Clara was the most brilliant young criminal profiler in Washington, D.C. With nothing but a charcoal pencil, she could reconstruct a suspect’s face with haunting precision—a talent that had closed countless cold cases.

But now, those gifted fingers were being snapped, one by one. Her face was as pale as death, a cold sweat drenching her skin as agonizing screams tore from her throat. Yet, in this dimly lit basement, there was no one to offer mercy.

Her husband, Sebastian, sat on a leather sofa across from her. He held an unlit cigarette between his fingers, his expression as cold and detached as a spectator at a play.

The bodyguard responsible for breaking her fingers straightened up and thrust a phone in front of Clara’s eyes. On the screen, Clara’s younger sister was pinned down by several men. Her helpless, muffled whimpers made Clara’s heart seize in a spasm of pure agony.

"Clara, hand over the evidence you found," Sebastian said, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. "Otherwise, I can’t guarantee what will happen to your sister."

Clara trembled violently, her eyes bloodshot with rage and betrayal. "Sebastian... why?"

"It took me seven years to track down the monster who burned my family alive and assaulted my sister! Seven years! Why are you stopping me? Just because he’s Luna’s father?"

Seven years ago, a drunkard had broken into her neighborhood and set a fire that consumed everything. Her father, mother, and grandfather—along with scores of neighbors—had perished in the inferno. Her little sister, playing outside at the time, had escaped the flames only to be dragged into the shadows by that same man.

Since that night, her sister had suffered from severe PTSD, living a ghost-like existence, too terrified to ever touch or be touched by another human being.

Clara had dedicated every waking moment to finding the killer, but the man had vanished like smoke. The weight of the grief had been so heavy it crushed her into a deep, dark depression.

Until she met Sebastian.

Sebastian had claimed it was love at first sight. He had pursued her with a grand, romantic fervor, buying her priceless diamond rings and showering her with every luxury imaginable. Whenever her depression flared, he would hold her close, whispering the same promise over and over: "Don't be afraid, Clara. I'll help you. I promise, I will help you find justice."

Moved by his devotion, Clara had slowly stepped out of her darkness. She never stopped her investigation, and finally, she had secured the evidence needed to sketch the murderer’s face.

But instead of justice, she found herself kidnapped by her own husband and dragged to this cellar.

It turned out that all those years of "protection" were nothing but a ruse to keep her quiet. He wasn't protecting her—he was protecting Luna from the pain of seeing her father behind bars.

"Luna is fragile," Sebastian’s voice pulled her back to the brutal reality. "If her father goes to prison, she won’t survive the shock. Stop being stubborn, Clara. Give me the evidence. Otherwise, this video of your sister will be broadcast across the city. Do you think she can handle that kind of public humiliation?"

Clara bit her lower lip so hard the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. "Sebastian... you swore to me you would protect her!" she choked out.

Years ago, it wasn't the diamonds or the grand gestures that had won her heart. It was that one sincere promise. He had said: "I know how much you've suffered. Your family is my family now. I will protect your sister as my own."

But the man standing before her now was a total stranger. "You’re the one hurting her by being difficult," he said coldly. "You have one minute. Her life is in your hands."

The bodyguard’s thumb hovered over the screen. One tap, and her sister's shame would be permanent and public. The clock ticked, the silence in the room heavy with the scent of old blood and betrayal.

"Stop!" Clara screamed, her spirit finally breaking. "It’s in the bedroom... in the drawer by the bed! Just leave her alone!"

A flash of satisfaction crossed Sebastian’s eyes. He stood up, walked over, and patted her cheek with mocking tenderness. "See? Everything is much better when you listen. Your sister will be moved to the best private sanatorium. Consider it my compensation to you."

The evidence and the sketches were quickly retrieved and burned to ashes right before Clara’s eyes. She lay on the cold floor, tears streaming down her face, the light in her eyes completely extinguished.

Seeing her in such a state, Sebastian felt a brief flicker of a frown. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but his phone rang. It was Luna. As the girl’s sweet, coaxing voice came through the speaker, the last trace of concern in Sebastian’s eyes vanished. He grabbed his blazer and walked out without a backward glance.

Clara was left alone, staring blankly at the ceiling, her heart turned to stone.

An eternity passed before the piercing ring of her phone broke the silence. It was a nurse from the hospital.

"Miss Clara... your sister... she slit her wrists!"

The phone slipped from Clara’s mangled hand, the screen shattering into a web of cracks. When she finally stumbled into the hospital, all she saw was a blood-stained sheet covering a girl who was now cold to the touch. Her sister, her only remaining family, was gone. She hadn't even been able to say goodbye.

The nurse looked at her with profound pity and handed her a crumpled note. "This was your sister’s suicide letter. I’m so sorry..."

Clara opened the envelope mechanically, her movements like a puppet with cut strings.

Sister, please forgive my cowardice. I just can't take it anymore. Why does it always have to be me? I hate it. I feel so disgusted. Every time I close my eyes, I see those men... I'm sorry, Clara. I just can't hold on.

Clara’s heart felt as if it were being crushed by an invisible hand. She clutched her head and let out a harrowing, inhuman scream that echoed through the sterile hospital halls.

Her wounds tore open, blood seeping through the fresh bandages.

"Don't touch me!" Clara shrieked, striking her own head repeatedly as the nurses tried to intervene. "I should be the one dead! It should have been me! Why am I still alive?"

Under the weight of the trauma and the physical pain, her vision went black, and she collapsed.

When she woke again, she was in a hospital bed, the air thick with the sharp scent of disinfectant. After a long, hollow silence, she dialed a number she had never intended to use.

"Mr. Julian?" Her voice was like ice, stripped of all emotion except for a dark, simmering resolve. "You once said you’d help me if I ever needed it. I’m calling in that favor."

"I want Sebastian and Luna to pay for everything they've done."