Chapter 1

Stephen's beloved Phoebe fell into a coma.

To everyone, I became the villain—accused of harming her out of unrequited love for Stephen.

Mute, I had no way to defend myself before Stephen locked me away in the basement. He said I would only be freed when Phoebe woke up.

Broken and hopeless, I succumbed to fear and starvation, eventually developing amnesia. Day by day, my memories began to slip away.

Yet, Stephen, tears in his eyes, begged me not to forget him.

But all I wanted was to leave it all behind and keep moving forward.

Chapter 1

Phoebe Dover, Stephen Linnell's beloved, lay in a coma.

As for me, a mute, I hadn't even been given the chance to defend myself before Stephen locked me away in his basement.

Fear and hunger consumed me, my spirit shattered. Over time, I developed amnesia. Each day, more of my memories slipped away, little by little.

Stephen sneered at me, accusing me of faking it, but I could barely remember who he was anymore.

…

The door to the basement creaked open, letting in a sliver of light.

I instinctively raised my hand to shield my eyes from the brightness that stung after so long in darkness.

"Well, Raelynn Swales, are you still refusing to admit your fault?" Stephen asked.

He stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light behind him. His smirk was derisive, as though certain he wouldn't get the answer he wanted.

As my eyes adjusted, I slowly lowered my hand.

I opened my mouth, but it was useless—I was mute.

Stephen couldn't see my sign language in the dark, and I had no way to make him understand.

I had tried before—filling pages with explanations, pouring my innocence onto paper. But he tore them apart, never reading a word.

Again and again, he demanded to know why I hurt Phoebe. And again and again, I screamed silently in my heart that I didn't do it.

It didn't matter. He didn't care if I was guilty or innocent. All he wanted was to punish me in Phoebe's name.

When I didn't respond, Stephen hesitated before letting out a scoff. He slammed a food box down onto the floor with a thud.

"Until Phoebe wakes up, you'll stay here and atone for your sins, one day at a time," he said.

After he left, the lights in the basement flickered on.

The basement had all the essentials for survival, but the lights only stayed on for ten minutes each day.

In those ten minutes, I had to eat the only meal I'd get for the entire day. Once the light went out, everything I did had to be in darkness.

Stephen called it my punishment. He said Phoebe lived in darkness every day because of me, so why should I be allowed any light?

Even after Stephen left, I didn't touch the food, though hunger gnawed at my stomach.

Instead, I pulled out a thick stack of papers and began reading through the notes I had written. I skimmed the old ones as quickly as I could, jotting down new details with trembling hands.

In the past few days, more and more of my memories had slipped away.

These few minutes of light were my only chance to hold onto what little I had left—an opportunity to review my notes and document anything I could still recall.

I was terrified—terrified of quietly dying here, unnoticed and forgotten, even by myself.

One word at a time, I wrote: "They are committing a crime. Raelynn Swales must survive. Survive and find the light."

Chapter 2

Phoebe had been in a coma for nearly a month. Before her accident, she had asked to meet me.

I had already been unnerved by her manipulative behavior in the past and wanted to refuse, but under Stephen's disdainful gaze, I found myself unable to protest. Instead, I lowered my head and silently acquiesced.

This was always how it went. Years of ingrained self-doubt followed me like a shadow, especially when Stephen was involved.

No matter how much I tried to stand tall, I felt like a balloon—fragile and ready to burst. The closer I got to Stephen, the sharper his edges became, always puncturing my resolve.

…

Phoebe arrived wearing a white dress, her gaze gentle, her voice as soft as her appearance.

"Raelynn," she said, her tone calm and understanding. "I know you once saved Stephen, and I'm grateful for that. But he's my boyfriend. Please, stop interfering with our relationship, okay?"

I clenched my fists, my palms slick with sweat. I had no idea what Phoebe's real intentions were, which only made me more nervous.

In my experience, the softer her tone, the heavier the blame she was about to place on me.

I quickly gestured in sign language, "I haven't been near Stephen lately. Please, believe me."

Phoebe smiled warmly and reached out as if to reassure me with a pat on the shoulder. The moment her hand came close, I instinctively flinched and raised my hands in a defensive push.

She smirked, leaning into the motion before tumbling dramatically down the staircase.

"Raelynn, what have you done?!" Stephen growled.

I knew he had been watching from nearby. I wouldn't dare provoke Phoebe on purpose, but it didn't matter.

…

Phoebe never woke up after that fall.

The doctors said that if she remained unconscious much longer, she might spend the rest of her life in a vegetative state.

Stephen, his eyes red with fury, dragged me to the dark, suffocating basement. He told me that as long as Phoebe remained in her coma, I would never see the light of day.

Chapter 3

The basement was cold, damp, and oppressive.

Stephen brought me only one meal a day.

At first, I was utterly terrified, so frightened that I forced my eyes open wide in the darkness, straining to see anything.

When a rat scurried by, my heart pounded uncontrollably. As a mute, however, no matter how terrified I was, I couldn't make a sound.

All I could do was curl up against the wall, clutching myself tightly and trembling as fear consumed me.

I couldn't understand why Phoebe would go to such lengths to frame me.

She already had everything she wanted.

Compared to her, I was nothing more than the mud at the bottom of a pond, looking up longingly at the lotus in full bloom above the water.

People used to say that if it weren't for Stephen, I would never have lived such a comfortable life.

I forced a bitter smile at the thought.

Why did no one believe me, no matter what I said?

Everyone assumed I had ulterior motives toward Stephen, that I was greedy for the wealth and status of the Linnells.

It wasn't like that at all. He was the boy I had saved one rainy night. He was the one who had made me a promise.

He had said he'd take care of me and that I'd never have to scavenge for scraps again. He had said I could go to school, just like everyone else, and someday choose my own life. He had said he'd always treat me like a little sister.

Now, he had locked me in this lightless basement.

Chapter 4

Stephen was the Linnells' only son and heir to their immense fortune and doting affection. His life had been smooth and glittering in every way—except for that one day, ten years ago.

That day, Stephen and Phoebe had their first major fight at school.

Out of spite, Stephen decided to shake off his ever-present bodyguards and maids, determined to rely on himself to find his angry childhood sweetheart.

Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned.

The moment Stephen stepped out of the school gates, he was abducted by a group of men who had been lying in wait.

It wasn't random. These men had a vendetta against the Linnells and had been watching for the perfect opportunity.

That day, they finally got their chance.

Stephen was silently whisked away to a run-down neighborhood—a place he would never have ventured into otherwise.

It just so happened to be where I lived.

The neighborhood was slated for demolition, with most of its residents long gone. The only ones left were me, a homeless mute, and a group of desperate criminals with nowhere else to go.

At the time, I was scouring trash bins, propping myself up on bricks as I searched for scraps to eat that night.

The rough men who had kidnapped Stephen lived next door to me. Since they'd moved in, the air had been thick with the stench of smoke and alcohol, accompanied by their constant shouting and cursing.

I avoided them at all costs, venturing out to scavenge only after I was sure they had left. Alone and defenseless, I was terrified.

Their presence significantly shortened the time I had to scavenge and made my already meager food supply even scarcer.

That day, as they returned, I was dragging a sack of plastic bottles home.

The moment I saw them, I instinctively ducked behind a crumbling wall. My small, malnourished body fit easily into the narrow space, keeping me hidden.

Something was different about them that day. They seemed unusually cheerful, their voices filled with glee as they discussed how much money they were about to make.

Peeking out cautiously, I saw the leader, a bald man with a gruff demeanor, directing his men as they carried a bulging sack.

The sack wriggled—it wasn't just cargo.

I didn't know how Stephen managed it, but he cried out, "Help!" as he struggled in the sack.

The bald man swore loudly, "Dang it! Didn't you shut his mouth up properly?"

His men scrambled to silence the voice, shoving the sack into the stairwell of their building.

That cry for help pierced me like a dagger.

My entire body trembled behind the wall. No one had ever taught me what to do, but I knew deep down I had to act.

I couldn't speak or write, and I had no way to call for help. But I remembered seeing a police station on the route where I sold scrap.

By the time I reached the station, night had fallen, and rain poured relentlessly from the sky.

I didn't have an umbrella. My shoes were soaked through, and my body was freezing. I kept going, taking shelter under the eaves only briefly before pressing on.

I don't remember how I made it to the station or how long it took to make the officers understand what was happening as I gestured.

I just remember the relief I felt when Stephen was rescued. Even though I was drenched, shivering, and exhausted, I couldn't help but smile.

That rainy night, the gang was arrested in one swift operation.

Stephen had a few bruises and was understandably shaken, but he was otherwise unharmed.

When Stephen's parents offered me a wad of cash as a reward, I was too stunned to take it. That amount of money was more than I could ever earn, even if I scavenged trash for a lifetime.

Seeing my hesitation, Stephen smiled and patted my rain-soaked, tangled hair.

He said, "Mom, she saved my life. Let her live with us. From now on, she's my little sister."

His parents exchanged startled glances but eventually nodded, unable to refuse their son.

Stephen, bruises and all, still carried the aura of a pampered, noble boy.

I blushed and glanced at him shyly, unsure how to express my gratitude.

Chapter 5

Life with the Linnells was as wonderful as I had dreamed. I had my own room, learned sign language, and even attended the same school as Stephen.

Despite that, years of poverty and fear had left scars. I was completely reliant on him.

He told me he would always be my brother and protect me—and I believed him.

At school, Stephen was a star, and every girl seemed infatuated with him. But he only spent time with Phoebe and, later on, me.

Phoebe treated me well—at least in front of Stephen.

She would gently brush my brittle hair, fastening it with delicate hairpins.

The moment Stephen wasn't looking, though, her warmth vanished. She'd rip the hairpins out, her expression cold and disdainful.

At first, I thought I had done something wrong. Phoebe was known for being kind and gentle.

Yet, she taught me, over and over, what it felt like to fall from heaven into inferno.

Eventually, I began to fear her kindness.

Stephen didn't understand. He thought I was being stubborn and often encouraged me to get along with Phoebe.

That changed on his 14th birthday.

At the party, Phoebe, dressed impeccably, got "pushed" by me and fell into the pool.

For the first time, Stephen slapped me across the face.

I stood there, stunned and helpless, the red imprint of his hand on my cheek as the crowd's accusations swirled around me.

I really hadn't pushed her.

Phoebe had asked me to adjust the bow on her dress. As I had reached out, she had stumbled back into the water.

I frantically gestured to explain, but the sharp, cruel words from the crowd drowned me out.

"That girl's rotten to the core, even at her age!"

"Good thing she's mute—imagine the trouble she'd cause if she could speak!"

That was the first time I truly understood the power of rumors and how devastating they could be.

Harsh criticism felt like arrows to my heart.

By the end, I could only mechanically repeat the gestures: "It wasn't me, I didn't do it."

Stephen punished me by forbidding me to eat for three days.

After that, he grew distant.

I tried to make myself invisible, throwing myself into my studies and avoiding him as much as possible.

During those lonely days, I cheered myself on. If I could just do well in school, I thought, I'd be able to stand on my own one day.

However, even that small solace wasn't something Phoebe was willing to let me have.

Chapter 6

When the incident of me pushing Phoebe into the water spread through the school, Stephen stopped shielding me as he had before.

For the first time, I truly felt the unfiltered malice of my peers.

Previously, out of respect for Stephen, my classmates had refrained from openly mentioning my disability. Now, I wasn't even referred to by my name—everyone simply called me "the mute."

I gestured frantically, trying to convey that I had a name—Raelynn.

All it did, though, was provoke a wave of laughter.

"Mute, huh? What good could her name do? She couldn't even pronounce it. How ironic!"

"Exactly! Bet she pushed Phoebe because she's jealous and wants Stephen all to herself. Talk about a bumpkin coveting what wasn't theirs."

I wanted to scream, "No, it wasn't like that!"

My parents gave me this name. To me, it was the most beautiful name in the world.

I wasn't always mute. I used to speak—until my parents passed away in a car accident when I was three. After that, my voice disappeared.

Then, when my grandmother died, I was left utterly alone. But those moments with my family were the happiest of my life.

None of this mattered, though. When people harbored prejudice, every word one said was dismissed as an insincere excuse.

At school, my textbooks would mysteriously end up in the restroom, and my desk would often be left filthy with unidentified stains.

Although these petty acts of cruelty seemed minor on the surface, they felt like thorny vines slowly wrapping around me—first scraping my skin, then digging into my flesh.

At first, the pain was sharp and sudden. Over time, it became a persistent, unbearable ache.

For the first time, I gathered the courage to ask Stephen for help.

Since the incident, I had been avoiding him, driven by a stubborn determination to repay him through academic success. Once I could stand on my own, I planned to sever all ties.

When I stood before Stephen that day, he towered over me with a smirk that wasn't quite friendly.

"You were the one at fault and tried giving me the silent treatment, huh? What, trying to play hard to get?" he shot.

I didn't know how to respond. Truthfully, I didn't even understand what he meant.

Without waiting for a reply, Stephen still helped.

Afterward, the bullying eased considerably.

When Phoebe found out, she strolled into my classroom.

Slipping her arm around my shoulder, she flashed a dazzling smile at everyone and warned, "This is my little sister! No one is allowed to bully her, okay?"

My classmates quickly praised her kindness and generosity, but I stood stiff and frozen in place.

Phoebe lightly patted my shoulder and told me to focus on my studies before returning to her class.

As she left, I noticed my classmates' sneering expressions. I quietly returned to my desk.

My deskmate at the time slammed her book onto the desk and declared loudly, "Wow, look how nice Phoebe is. What a shame I'm stuck sitting with a conniving mute!"

I stared down at my desk, not daring to make a sound.

From then on, I was the only student in class who sat alone.

With Stephen's intervention, my classmates stopped openly bullying me, but the snide remarks never went away.

Still, I told myself it was an improvement. At least my notebooks no longer ended up in the restroom. I could finally focus on my studies again.

Chapter 7

The sound of scurrying came from the dark corner of the basement—probably a rat.

I shifted to the opposite side, fumbling around until I found the food container.

Slowly, I chewed the cold, unappetizing meal in the pitch-black room. Unable to see my food, I inevitably made a mess.

Pain gnawed at my stomach—a combination of irregular meals and overwhelming fear.

It didn't matter anymore. So many things had already faded from my memory. These agonies, too, would eventually be forgotten.

Half-conscious, my mind drifted to a bright, sunny smile.

I clutched a scrap of paper tightly.

A name was written on it: Harvey Joslin.

"Wait for him. He'll come to save you," I told myself.

I clung to that glimmer of hope for what felt like forever, though I wasn't even sure I had the strength to keep waiting.

It was just that every time I looked at that name, a warmth welled up in my heart.

On that scrap of paper were the memories of how we met—the image of Harvey's warm and confident presence, etched into my mind.

Maybe he really was someone important to me. Why else would I think of him so often?

Lost in thought, I suddenly heard a voice—or was it just my imagination?

This time, there was a cacophony of crashes and shouting.

"Stephen, you bastard! What did you do to Raelynn?!"

The door to the basement creaked open, and light spilled into the darkness.

A tall figure dashed toward me—it was him. The person who had been my light in the shadows: Harvey.

None of it mattered now. My strength was gone, and my eyes fluttered shut.

Before everything went dark, I heard Harvey's voice one last time. "Raelynn, I'm so sorry..."

I thought he was being silly. There was nothing for him to apologize for. He hadn't done anything wrong.