Chapter 33

A sharp gasp escaped Evelyn's lips as pain shot through her body. Richard was putting all his strength into torturing her, as if determined to shatter her bones. Then, she heard his arrogant justification.

"Alexander, don't think I'm being too harsh. As her father, I can't stand seeing my own daughter humiliated like this! Once Victoria gives birth, you'll understand how it feels to be a parent."

With that, he ground his shoe into the back of Evelyn's already injured hand. Fresh blood welled up from the cuts left by the shattered glass.

She didn't scream. She didn't beg.

Alexander remained silent, his handsome face carved from ice. To Evelyn, his silence was approval.

"Alexander, my face hurts," Victoria whimpered, pressing a delicate hand to her cheek. "What if the scars never fade?"

His expression darkened as he shot Evelyn a look of pure disgust. "She deserves worse."

Then, he pulled Victoria close, murmuring, "Don't worry, darling. I'll make sure you're as beautiful as ever. Let me take you upstairs to rest." His tender words coaxed a laugh from Victoria—and shattered what was left of Evelyn's heart.

"No, you should stay with Evelyn," Victoria said with false concern, pushing him away. "I don't want her to feel left out."

Alexander scoffed. "I couldn't care less if this witch dies of jealousy." He strode past Evelyn without a second glance.

Behind her, Richard lifted his foot and stomped down on her wrist—once, twice, three times. Evelyn clenched her teeth, her tear-filled eyes burning as she watched Alexander and Victoria ascend the stairs, arms wrapped around each other. The pain in her chest eclipsed the agony in her hand.

Once Alexander disappeared into the bedroom, Richard delivered a brutal kick to her shoulder.

"Consider this a warning! If you ever lay a finger on Victoria again, I'll have your hands chopped off. Now get out!"

Evelyn forced herself up, swaying but defiant. "If Victoria provokes me again, I'll do worse."

Richard froze, stunned by her audacity. Before he could react, Evelyn was already walking out the door.

As she stepped into the cold night, Margaret's shrill voice carried from inside. "Look at her! Why didn't you break her hand completely? Victoria said that bitch earns a living designing jewelry. Let's see how arrogant she is when she can't even hold a pencil!"

A light rain began to fall, icy against Evelyn's skin. Exhausted, she found herself outside the psychiatric hospital—the only place where she might find solace.

But tonight, she couldn't face Henry. She had failed him. She didn't have the money for his surgery.

As she entered, a nurse rushed toward her. "I was just about to call you! Your grandfather—he's gone!"

Evelyn's blood ran cold. "What do you mean?"

"He's missing!"

A mentally ill patient, vanished into the night. The possibilities terrified her.

She was about to call the police when her phone rang—an unknown number.

Her fingers trembled as she answered.

"Evelyn Sinclair," a rough voice growled. "Your grandfather is with me. Bring ten million dollars, or prepare his funeral."

"Don't hurt him! I-I don't have that kind of money!"

"You don't, but your husband does." The line went dead before she could respond.