They Beg For My Return

Chapter 1 Out Of Jail

The prison gate slowly creaked open, and the harsh sunlight fell on Camila Jackson's gaunt, yellowed face.

The clothes she had worn when she entered prison now hung loosely on her frame. She had spent five dark, hopeless years behind bars, and today, she was finally walking out—her sentence served.

Dragging her leg, she limped slowly from the prison. It wasn't that she wanted to walk slowly, but that she simply couldn't manage any faster.

A black Bentley was parked by the roadside. The window rolled down, revealing a man's cold, sharp face. His eyes briefly scanned her leg before he scoffed, his disdain unmistakable. "Five years in prison, and you're still pretending."

Camila's heart unexpectedly gave a painful twist, and her eyes burned. He was Harry Jackson, her older brother.

Since she was fifteen and had been taken in by the Jackson family from the orphanage, she had tried everything to earn his affection.

But for the sake of his adopted sister Agnes Jackson—who shared no blood with him—he had fabricated evidence to pin a charge of attempted murder on her.

Five years later, he was still as sharp-tongued as ever, still as cold and dismissive toward her. Camila forced herself to push down the pain, pretending not to see him as she limped away.

Harry froze, thinking, 'She has actually ignored me.' In his memory, Camila would always be the one to approach him first, eager to please him in any way she could.

When he came home, she would offer him his slippers. When he was tired, she'd give him a shoulder rub. When he had trouble sleeping, she'd brew him soup to help him relax.

If he was too busy to come home for dinner, she'd wait for him, rain or shine, with a thermos at the office building.

In the three years she lived with them, his chronic stomach issues had gotten better. But ever since she went to prison, he had often woken up in pain during the night.

When he found out she was being released today, he felt an unexpected sense of relief and even canceled a multinational meeting just to pick her up.

He thought she'd be thrilled to see him, ready to tell him everything she'd suffered over the years. He never imagined she would completely ignore him, her once adoring gaze replaced with cold indifference.

The strange emptiness that grew in his chest only fueled his frustration. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles went white. His voice came out sharper than he intended. "Get in the car."

Immediately, he regretted his words. Frowning, he softened his tone. "Mom and Dad know you're out today. They've arranged a welcome dinner for you."

Camila thought, 'Mom and Dad?' The words felt so familiar, yet so distant. When she was at the orphanage, she'd often imagined what it would be like to have parents—she dreamed of being a pampered little princess.

She had longed for that for fifteen years. And after all those years, her wish had finally come true. She had a mom and dad now, and a tall, handsome older brother who was a powerful CEO.

But that beloved little princess wasn't her—it was their adopted daughter, Agnes, whom they had raised since childhood. Those people weren't her parents. They were Harry's and Agnes's parents.

Camila couldn't help but bitterly laugh at herself. During the three years she spent in that house, she had suffered through countless slights and cold treatment. Knowing she was unwanted, she thought, 'Why would I go back to face more misery?'

Her steps, though slow, never wavered. Her cold attitude and the stubbornness in her back were like a sharp thorn in Harry's side.

A surge of anger welled up in his chest as he slammed the car door open, quickly catching up to her with long strides. Grabbing her wrist, he yanked her toward him, his voice dripping with frustration. "Haven't you caused enough trouble?"

Camila lost her balance and crashed heavily to the ground. A sharp, searing pain shot through her broken leg, and her face went ashen.

Harry's anger flared. "Enjoy playing the fragile act, don't you?

"Don't forget, five years ago it was you who pushed Emily down the stairs, turning her into a vegetable. You even tried to frame Agnes for it. After five years in prison, you still haven't learned your lesson. Seems like the system hasn't done its job!"

With that, he roughly pulled Camila up from the ground, showing no pity. "Don't think that five years in prison means you've paid for your sins. As long as Emily is unconscious, you'll never be free of guilt.

"And you still owe Agnes an apology. Get in the car. Don't make me say it again."

Camila could only feel bitter irony at his words. She had explained countless times that it wasn't her who pushed Emily Connor—it was Agnes. But no one believed her. They all chose to stand by Agnes.

She was the real, blood-related daughter of the Jackson family, yet the entire family believed Agnes's side of the story.

Yes, she was guilty—but her crime was foolishly trying to return to that family, hoping for love and affection that wasn't hers to begin with. She knew she was wrong. She thought, 'I would change!'

She walked away, far from them, determined never to compete for her parents' or Harry's affection again. She would never be an eyesore to them again. She wondered, 'Why can't Harry accept that?'

She silently broke free from his grasp, stepping back to put some distance between them.

Her deliberate coldness only made Harry more frustrated, his chest tightening with anger. All he could think about was how she used to cling to him like a shadow, always seeking his approval.

He tried to rein in his anger, softening his tone as much as he could. "Come home with me."

Camila kept her eyes lowered, her expression blank, as if she couldn't care less to look at him.

Her feigned indifference only made Harry's fury burn brighter. He thought, 'Five years in prison haven't taught her much, but it has certainly made her more defiant.'

Just as he was about to snap, a voice, soft as a spring breeze, interrupted his thoughts. "Camila."

Camila froze. In that instant, her heart tightened painfully.

Even though it had been five years since she last heard that voice, she recognized it instantly. It belonged to her childhood friend, Owen Wilson.

She looked up to see a pair of polished leather shoes, and then heard his deep, soothing voice from above. "Camila, congratulations on your release."

If anyone else had said it, she would have politely thanked them. But hearing it from Owen made it sound almost mocking.

Her most trusted childhood friend, Owen—the renowned lawyer who, after graduation, took on his first case as the defense attorney for Agnes and helped convict her.

Before the trial, he had said to her, "Camila, Agnes has never been through hardship. She won't be able to handle life in prison. Will you take the fall for her?"

Camila had thought, 'Agnes can't handle it, but I can? Just because I am used to suffering, it is my responsibility to bear the blame for Agnes's crime?'

By sending Camila to prison, he became famous in Sancho. Five years ago, he had just graduated, still a little green. Now, five years later, he was one of Sancho's most respected lawyers, exuding confidence and professionalism.

They had grown up together in the orphanage. Not siblings by blood, but closer than siblings. Whenever other kids bullied her, he would stand up for her, fiercely promising, "As long as I'm here, no one will make you suffer, Camila."

He had even promised that when he became a lawyer, anyone who hurt her would end up in jail.

But later, when Agnes hurt her again and again, Owen simply dismissed her, saying, "Camila, you're just being too sensitive. Agnes isn't like that."

And it was him who had protected those who hurt her and sent her to prison.

*****

The air was thick with silence.

The smile on Owen's face faltered, but he forced a smile and extended his hand to Camila. "Camila, I am here to pick you up..."

Before he could finish his sentence, Camila turned to Harry. "You said we're going home, right? Let's go."

Chapter 2 Miss Me?

She knew she couldn't escape. Owen, once the person she trusted most, was now the one she hated the most and least wanted to face.

Rather than dealing with Owen, she would prefer to settle for the next option—going with Harry. At least Harry had always despised her from the very beginning.

From the first day she entered the Jackson family, Harry had warned her, "Even if you're my blood relative, the only sister I have in my heart is Agnes. You'd better behave yourself. If I find out you're bullying Agnes, I won't let you off."

He never gave her any hope, so she never had any real expectations. In front of Harry, the psychological wounds she suffered were easier to bear. It was better than being hurt by the person she trusted most.

Prison had taught her one crucial lesson: when you had no power, no connections, and no one to rely on, the only way to survive was to minimize harm and stay safe.

So, when the other inmates made her choose between being disfigured or slapped across the face, she chose the slap. When she had to decide between being beaten or begging, she chose to beg.

When faced with the choice between drinking toilet water or barking like a dog, she chose to bark.

She had tried to fight back, but the more she resisted, the worse the beatings became. To stay alive, she had to abandon her pride and let herself be controlled.

Even when thrown into a pit of ruthless criminals, she survived by her ability to "avoid harm and seek safety."

Camila walked toward Harry's black Bentley. As she passed Owen, her face remained blank, and she didn't even give him a glance.

The oversized T-shirt brushed against his fingertips, and the empty sensation felt wrong—like the fabric wasn't worn by a person but hung on a clothes hanger.

Owen's hand hung motionless in the air. In that instant, it felt as if the air around him had frozen, leaving only the cold and hollow feeling on his fingertips.

Pain and loneliness flashed in his eyes. His heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, every beat sending a dull ache through his chest.

Once, her gaze had always followed him, full of trust and dependence. They had grown up together in the orphanage, always there for each other. Whenever he called out her name, "Camila," she would smile brightly and reply, "Owen, I'm here."

But time had passed, and now she treated him as if he were invisible, not even sparing him a glance.

Owen's lips trembled, and he opened his mouth to speak, but found his throat constricted, unable to make a sound.

Camila climbed into the car and sat in the back seat. Everywhere she looked, there were signs of a woman's presence.

The passenger seat was covered with a soft pink cushion, and the center console was lined with a row of cute strawberry bears. The rearview mirror held a pendant of a woman who looked more mature and alluring than she had been five years ago.

She smiled brightly, a picture of a pampered, well-loved daughter from a wealthy family. The expression on her face seemed to mock Camila, the so-called "false daughter."

Camila had thought she could remain indifferent to all of this, but seeing it with her own eyes still made her heart ache for the unfairness she had suffered.

She turned her gaze away, but it inevitably fell on the handbag beside her. Inside was a pristine white gown, its full beauty hidden, but the feathers adorning it suggested it was exquisite.

Her fingers absently traced the rough denim of her jeans. Every detail inside the car reminded her how out of place she was here. From head to toe, she wasn't worth as much as the handbag holding the gown.

She turned her gaze to the window, watching the scenery blur by.

Harry, still behind the wheel, didn't forget to lecture her. "Mom and Dad have missed you terribly these past five years. They've cried every day, their hair has turned gray. When we get back, leave your spoiled princess attitude behind.

"I don't want to see you scheming or causing trouble with Agnes, making things difficult for Mom and Dad. If you just stay in line, the Jackson family won't treat you unfairly."

His words hung in the air, and the silence stretched on.

When she didn't respond, Harry frowned, clearly irritated, and glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Camila, I'm talking to you. Are you even listening?"

Finally, Camila turned to look at him, then spoke the longest sentence she had since her release. "According to the rules, prisoners can meet with family members or guardians during their sentence.

"Prisoners are allowed one visit a month, usually between half an hour and an hour.

"I've been in prison for five years, a total of sixty months. That means I could've had sixty visits from my family, but not a single one.

"If your parents missed me so much, why didn't they come visit? Were they too busy to spare even half an hour a month?"

Her voice was calm, but every word hit with the force of a blade, cutting through his lies.

For a moment, Harry's eyes flashed with panic and guilt. The reprimand he had planned was swallowed by the knot in his throat.

He instinctively looked away from her calm yet piercing gaze, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"...It's because you're so hard to handle. Mom and Dad didn't visit you because they wanted you to focus on changing your bad habits in there. They're doing this for your own good," he said finally.

'For my own good?' Camila thought bitterly. 'For my own good, they made me take the fall for Agnes and suffer in prison. This is the 'good' they want for me?'

She felt utterly drained. She had no desire to look at Harry anymore, so she turned her attention back to the window.

The car soon pulled into the Jackson family's garage.

Harry seemed pleased with himself. He grabbed the handbag from the back seat and quickly turned to leave.

After walking a few steps, he suddenly seemed to remember Camila, pausing and stiffening. The awkwardness on his face hadn't fully faded when he turned around.

"Go change into something proper. We're heading to the banquet hall," he said, then turned and left without looking back.

Five years later, the Jackson family home still felt foreign to Camila. She had never felt warmth here; it had never truly been a home. Life here was even worse than in the orphanage.

In the orphanage, though she didn't have a private room, she stayed in a sunny dormitory. When the sun rose, its light filled the entire room, creating a warm, comforting atmosphere.

She'd always loved the scent of the blankets warmed by the sun; it gave her the feeling of home.

But now, standing in what was supposed to be her home, she realized that it wasn't the scent of sun-warmed blankets she felt—it was the musty, damp smell of a place that the sunlight never touched.

She opened the door. The small room had no windows and was piled high with clutter. The only furniture was a single folding bed and an old desk. This was the storage room that had been her bedroom for three years in the Jackson family.

Harry had told her to wear a proper gown. But she thought, 'When have I ever owned one?'

Through all the years, she had only ever had her high school uniform. The T-shirt and jeans she wore now were bought with money she earned working part-time during the holidays, purchased in some second hand market for a total of 15 dollars.

She remembered how excited she was when she first wore them and asked Harry for his opinion.

He barely even glanced at her before furrowing his brow. "What are you wearing? Why can't you dress like Agnes—graceful and appropriate? Take it off, throw it away. Don't wear that outside and embarrass the Jackson family."

Chapter 3 No Pocket Money

Agnes's grace and sophistication were built on wealth and resources. As for Camila, she had nothing.

The Jackson family gave her neither love nor money, yet they still blamed her for not being graceful or refined. Even now, she couldn't understand why they had brought her back.

The only purpose she seemed to serve in this family was to highlight how adored the "real" daughter, Agnes, was.

The person who was unloved became the third party. It felt oddly fitting in her case. The younger version of her would have been heartbroken by their unfairness, but now, she just didn't care anymore.

She looked around the storage room, and the only clothes she had to change into were her blue-and-white high school uniform.

Five years ago, she had received an acceptance letter from the top university in the country, Wasmore University. Yet the Jackson family had only thrown a grand celebration for Agnes's admission. The banquet was packed with Sancho's elite.

Eighteen-year-old Agnes, dressed in a 300-thousand-dollar haute couture gown, her hair crowned with a diamond-studded tiara, stood proudly between the Jackson couple, the center of attention, treated like a princess.

Meanwhile, she—dressed like an outcast, dragged away by the police in front of everyone—had her college years stolen away as she spent the next five years in prison.

*****

Five minutes later, Camila, now in her high school uniform, made her way toward the Jackson family's banquet hall.

As she walked, the servants passing by couldn't help but eye her with curiosity.

"Who's this? Why is she in a high school uniform?"

"She's probably a server brought in from Reagon Hotel. Looks like a high school student working part-time for the summer."

"The Jackson family is really good to Miss Jackson. To celebrate, they even brought in the head chef from Reagon Hotel."

"Yeah, they really went all out."

One of the servants walked up to Camila and casually reminded her, "The banquet's about to start. Hurry up and change into the uniform like everyone else. Don't slack off when serving the guests. The people here today are important figures from all over Sancho."

After the servant left, Camila stood still for a moment, suddenly not wanting to go to the banquet at all.

Harry had told her that Arthur Jackson and Belinda Jackson were hosting a welcome banquet for her, but he hadn't mentioned anything about inviting outsiders.

She wondered, 'Being released from prison isn't something to celebrate. Does it really need to be such a big event?'

Years ago, she had been taken away by the police in front of Sancho's elite. Now, she thought, 'They are going to make a spectacle of my return in front of those same people?'

To her, this didn't feel like a welcome—it felt like a public display of her shame, leaving her no dignity at all. A mix of bitterness and anger rose in her chest, and she no longer wanted to stay.

She turned to leave, but just as she did, Harry approached. When he saw what she was wearing, his face immediately twisted with disdain.

He quickly walked over, his voice rising. "Didn't I tell you to wear a gown? What are you doing in that? Don't you know what kind of event this is?"

Camila opened her mouth to explain, but Harry cut her off, not giving her a chance to respond.

"You came out of prison looking like a wreck, and now that you're home, you're trying to play the victim in front of everyone, acting like we owe you something.

"You're putting on this show, trying to make it seem like the Jackson family mistreated you. Camila, your tactics are as low as ever. You're beyond saving," he said.

He reached out to grab her, still muttering angrily, "Go back and change your clothes. Don't make a fool of yourself here..."

Camila stepped aside to avoid him.

Harry missed, his fury burning even hotter. "You dare avoid me?"

She raised her eyes to meet his, and he looked at her like she was his enemy. That look of disdain and impatience—she had borne it for three years in the Jackson family.

Every time their eyes met, it felt like her heart was being torn apart by invisible hands. Her tears of injustice would well up, but all she'd ever received in return was his accusation of "pretending."

Maybe she had gotten used to it, or maybe the five years in prison had stripped away her self-respect. Now, when she met his look of utter disgust, her heart felt nothing. His feelings—whether love or hate—no longer affected her in the slightest.

Camila met his gaze with cold indifference, her eyes calm but firm. "I don't have a gown."

At this, Harry's anger flared even more. "No gown? Don't you know how to buy one?"

Camila took a deep breath. She knew better than to try to explain to him—he was too set in his biases, and no matter what she said, he would never believe her.

She had tried to explain before, but the more she spoke, the more he accused her of hiding something, and the more he vilified her.

She felt utterly powerless. She wasn't going to explain anymore. She simply said, coldly, "I don't have the money."

Harry's face twisted with frustration, his anger growing more uncontrollable by the second. "For three years, you had everything you needed—food, clothes, and even pocket money from the company. Every month, they transferred 150 thousand dollars to your account.

"That's 3.6 million dollars over three years! Isn't that enough to buy a few decent clothes or a gown? But you chose to wear cheap, tacky stuff, just to make it look like the Jackson family has mistreated you.

"Camila, stop being so selfish. You've made your scene, and we've given you what we owe you. It's enough now. Stop acting like this.

"Enough is enough!" he shouted.

Camila had expected this. No matter what she said, it would never be believed. She kept her gaze fixed on him, her eyes steady.

For some reason, when their eyes locked, Harry suddenly felt a pang of guilt. "Why are you staring at me like that? I didn't say anything wrong."

She thought, 'He didn't say anything wrong?' Camila couldn't help but laugh bitterly inside. She hadn't wanted to make a scene, but Harry's relentless attitude had awakened a dark part of her.

Her attention shifted as she noticed someone walking toward them. If she was going to make a scene, she figured she might as well make it a big one.

She had already lost all her dignity, and she didn't care anymore. But she couldn't help wondering if Harry, so obsessed with appearances, could handle this public humiliation.

"I've never received any money from the company," she said. "Don't even talk about 150 thousand dollars—there wasn't even 15 dollars. If you're going to accuse me, at least come up with a decent excuse."

Harry's eyes narrowed further in disgust. "You really won't stop until you get yourself in trouble, will you? Camila, you're pushing me too far. Don't blame me for not sparing you any face."

With that, he pulled out his phone and dialed the finance department, putting it on speakerphone. "Check how much money the company has transferred to Camila's bank account every month."

The voice on the other end of the line hesitated. "Camila? You mean Miss Jackson?"

"Yes."

"If it's Miss Jackson, there's no need to check."

Harry's displeasure deepened. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, sir, the company's finance department has never transferred any money to Miss Jackson's account."

"What did you say?" Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. He thought, 'Even if Camila isn't treated well, she is still part of the Jackson family. How can she not have received pocket money?'

That night, when she was brought back into the family, he and their parents had discussed how much pocket money to give her.

To avoid showing favoritism, they decided she should get the same allowance as Agnes—150 thousand dollars a month. He couldn't have remembered wrong.

"Didn't I tell you to handle this?"

"Sir, didn't you know? Mrs. Jackson said that Camila came from an orphanage, had a limited worldview, and kept bad company. She didn't want to spoil her by giving her 150 thousand dollars a month, so the allowance was canceled.

"At the time, she was still in high school, living comfortably at the Jackson family, with no real expenses, so they decided not to give her any pocket money..."

Harry's mind was reeling. He thought, 'The allowance was canceled? That means Camila hasn't received a single cent from the Jackson family during her entire three years here.'

"And, by the way, Mrs. Jackson increased Agnes's allowance to 300 thousand dollars a month, since she was worried that Agnes might feel upset with Camila's return.

"The extra 150 thousand dollars was meant to compensate Agnes for any hurt feelings. I'm sure you knew about this, sir."

Harry felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He couldn't breathe. He didn't know.

Chapter 4 They Know Nothing

The crowd around them continued to grow, all listening intently to the voice coming from the phone speaker. The shock was palpable.

Though the Jackson family wasn't the wealthiest in Sancho, they were still one of the most prominent. For children in wealthy families, having tens of thousands of dollars or even hundreds of thousands of dollars in pocket money each month was completely normal.

But none of them had ever heard of a wealthy family's daughter who didn't receive a single penny in pocket money. The Jackson family was the only exception.

They thought, 'No wonder Camila looks so poorly dressed and doesn't even have a decent gown for the banquet.'

Even if she hadn't been raised by them, Camila was still the Jackson family's real daughter. Their biological child got nothing, but their adopted daughter was spoiled with 300 thousand dollars a month.

If the Jackson family allowed something like this to leak out, it was clear that they had no idea how to handle things.

Whispers spread like wildfire through the room, and Harry felt an uncomfortable heat rise at the back of his neck. His face turned bright red with shame. He couldn't believe such an embarrassing thing was happening in the Jackson family.

He thought, 'We are a prominent family, rich and well-established—how can we be so stingy when it comes to pocket money for our own flesh and blood?'

Harry snapped, his voice sharp and cold. "Even if the company didn't give you money, your parents must have given you something, right?"

Camila gave him a look of mockery, then shifted her gaze to Arthur and Belinda in the crowd. "Mr. Jackson, if you want to know whether Arthur and Belinda gave me any pocket money, why don't you ask them directly?

"You clearly don't believe me, but I'm sure you'll believe your own parents."

Arthur and Belinda froze, both too ashamed to look her in the eye.

"Dad, Mom, you did give her pocket money, right?" Harry asked, looking at them seriously.

Arthur looked away, his voice faltering. "I thought you would give it to her, so I..."

Belinda's eyes filled with guilt as tears welled up. She spoke softly, "I thought you were going to... Camila, why didn't you tell me you were struggling with money? If you had told me sooner, I would have given it to you.

"It's my fault. I didn't notice sooner, and I let you suffer. But you need to believe that I treated you and Agnes equally."

Camila looked at her with a half-smile, her gaze indifferent. Under her cold stare, Belinda awkwardly lowered her eyes.

It was only today that Camila realized it was Belinda, her own mother, who had prevented the finance department from giving her money.

And not only that, but she had raised Agnes's allowance to 300 thousand dollars, as if afraid her precious adopted daughter might feel slighted.

The double standard was appalling, and yet Belinda still claimed to treat them equally.

A woman who lived in luxury, with high-end clothes and accessories, couldn't possibly have failed to notice that her own daughter was wearing clothes that added up to no more than 30 dollars.

It wasn't that she didn't notice; she just didn't care. Her apology was nothing more than a shallow act for appearances' sake.

Luckily, Camila had long seen through this family's ugliness. Her heart had been hardened over the years, immune to their cruelty. Without any expectations left, she was unwavering.

As Camila ignored Belinda's apology, publicly humiliating the Jackson family in front of everyone, any trace of guilt Harry had felt vanished completely.

He snapped, "Can't you speak for once? We're not mind readers. How were we supposed to know what's in your head? If you'd said something earlier, do you think we'd have let you go without money?"

"I said it." Camila's voice was soft but cold. "It's just that you didn't take me seriously."

Harry frowned, about to deny it, when a memory suddenly flashed in his mind. It was an afternoon, and the four of them were sitting together on the sofa, laughing and chatting.

Camila awkwardly walked over, clutching the hem of her school uniform. Before she could speak, her face had already turned bright red. She hesitated for a long time before whispering, "Dad, Mom, can you give me 1500 dollars for my tuition...?"

Harry slammed the newspaper onto the coffee table, glaring at Camila and scolding her, "Money, money, money! That's all you think about! You come home just to ask for money, don't you?

"If the Jackson family had no money, would you even bother coming back? I really don't know why your mother and I brought you back.

"If you don't have anything else to do, just study more. Agnes got tenth place in the whole school for the first exam. Where did you place?"

"I... I got first..."

"Enough! You're dead last, and you still have the nerve to mention it?"

He thought he had already arranged for the finance department to deposit 150 thousand dollars into her bank account every month, but she still had the audacity to ask for 15 million dollars.

He had thought, 'Agnes doesn't even have that much money—does she even think about what she has done to deserve it?'

Tears immediately welled up in Camila's eyes, as if she had been deeply wronged.

He only felt irritated and lost all interest in reading his financial news.

Fortunately, Agnes was sensible. She shook his arm and acted cute. "Harry, I got tenth place this time. Do I get a reward?"

He could never resist Agnes, his adorable little sister. He immediately forgot about the unpleasantness caused by Camila and pinched her small face, indulgently saying, "Agnes, what do you want as a reward?"

"I saw a bag worth 30 thousands dollars. Can you buy it for me, Harry?"

"Alright, alright. As long as you like it, I'll buy it for you. Don't even say 30 thousands dollars—I'll buy it even if it's 300 thousand dollars."

After coaxing Agnes, he turned back to Camila, clearly annoyed. "Why are you still standing there? Go back to your room and study."

Camila, feeling deeply wronged, turned and ran off.

Both Arthur and Belinda sighed at the same time. "If only Camila were as sensible as Agnes."

*****

"Mr. Jackson, did you finally remember?" Camila's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and each utterance of "Mr. Jackson" felt like a sharp pain in his chest.

He was her brother—her real brother, not some "Mr. Jackson." But since she was released from prison, she hadn't even called him "Harry" once.

His expression hardened, and he spoke through gritted teeth, "It's still because your grades were so terrible. You ranked dead last, and you still have the nerve to ask for money. I'm too embarrassed to reward you."

Camila's eyes grew colder. Under such a cold gaze, Harry felt an unfamiliar sense of guilt. He gritted his teeth and snapped, "What, have anything to say?"

"For three years of high school, I was ranked first in my grade every year. How is it that, in the mouth of you, Mr. Jackson, I've become last in the grade?"

Seeing the disbelief on his face, Camila let out a cold laugh, a hint of satisfaction creeping into her voice. "Well, I suppose it makes sense.

"Mr. Jackson, you don't even know which school I go to, so it's understandable that you don't know anything about my academic record."

Harry stood frozen, struck as if by lightning. His mind couldn't process what he had just heard. His voice trembled with barely concealed shock. "Aren't you attending Peroz High School?"

Peroz High School was the best elite school in Sancho, and Agnes had graduated from there. It was the school where all the children from wealthy and powerful families in Sancho were sent.

Harry had naturally assumed that Camila went to Peroz High School too.

He quickly turned to look at Arthur and Belinda, his voice shaking with panic. "Dad, Mom, when Camila came back, did you transfer her records here?"

Arthur's face turned bright red. He opened his mouth but could only produce a few muffled sounds. It was as if all his strength had been drained, and the authority he once commanded was completely gone.

Belinda's lips quivered, her eyes full of panic and confusion. Her carefully applied makeup couldn't hide the embarrassment on her face.

The two of them stood there, frozen, as if the air had thickened around them.

Harry's face turned pale. Everything he thought he knew about Camila crumbled like a collapsing building. The contempt and disdain he had felt before now seemed like sharp knives, cutting into him.

His voice faltered as he struggled to speak, his throat tightening. "Camila... where did you go to high school?"

Chapter 5 Banquet Not For Her

Camila's life was ruined, and only then did Harry think to care about her academically.

She thought, 'How ironic.' She had spent ten years working tirelessly, hoping to change her fate. Just as her efforts were about to pay off, they were crushed by the weight of power.

With one careless remark from the Jackson family, her fate was sealed, and in an instant, she was cast into the deepest pits of hell.

She could have had a bright future. Her family background had never been as strong as others', but the one thing she could count on was her extraordinary effort and dedication to her studies.

Her dream was to attend a top university, then pursue graduate studies and a PhD.

She wanted to become a professor and stand in front of a classroom, using her knowledge and experience to change the lives of people like herself. But reality slapped her hard in the face.

She didn't become the person she wanted to be. Instead, she became a convict despised by society, a stain that would forever remain on her record.

As she thought about this, Camila's hands tightened into fists, her nails digging into her palms without her even noticing.

"Sancho High School," Camila said softly, her voice almost gentle.

But those words—"Sancho High School"—weighed heavily, like a thousand-pound stone, pressing down so hard that Arthur, Belinda, and Harry could hardly breathe.

Sancho High School was the most prestigious high school in Sancho, with the highest entrance scores. Unlike Peroz High School, which admitted anyone with money, Sancho High School only cared about scores, not wealth.

The fact that Camila had been able to maintain the top spot in her grade year after year proved that she was one of the best of the best. With her academic record, getting into to top universities was a foregone conclusion.

"Impossible, you're lying," Harry said, his voice trembling slightly. "Sancho High School is in the suburbs, over 30 miles from here. Back then, you used to ride that old bicycle every day..."

Halfway through his sentence, Harry froze, suddenly realizing something, and couldn't bring himself to say any more.

Seeing his face turn pale, Camila couldn't help but smirk, her expression filled with disdain. "I'd rather ride a bicycle than go to school with Agnes, because we weren't even at the same school.

"I never ate breakfast with you because Sancho High School had early self-study at 6 AM. I had to wake up at 4 AM and ride my bike for two hours just to get to school.

"I never came home for lunch, because the time between school and lunch wasn't enough for me to ride back. I didn't have money to eat, so I had to drink more water just to make it through the day.

"By the time I got home, you'd already eaten, and I was stuck eating leftovers. And then you'd say I was born unlucky, that I always ate the leftovers like I was a beggar, wolfing it down like I hadn't eaten in days..."

"Camila, I'm so sorry," Belinda cried, her tears flowing freely. "I didn't know you were suffering so much. It's all my fault."

"You didn't owe me anything," Camila said, watching Belinda cry. Her own heart was as still as water. "I grew up without you. I understand that you don't have any feelings for me.

"I got used to it long ago. No matter how tough things were, I never felt sorry for myself. Mrs. Jackson, don't you agree?"

As she heard this, Belinda's sobs caught in her throat.

"Camila, I'm begging you. You're stronger than Agnes, you can endure more. You took care of yourself in the orphanage, so I believe you'll get used to prison, too. Please, just take the fall for Agnes," Belinda had once said to Camila.

The memories buried for five years suddenly came flooding back. Belinda was deeply shaken, clutching her chest as though she might faint at any moment.

Camila watched Belinda, who looked like she might collapse, and felt nothing but contempt.

When Agnes pushed Emily down the stairs, there was surveillance footage. But as soon as it happened, Belinda deleted the footage that could have proven Camila's innocence, which led to her being unable to defend herself in court.

"That's enough!" Harry snapped coldly. "Stop with the sarcasm. Yes, we overlooked you, but don't you have any responsibility in this? You were jealous of Agnes's life, so you deliberately bullied her as a way to get back at us.

"You're bitter, unlikable, and instead of looking at your own faults, you choose to blame us."

"Harry, don't talk about your sister like that," Belinda sobbed.

"Mom, you're still defending her? She's been getting worse because of how we've tried to make up for her. She wouldn't have done what she did otherwise.

"She pushed Emily down the stairs, causing her to fall into a vegetative state, and framed Agnes for it. We sent her to prison for five years, and now she's holding a grudge, making a scene in front of all the guests."

Belinda hesitated, guilt flickering in her eyes. She quickly looked at Camila, who was watching her with a knowing, almost mocking smile. Belinda's heart skipped a beat, and she couldn't meet Camila's gaze, looking away in shame.

"Alright, enough of this," Arthur said, frowning slightly and speaking with authority. "Camila, why didn't you let us know you were coming home? If we had known, we would've prepared a dress for you."

Camila froze. "You didn't know I was released today?"

"Of course not. If we had known, I would've had the driver pick you up. How did you get here?"

Camila turned her cold, piercing gaze on Harry. "I came in Mr. Jackson's car, because he said you were throwing a welcome-home banquet for me."

"A welcome-home banquet? Isn't today Agnes's birthday party?"

"Yes, the invitation I got said it was Agnes's birthday celebration. When did it turn into a welcome-home banquet?"

"You want us to give a welcome-home banquet for a convict? Is this a joke?"

People around them started whispering in hushed tones.

Harry's face flushed with embarrassment. He opened his mouth to explain, but after stammering for a while, no words came out.

Camila couldn't help but feel a bitter laugh rising inside her. The joke was on her.

Arthur and Belinda had only remembered that today was Agnes's birthday. They hadn't even thought about the fact that it was also the day Camila was released from prison.

As for the so-called "welcome-home banquet" Harry mentioned, it was just a coincidence—she had ended up tagging along with Agnes's birthday celebration.

A wave of bitterness spread in her chest. She thought, 'What have I even been expecting?' Camila no longer wanted to play these games with the Jackson family and turned to leave.

Suddenly, a figure in white rushed toward her. Camila tried to avoid her, but her injured leg made it impossible.

The person collided with her, and the force of the impact sent Camila crashing to the ground. Pain shot through her elbow and leg. Her brow furrowed as her pale face grew even more colorless.

As the pain subsided, she looked up to see Arthur, Belinda, and Harry surrounding a young woman in a white feathered haute couture gown, showering her with concern.

"Agnes, are you okay? Does it hurt? Are you hurt anywhere?"

Agnes's eyes welled up with tears, her face red from crying, looking utterly pitiful. "Dad, Mom, Harry, it hurts so much."

Immediately, the Jackson family rushed to her side, checking her over frantically. "Agnes, where does it hurt? Did Camila hurt you when she bumped into you?"

Without thinking, Harry turned on Camila, shouting, "Can't you watch where you're going?"

Chapter 6 Wrong Me Again?

Camila's anger flared up in an instant. She pushed herself up from the ground, but the pain in her leg caused her to stumble.

Gritting her teeth, she shot Harry a furious look. "Mr. Jackson sure doesn't hesitate to speak! She clearly ran into me herself, but you just blindly accused me. What, accusing me has become second nature to you? It costs you nothing, does it?"

"You—" Harry said.

"There are a lot of people who can prove for me here. So tell me, who's the one not seeing clear? Me, or you, Mr. Jackson, who can't even see what's right in front of you?"

Harry quickly glanced around, realizing that the guests were all watching him with subtle but knowing looks.

The guests were all high-society elites. While they might look down on Camila, a convict, their good upbringing wouldn't allow them to turn a blind eye to the truth.

Someone finally spoke up, offering a fair comment, "Mr. Jackson, it was definitely Agnes who bumped into her. We all saw it."

One person spoke, and others nodded in agreement.

Harry's face turned a shade of red, his eyes turning icy. He was now convinced that Camila was trying to ruin Agnes's birthday celebration and embarrass the Jackson family in front of the Sancho elites.

He knew Camila all too well. She was petty, vengeful, and capable of framing others. If she could do that, there was nothing she wouldn't do.

Harry furrowed his brow, his voice dark. "Even if Agnes did bump into you, it was an accident. Couldn't you have just moved out of the way? You did that on purpose."

Camila felt her blood boil at his words. A buzzing sensation filled her head, and she almost lost control. She thought, 'Move out of the way? I can barely walk, let alone dodge a collision. How could I possibly move fast enough?

'Oh, right. When I was released from prison, Harry looked down on me, thinking my limp was just an act. He only saw Agnes getting bumped, but never once considered that it was Agnes who knocked me down.'

Since they were so eager to tear her down, Camila saw no reason to protect their precious reputations anymore. In front of everyone, she rolled up her sleeve.

Her elbow was a bloody mess, the deep red contrasting sharply with her pale skin. It was a shocking sight. Even her palm wasn't spared, with blood oozing from the cuts, dripping down her fingers and falling to the ground.

Camila raised her arm high, making sure everyone could see. "Do you really think I would hurt myself like this on purpose? Do you think I'd cover myself in bruises just to get a scolding from you, Mr. Jackson?

"What, do you think I'm that desperate for attention?" Her voice trembled with emotion, her eyes reddened with the sting of injustice.

As he saw the gruesome cuts on her palm and arm, Harry's pupils constricted, and a hot flush of shame spread across his face. He couldn't bring himself to meet Camila's eyes.

Belinda gasped and quickly pulled away from Agnes, stepping forward to touch Camila, but hesitated, unsure if she might cause her more pain.

"Camila, does it hurt?" she asked, her voice full of concern as she blew gently on Camila's wound, her expression one of genuine worry.

Agnes, tears streaming down her face, said, "I'm sorry, Camila. The custom gown that Harry ordered for me was damaged, and I don't know why. I was so upset, I accidentally bumped into you.

"Please, don't stay angry at Harry. He only misunderstood you because he was worried about me. I'll apologize on his behalf."

Her eyes were full of pleading, her tear-streaked face resembling a delicate flower in the rain. She even looked beautiful while crying. Although she was apologizing, her expression made it seem like Camila had been the one to bully her.

In the three years Camila had spent in the Jackson family, every time she was wronged, Agnes always played the victim. Five years had passed, and nothing had changed.

"So what you're saying is that because your brother was worried about you, he had the right to accuse me without cause?" Camila's expression was icy, her eyes sharp, and her presence chilling.

"No, that's not what I meant!" Agnes, clearly frightened by Camila's cold stare, shrank back into Belinda's arms, her tears falling faster. "Camila, how could you misunderstand me like this?"

Belinda wrapped her arms around Agnes, sighing helplessly. "Camila, you've really misunderstood Agnes. She's always so sensible. It's not like you think. Today is Agnes's birthday, so just apologize to her, wish her a happy birthday, and we'll forget about this."

Camila raised an eyebrow. "This isn't the first time something like this has happened. Do you really not know what's going on, Mrs. Jackson? Do you need me to remind you about what happened five years ago...?"

"Enough." Belinda's face turned pale, and she spoke with obvious guilt. "Don't bring it up again."

Camila sneered, her laugh dripping with sarcasm.

Belinda, just like five years ago, still chose Agnes without hesitation. She couldn't bear to see Agnes suffer the slightest injustice, but had no problem letting Camila endure endless hardship and pain.

Camila couldn't care less anymore. She gritted her teeth against the pain in her body, straightened her back, and limped toward the door.

But after just two steps, a strong hand grabbed her arm, holding her firmly. "Explain."

Camila turned to face Harry, her gaze filled with impatience. "Explain what?"

Harry wanted to snap back, but when he met Camila's eyes, filled with barely-contained anger, his heart skipped a beat. He suppressed his fury and spoke as calmly as he could, "What's going on with Agnes's gown?"

Agnes's custom gown, with layers of feathers that shimmered in the sunlight, was stunning. But at the hem, a large patch of feathers was missing—clearly ripped off by someone.

Camila clenched her fists, her body trembling with rage. "So, Mr. Jackson, you think I intentionally damaged your sister's gown?" she asked coldly.

"You were the only one in my car. You're the only one who had the chance to touch the gown."

Agnes's tears flowed even more freely, her voice choked with emotion. "Camila, why would you do this?"

Belinda, unable to bear seeing Agnes upset, was caught in the middle, unsure whether to defend her or reprimand Camila.

She sighed and spoke gently, "Camila, I know you're upset, but today, just let it go. Apologize to Agnes and wish her a happy birthday. We can move past this."

Camila's mocking laugh cut her off sharply. She fixed her gaze on Belinda, speaking slowly, each word precise. "Mr. Jackson's car has a dash cam. If I really did damage the gown, all you have to do is check the footage."

She turned back to Harry. "To clear my name, I request that you take out your phone right now and show the footage."

Her confidence made Agnes panic. "Camila, there's no need to check the footage."

Belinda quickly stepped in, "There are guests here. Camila, please don't make a scene."

Finally, Arthur, who had remained silent until now, came over to mediate. "Let's just end this here. Camila, go take care of your wounds."

Camila's body trembled with fury. She shook off Harry's hand with force. "If we don't check the footage, am I supposed to keep carrying the blame for damaging Agnes's gown? I'm willing to check the footage. Why aren't you? What are you afraid of?"

Chapter 7 Anywhere Not Here

Camila's determined gaze swept across the faces of the four members of the Jackson family, one by one.

Arthur, Belinda, and Agnes all avoided her eyes, too afraid to look directly at her.

Even Harry, fuming with anger, finally crumbled under the weight of her icy, piercing stare.

Camila said, "Not going to speak? Fine, I'll speak for you.

"When Mr. Jackson received the gown, it was in perfect condition. The surveillance footage will show that I never touched it. But when the gown reached Agnes's hands, it was damaged. It's obvious who's responsible.

"So, you won't check the footage, because once you do, you won't be able to pin the blame on me anymore. I won't be taking the fall for someone else, right?"

"Taking the fall for someone else." Those six words hit Arthur and Belinda like a sharp blow, dredging up memories of what happened five years ago.

Belinda was already in tears, her face a picture of helplessness. "Camila, it's not like that. Please, listen to me. You and Agnes are both my daughters. How could I choose one over the other?"

If this had been the Camila from five years ago, desperate for Belinda's love, she would have softened at Belinda's tears, overwhelmed with compassion. But after five years of suffering, all she felt now was disgust.

"Say whatever you want. It doesn't matter anymore." Camila's words were cold as she turned away, not wanting to spare another glance at her family. She walked off without a second thought.

As she turned the corner, she unexpectedly bumped into Owen. He stood silently, clearly having witnessed everything that had just happened.

Camila's heart tightened, but she didn't break stride. She pretended not to notice him and continued walking, determined.

Each step felt like it was crushing her heart. She had no desire to engage with him; she just wanted to escape this suffocating place as fast as she could.

Just as she was about to pass him, Owen's familiar yet distant voice reached her ear—gentle but firm. "Camila, I believe you didn't do it."

Those words didn't offer her any comfort. In fact, they only filled her with bitterness. The idea of him saying "I believe" was almost laughable. She paused for a second, then quickened her pace.

Her limp caused her steps to be hurried, almost as if she were running away from something—her back, as she limped away, a picture of quiet desperation.

Owen's heart felt like it was being pierced by sharp needles, the pain spreading through his chest, leaving him breathless. He wanted to call out to her, but it felt like something was choking him, and no sound escaped.

Camila finally made her way to the storage room, her body dragging with exhaustion. She sank slowly onto the old folding bed, feeling completely drained, as if every ounce of energy had been sucked from her. Fatigue hit her like a wave.

Her eyes were hollow, and the disappointment she felt for this family was like an endless, bottomless pit, swallowing up the last shred of attachment she had left.

The three years spent in this house felt like walking on a razor's edge, each moment filled with neglect, injustice, and pain.

The wounds she'd suffered were like nightmares, carved deep into her soul after just one experience. She never wanted to find herself caught in that nightmare again.

Taking a deep breath, Camila forced herself to gather her strength and started packing her things. Looking around, she saw that her belongings were few and far between in the cramped room.

The only thing that belonged to her was the set of clothes she had just changed out of, which she casually shoved into a plastic bag.

It was time to go. She stood up and reached for the door, but before her pale, slender fingers could touch the doorknob, the door swung open from the outside. A woman in her late fifties stood there, gazing at her.

The woman froze for a moment when she saw Camila, and then her face broke into an unmistakable smile of joy. "Miss Jackson, you're really back?"

Camila blinked in surprise. "Hazel?"

As she looked at Hazel Clark, a flood of emotions overwhelmed Camila. Of everyone in the Jackson family, Hazel was the only one who had ever treated her like the true heiress.

The other servants were always cold and distant, with Agnes being the only one regarded as the real heiress.

During the scorching summer, when she had been sweating in the stifling storage room, Hazel had bought Camila a fan with her own money.

In the freezing winter, when Camila had been shivering with the cold, Hazel had bought her an electric blanket to keep warm.

As she thought back on this, Camila's eyes welled up, though she couldn't stop the tears from coming.

After her initial joy, Hazel's gaze fell to the plastic bag in Camila's hand. "Miss Jackson, are you leaving?"

Camila opened her mouth, unsure of how to answer, and just nodded silently.

Hazel's heart ached as she looked at Camila. She wanted to say something to convince her to stay, but the words stuck in her throat.

She knew better than anyone how difficult Camila's life had been in the Jackson family—how every cold look, every slight, every moment of neglect had eaten away at her. She couldn't bear to let Camila stay in this toxic household any longer.

With a heavy sigh, Hazel said, "Miss Jackson, if you need to leave, I won't stop you. But at least let me help treat your injuries first."

Camila waved it off. "It's just a small wound. I've gotten used to it."

Hazel's heart tightened. She wondered, 'How much pain has Camila endured, to speak so indifferently about her own wounds?'

Though Hazel was furious on Camila's behalf, as a servant, she was powerless. She knew she couldn't change anything in the Jackson family.

Forcing a gentle smile, Hazel said, "Miss Jackson, you've come all this way and haven't eaten anything. Let me make you a plate of pasta before you leave."

Camila rejected her again. "No need." Then, feeling a bit too harsh, she added, "It's better to leave early and find somewhere to stay."

In truth, she simply didn't want to eat anything from the Jackson family. She was poor now, her health was frail, and she had nothing left but her last bit of dignity.

Even if she had to beg on the streets, she would rather do that than stay in the Jackson family, enduring their cold stares. She could tolerate anyone's mistreatment, but not the Jackson family's. They owed her far too much, and they didn't deserve her.

"Hazel, I really have to go," she said.

Hazel's eyes filled with sorrow as she pulled out a wad of cash from her pocket and pressed it into Camila's hand. "Miss Jackson, take this with you for the road. You'll need it. Please, take care of yourself out there."

Tears finally spilled from Hazel's eyes as she spoke.

Camila hesitated, wanting to refuse, but Hazel's resolve was unwavering. "You're a girl on your own out there. You can't survive without money. You can't live under a bridge."

Camila bit her lip, tears silently slipping down her face. Strangers cared enough to be kind to her, but her own family—her parents and Harry—had never shown her any real compassion. She thought, 'Why can't they see how much I am suffering?'

Chapter 8 Rather Die Out

In the Jackson family's garage, Harry sat in the car, reviewing the dashcam footage.

During the fifteen-minute drive from the prison to the house, Camila had kept her hands on her lap, her body pressed against the car window, not once moving or even glancing at the gown. She hadn't even touched it.

As he thought about how they had falsely accused her, a tight knot of guilt and self-reproach formed in his chest. The image of her cold, resolute face as she confronted them replayed over and over in his mind.

In his memories, she had always been so cheerful. When she came home, she would greet him with a smile, call him "Harry" warmly, pour him coffee, and run around saying, "Harry, you must be tired from work."

But now, she seemed like a completely different person. Harry felt a pounding headache and closed his eyes, leaning back against the leather seat in exhaustion.

He wasn't sure how much time passed, but suddenly, he heard Camila's gentle voice from a distance. "Hazel, you don't need to see me off. Go back."

"Miss Jackson, please be careful. If anything happens, call me," Hazel said.

Harry snapped his eyes open and immediately saw Camila and Hazel standing at the gate of the villa. After exchanging a few words, Camila turned to leave.

Seeing this, Harry quickly got out of the car and shouted, "Camila, where are you going?"

His voice rang through the quiet courtyard like a clap of thunder, startling Hazel. "Mr. Jackson, what are you doing here? Aren't you—"

Harry shot her a cold look, silencing her with a glance. He then turned to Camila and coldly ordered, "Camila, stop."

But Camila didn't even slow down. She just kept limping forward, as though she hadn't heard him.

Her indifference made Harry's heart tighten. A single thought flashed through his mind: Camila was leaving the Jackson family.

Panic surged in him, and he rushed forward, grabbing her arm. "Are you deaf? Didn't you hear me tell you to stop?"

Camila turned and saw it was Harry. Her expression flickered for a moment.

Yes, she hadn't heard him. In the first year after her imprisonment, her left ear had been damaged from repeated beatings, and over time, even her right ear's hearing had worsened. Unless someone spoke directly in front of her, she often couldn't hear clearly.

Camila pulled her gaze away and stubbornly tried to pull her arm free. "Let go of me."

As he saw her so defiant, the guilt Harry had been feeling was quickly replaced by a surge of frustration. "Are you done? Today is Agnes's birthday!

"You made a scene at the party, and now you're trying to run away? Why can't you just be reasonable?"

Ignoring her struggle, he yanked her arm again, pulling her roughly. "You're coming back with me now."

His grip was like iron, tightening with every pull. Camila winced, a sharp pain shooting through her arm, as if her bones might break under his force.

She was overwhelmed with a sense of injustice, her eyes stinging with tears. She cried out, her voice breaking, "I'm not going back! Let me go!"

With every tug, her body swayed, each step feeling heavier than the last. Her injured leg buckled under the strain, and her strength quickly began to falter.

Hazel anxiously urged from the side, "Mr. Jackson, please be gentle. Miss Jackson is still injured."

At her words, Harry's gaze softened with a hint of concern. He loosened his grip on her slightly but didn't let go.

He looked at Camila, his brow furrowed. "Come home with me."

"I'd rather die out there than stay in the Jackson family." Camila stubbornly pulled away from him.

Harry was completely enraged. His reason was drowned out by his fury. In a fit of rage, he raised his foot and kicked Camila's injured leg. "Are you coming back or not?"

What was meant to be a light reprimand turned into something more, and Camila let out a pained scream as she fell hard to the ground.

She clutched her leg, her body curled up in pain, her face as pale as paper, sweat beading on her forehead. Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably, and her throat only released painful whimpers, her body too racked with pain to speak.

As he saw her in such agony, Harry's heart ached, but his panic caused him to stammer, "I barely kicked you. Stop pretending to be so hurt." But his voice trembled, betraying his guilt and fear.

Hazel, horrified, quickly knelt beside Camila. "Miss Jackson, what's wrong?"

The bone-crushing pain in her leg pulled Camila back to the second year of her imprisonment.

She couldn't remember why she was beaten, but she clearly recalled the brutal faces of her tormentors, lifting heavy wooden sticks high and smashing them into her legs.

She cried out for mercy, but the blows didn't stop. They smashed six thick sticks on her legs, breaking them before they finally relented.

The leader of the group grabbed her by the hair and warned, "Don't think about reporting this to the guards. You've offended the wrong people, and someone made sure we kept an eye on you."

Camila's eyes glazed over, her body trembling violently. She mumbled, "I'm sorry, please let me go; I'm sorry..." Her voice was filled with terror and hopelessness, like a wounded animal crying for help.

Hazel, tears streaming down her face, panicked and asked, "Miss Jackson, what's happening to you?"

"It hurts, it hurts so much," Camila whispered in a broken voice.

Those words pierced Harry's heart like a knife. "I didn't even kick you hard—how can it hurt this much?"

Ignoring Harry, Hazel carefully lifted Camila's pant leg. The sight that met them was horrifying.

Camila's lower leg was severely deformed. What had once been straight bones were now twisted at an odd angle, and her skin was covered in a web of old and new scars.

Some wounds were still fresh and swollen, while others had formed ugly scabs, leaving permanent marks.

The constant pain had caused the muscles in her leg to atrophy, leaving it thin and fragile, like a dead twig compared to a healthy leg.

Harry's eyes locked onto the gruesome sight of her leg. His body seemed frozen, and his mind went blank, as if he had been struck by a heavy blow. He could hardly process what he was seeing.

"How did this happen? She was fine when she went to prison. How could... in just five years..." He muttered to himself, but then his voice trailed off as something clicked in his mind.

He thought, 'That is a prison, a place for criminals—what kind of life could an eighteen-year-old girl like Camila have had there?'

His heart shattered, and his eyes quickly filled with tears. Clenching his teeth to fight back the pain, he rushed forward, scooping Camila into his arms and, without a second thought, bolted for the villa.

His steps were frantic and disordered, but as soon as he entered the living room, he froze. He realized he didn't even know where Camila's room was. After all these years, he had paid so little attention to her.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "Hazel, where is Camila's room?"

"This way, Mr. Jackson," Hazel quickly led the way.

Harry followed closely behind, but the further they went, the more his brow furrowed. He had no idea that the house had such a secluded room.

When Hazel opened the door to the storage room, Harry was struck by the sight: a cramped, dark, damp room, filled with clutter and no windows.

His eyes widened in shock. "Camila... lives here?"