Chapter 3

I spent a week in the hospital.

Dominic never showed up once.

But he sent over boxes of high-end nutrition kits, along with a message:

"Once you can stand, drag yourself to the estate. You wanted money — here's your chance."

"Once Serena's hundredth wedding game is done. After that, you're out of uses. So don't waste my time."

I stared at those expensive packages and dumped them all into the trash without blinking.

These two psychopaths treated crashing weddings like a game and other people's dignity like a punchline.

The ninety-ninth victim had been my brother.

What he only got instead was Dominic's fists and a public humiliation.

And Serena?

She had stood in her white bridal gown, nestled in Dominic's arms, laughing.

"Ugh, this groom is so boring. Didn't even put up a fight."

"Dominic, don't go too hard — don't kill him. I still need him for my IG story."

That rainy night, my brother had dragged his broken arm up the longest bridge in Ashworth City, one agonizing step at a time.

And jumped.

I closed my eyes and forced the tears back down.

......

When I arrived at Dominic's private estate, I had changed everything about my appearance.

A white cotton dress. Hair down. No makeup.

This was what Serena Blackwell had looked like at eighteen.

I'd studied every old photo of hers, every habit, every version of her smile.

I knew how she used to walk, how she'd tilt her head, how she'd brush hair from her face without thinking.

The moment Dominic saw me, the glass in his hand hit the floor.

Shards scattered everywhere.

A piece sliced across the back of his hand, but he didn't notice.

He stared at me, and his eyes went red in an instant.

"Ser... Serena?"

I stood in the doorway, fidgeting with the hem of my skirt, looking up at him with wide, timid eyes.

"Mr. Ashford, it's me. Ellie."

Dominic kept me.

Not as a punching bag anymore — as a proper stand-in.

He stopped letting me wear cheap clothes.

He had an entire wardrobe made up for me, every piece styled exactly the way Serena used to dress.

He stopped hitting me.

He even started putting food on my plate at dinner, clumsy and a little awkward about it.

"Serena used to love blueberry pancakes."

"The way she ate — cheeks all puffed out, like a little squirrel. Cutest damn thing."

"But then she changed."

"She started smoking. Drinking. Flirting with every man who looked her way."

"She called it fun. Said it kept things exciting."

"I hated it. I just wanted the old Serena back. The clean, simple version of her."

I swallowed a bite of that sickeningly sweet pancake and nodded like a good girl.

"Whatever Mr. Ashford likes, I'll learn."

Dominic smiled, satisfied, and patted my head.

"Good girl."

......

Days passed like that, one after another.

I played the perfect gentle girl, chipping away at Dominic's walls one sliver at a time.

Until one day.

I was cleaning his study when I bumped the mouse by accident. The screen lit up.

An encrypted folder sat in the center of the desktop.

My fingers hovered over the keys.

On impulse, I typed in Serena's birthday. Part of me already knew what I'd find.

It opened.

Ninety-nine videos. Each one starring a different man.

Some had been stripped naked and thrown into the street.

Some had been forced to drink their own piss.

Some had their limbs snapped and were left crawling on the ground like worms.

These were Serena's trophies.

Medals she used to prove how far Dominic would go for her.

My hands were shaking as I clicked on the latest one.