, "Why—why did this happen?"
At 13, bruised but recklessly, he kicked away the thug who'd been following me.
At 15, even while on the run and unable to afford decent clothes, he saved bit by bit from meals to buy me a necklace I'd lingered on in a shop window.
On my 17th birthday, I hid under the blankets and asked through the phone, "Are you crying? Did I make you cry by saying I like you?"
His voice was choked up on the other end. "I haven't even given you flowers yet, haven't properly confessed. How could I let you say it first?"
I told him he'd already given me plenty of flowers.
He refused, insisting the bouquet for a confession wasn't the same as any other.
But then came the second mistake, the third... By the tenth time, Karina yanked the blanket away, thrusting out her chest as she sneered, "How could he get it wrong every single time? Even if he couldn't see, couldn't he tell by touch? My sister's as skinny as a twig. The truth is, you just want me!"
And he just stood there silently, didn't say a word in protest.
Now, with two bloody holes gouged into my face, I was thrown to the floor like a broken rag doll. The crowd dispersed.
- Writer
