Before Hana could get another word in, the hush was shattered by the sound of rapid footsteps echoing through the marble floor.
A team of nurses and doctors in crisp uniforms rushed in, their jackets emblazoned with the golden insignia of Seonghan Medical, one of the most elite hospitals in the country.
Gasps erupted across the room. This wasn't just any clinic staff—these were the type summoned for presidents and celebrities.
"Miss Yuna!" one of the doctors called, already kneeling beside her. "We're here to help—please, stay still."
The crowd parted like waves around them, watching as the medical team surrounded Yuna with practiced ease.
A nurse gently pressed an oxygen mask over her face, another checked her vitals, while the lead doctor examined her ankle with great care. The entire moment felt choreographed—almost too perfect.
Someone whispered, loud enough for others to hear, "It's Mr. Ahn. He sent them."
That name was enough to spark a flurry of murmurs.
"Mr. Ahn? The CEO?"
"Yuna must be really important to him . . ."
"She's so lucky—imagine being loved like that . . ."
"No wonder Hana is so jealous of her . . ."
The comments dug deep, but Hana stood frozen, watching helplessly as the narrative twisted again—slipping right through her fingers like sand.
All she'd wanted was to live normally. All she'd done was trying to get back what's hers. But now?
Now Yuna looked like a delicate angel surrounded by guardians, her soft whimpers making everyone's heart ache.
And Hana? She was just the outsider again. The vicious girl who is jealous of her stepsister.
Her stepmother stood back, arms folded, eyes sharp and satisfied. She no longer needed to say a word. The scene spoke volumes.
Hana swallowed the knot in her throat, her hands trembling at her sides. She wanted to scream, to drag the truth out into the open. But no one was listening.
Tonight, the spotlight belonged to Yuna. Again.
====
Later that Night: Pitch-black.
It was all Hana knew at first. Cold against her cheek, rough fabric pressed over her eyes. Her hands were hurt, tied over the ceiling. Every breath sounded too loud—a metronome in the silence.
She tried to sit up but hit a hard surface beneath her. The rough scent of damp earth or concrete filled her lungs. Panic jolted through her blood like electricity.
"Jin?" she whispered, voice dry and hoarse. "Jin, is that you?"
She heard footsteps—slow, deliberate. And then that voice again—cool, low, cold.
"How dare you push Yuna?" It dragged through the air like poison. "She could have been killed."
Hana jerked, but nothing moved. Her mind raced. Push Yuna? Where? When? At the gala? But I was trying to save her . . .
The footsteps came closer, fading into the darkness. Hana swallowed. "You know I didn't—"
A hand, tight and cold, clamped over her mouth. Anything else died before it reached the night. Then the voice again, venom diluted by anger:
"Praise your luck it was only a sprain. But make no mistake, I will take revenge for her."
Hana trembled violently inside her own body. Revenge? For her? Not again.
She strained against the ropes, but they cut into her wrists, locking her in place. Another hand flicked a switch—pain flared on her back as the lash hissed against her skin.
"This is for Yuna."
Hana swallowed hot tears, tears of fear, shock, heartbreak. "Not — I don't push her—"
There was another crack against her skin. The pain was sharp, immediate. Her breath caught.
"Lies!"
"I was trying to save her!"
For a moment, the silence swallowed them. The voice was almost emotionless—cruel in its calm.
The whip cracked again, louder, vicious. Hana rocked against her binds, overwhelmed. "You're wrong, Jin . . . It wasn't me!"
Another stroke split across her shoulder. She gasped, biting her lip against herself.
"Since you're still Yuna's sister, I'll spare your life. Ten more strokes—then this incident is forgotten. But if you ever go against Yuna again . . . I won't be so merciful. This is your final warning."
But she hadn't done anything wrong. Hana gritted her teeth, the bitter taste of helplessness rising in her throat.
It hit her then—Jin would never believe her. He didn't care about the truth. In his eyes, if Yuna was hurt, anyone remotely involved would be punished.
That was how much he loved Yuna.
There was no space left for Hana in his heart—not after everything. Not after all she had done, all the times she tried to be there for him.
Nothing had been enough to make him see her. Nothing had been enough to make him love her.
Jin counted softly, each word a blow on Hana's mind as much as on her body:
"One."
Her shoulder flinched. The world tilted.
"Two."
Her vision blurred.
"Three."
Her freedom—gone.
"Four . . ."
Each strike had his finality.
By "Seven," her thinking grew sluggish. She tasted blood in her mouth—her own. She fought tears—no, she couldn't breathe.
"Eight . . ."
She chanced one soft sob.
"Nine."
The lash paused as if he savored a moment too long.
Hana could smell the stinging familiarity of blood and sweat and tears mingled.
"Ten."
The last blow landed hard. She sagged against the floor and against herself.
"Good."
The lash dropped with a heavy thud. Heavy silence followed.
Hana could barely breathe. She wasn't crying anymore. She wasn't even conscious anymore—
Then nothing.
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A|N
Hang in there—Hana's finally leaving in the next chapter. She's done with all of it.