1 Everyone in our elite Upper East Side circle knew that Harrison Sterling, heir to the Sterling real estate empire, treated his female best friend like absolute royalty. He pampered that tomboy so much that he even used a modified, high-velocity paintball gun to shatter my wrist just to protect her. Looking down at me with pure disdain, he scoffed, “She’s a girl too. So what if she felt you up a little? Stop acting like some prudish saint.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just nodded calmly. That very night, I had someone smash him over the head with a bat, strip him down to his boxers, and dump him in an abandoned warehouse. Then, I paid fifteen of the filthiest, most hulking homeless men from the grimiest underpasses of the city to keep him company for the entire night. The next morning, listening to his half-dead, agonizing screams for mercy… I stood in the mud, smiling with the utmost warmth. Didn’t he like “inspecting the goods”? Well, he was certainly getting his fill now. I am Serena Vance, the legitimate heiress of the Vance family. I am also Harrison Sterling’s arranged fiancée. Our families are old money, our business interests deeply intertwined. That’s exactly why, even though I’ve always known about the boundary-less “female best friend” constantly glued to his side, I always turned a blind eye. I couldn’t be bothered to care. The girl’s name was Chloe Thorne. She sported a choppy wolf cut and lived in oversized men’s streetwear. She hung around Harrison and his crew of trust-fund frat boys, constantly dropping F-bombs and acting like one of the guys. She prided herself on being brash, unfiltered, and “not like other girls.” Whenever anyone pointed out how weird it was that she and Harrison shared water bottles or smoked from the same vape, she would roll her eyes dramatically and call them insecure, conservative idiots. “I’m Harry’s bro. We’re practically blood. You manipulative, petty bitches don’t understand shit.” Oh, I understood perfectly. I understood the disgusting, blatant game of wearing the “bro” disguise just to shamelessly occupy the space meant for a man’s partner. This afternoon. The largest outdoor tactical paintball arena on the outskirts of the city. It was an event organized by Harrison. Mrs. Sterling had practically begged me to go, calling it a “bonding experience.” In reality, she just wanted me to keep an eye on her reckless son. I was wearing a heavy, cumbersome tactical vest, feeling incredibly bored. The game had been going on for nearly thirty minutes. I was walking slowly through the woods, kicking through mud and dead leaves, just waiting for the timer to run out so I could go home. Whoosh— Suddenly, a savage shadow lunged out of the waist-high bushes beside me. Before I could even react, a massive force tackled me hard to the ground. My back slammed into a muddy puddle, splashing filthy water everywhere. Mud instantly filled my mouth and eyes, tasting bitter and gritty. “Got a straggler!” An obnoxious, piercing female voice exploded next to my ear. Chloe straddled my waist, pinning me down with her entire body weight. I frowned, trying to wipe the muddy water from my face, my voice dropping to a freezing temperature. “Chloe, what the hell are you doing? Get off.” “Get off? We’re in the middle of a war, future wifey!” She stared down at me with a sickening smirk, but her hands were incredibly rough. Under the guise of “searching for loot,” she violently grabbed the collar of my tactical vest. She yanked hard. The zipper burst open. I thought she was just getting carried away with the game and instinctively tried to push her off. “It’s just a game, don’t cross the line!” But the very next second, I realized how wrong I was. She wasn’t playing a game at all. She stared at the silk camisole visible under my vest, a flash of undisguised jealousy and malice crossing her eyes. Then, she suddenly reached out with both hands and grabbed the fabric of my silk top. Riiiiip— The sound of fabric being violently torn echoed piercingly through the quiet woods. Cold air rushed in. A large expanse of my pale skin, along with the edge of my bra, was completely exposed to the open air. I froze. My brain short-circuited for a second or two. A short distance away, the rapid crunch of footsteps approached. Harrison and his crew of frat boy friends were walking down the ridge, taking in the entire scene. Over a dozen pairs of eyes stared directly at my half-exposed chest. Someone even let out a sickeningly vulgar wolf whistle. Not only did Chloe not let go, but she turned her head and yelled up the ridge toward Harrison: “Harry! You’re a lucky guy!” “I just inspected the goods for you, and damn, future wifey is packing heat!” The group erupted into roaring laughter. Those laughs felt like stinging slaps to my face. I stared up at Chloe, still straddling me. Every line of her face was radiating the sick thrill of a successful revenge. She wanted to use the most degrading, disgusting method possible to trample me—the official fiancée—in front of Harrison’s entire social circle. She wanted to strip away my dignity and turn me into a cheap joke for them to sexualize. The sheer humiliation mixed with blinding rage instantly incinerated my rationality. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just expressionlessly reached my hand into the mud beside me and grabbed a jagged, heavy rock. Fuck the arranged marriage. Fuck my high-society etiquette. I was going to crack this bitch’s skull open right here and now. I violently raised my arm, aiming the heavy rock directly at Chloe’s smug face, and brought it down hard. BANG! A heavy, muffled gunshot echoed through the trees. Immediately following it, a blinding, excruciating pain exploded in my right wrist. It was a blunt-force agony that felt like my bones had been physically shattered. My hand spasmed open. The rock rolled harmlessly into the mud. The sheer impact of the hit made me gasp sharply, my body collapsing weakly back into the muddy puddle. I clutched my wrist as a bright red liquid dripped through my fingers—not blood, but the red paint from an exploded paintball. But that hard-shell, high-velocity paintball had already left a horrifying, dark purple welt on my wrist bone. My wrist was swelling up like a balloon, sending spasms of agony through my arm at the slightest movement. My face pale, I turned my head. Thirty feet away. Harrison stood holding a modified, heavy-duty paintball marker with one hand, a faint wisp of white vapor escaping the barrel. He looked down at me from his elevated position. There wasn’t a single shred of concern for his humiliated fiancée in his eyes. Only thick annoyance and disgust. He casually tossed the gun to the guy next to him and marched down the slope. He grabbed Chloe’s arm, hoisted her off me, and carefully checked to see if any mud had gotten on her clothes. Then, he pulled Chloe behind him protectively and glared at me like I was a psychopath. “Serena, what the hell is wrong with you?” Harrison frowned, his voice dripping with ice. Using my uninjured left hand, I struggled to pull my torn shirt together, holding it tightly against my chest. I looked up at this man—the man who, on paper, I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. “What’s wrong with me?” My voice was hoarse, but my articulation was razor-sharp. “She tackled me into the mud, ripped my clothes open, and put me on display for your entire crew to gawk at.” “Harrison, are you fucking blind?” Harrison scoffed, acting as if he had just heard the most ridiculous joke on earth. He took a step forward, looking me up and down with utter contempt. “Serena, are you having a paranoid delusion right now?” “We’re all out here having fun. Chloe is a girl too, what exactly is she going to do to you?” “So what if she felt you up a little? You screamed so loud, it’s like you were desperate for everyone to know how much of a slut you are, trying to seduce my boys.” From behind him, Chloe poked her head out, pouting and speaking in a sickeningly condescending tone: “Exactly, Serena. I’ve always been a tomboy, I was just making a joke.” “If you can’t even handle a little joke, how are you ever going to fit in with our circle?” The trust-fund boys behind them chimed in immediately. “Yeah, Serena. Chloe hangs out with us in the hot tub all the time, we don’t care. We’re all bros here.” “Blowing this completely out of proportion is just killing the vibe.” I stared at the people standing in front of me. I looked at their ugly, twisted faces. I looked at Harrison’s arrogant, ‘if you keep throwing a tantrum, I’m dumping you’ posture. The agonizing pain in my wrist continued to throb, pulling at my nerves. If I were the old Serena—the one who always compromised for the sake of the ‘bigger picture’—I might have cried from the injustice, or simply stormed off in a huff. But I wasn’t. I slowly stood up from the mud. I didn’t look at Chloe. I locked eyes solely with Harrison. Suddenly, I pulled the corners of my mouth into a smile. My absolute, boiling rage had reached its peak, transforming into a bizarre, eerie calmness. “Okay.” I nodded, my voice very quiet, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “I see. So ripping someone’s clothes open to ‘inspect the goods’… is just a joke.” “I understand.” With that, I didn’t spare a single glance at any of them. I turned around and, dragging my pain and my mud-soaked body, walked out of the woods step by step. I heard Harrison scoff coldly behind me. “If you understand, then get your ass home and change. Stop embarrassing me out here. Call me when you’re done throwing your little fit.” I ignored him. I walked to the parking lot, opened the door to my G-Wagon, and got in. I didn’t go home. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. It rang three times before it was answered. A lazy, yet undeniably ruthless male voice came through the speaker. “What’s up, Princess? Finally decided to kick that Sterling idiot to the curb?” It was Julian. My childhood best friend, the notorious “Grim Reaper” of the city’s elite underground, and the man who controlled more than half of the Vance family’s security and shadow networks. I looked down at my grotesquely swollen wrist. My tone didn’t have a single ripple of emotion. “Julian.” “Bring me ten of your tightest-lipped, most efficient guys.” “And while you’re at it, head down to the shadiest, most abandoned underpasses outside the city.” “Hire fifteen of the filthiest, most hulking homeless men you can find. Make sure they haven’t touched a woman in years.” The line went dead silent for two seconds. Then, Julian let out a dark, highly amused chuckle. “Understood. I’m on it.” 2 That night. 1:00 AM. The underground parking garage of the tactical arena was dimly lit. Harrison’s post-game dinner had ended. He was completely wasted, humming a tune and tossing his car keys as he stumbled alone toward his sports car. He had already sent Chloe home in the Sprinter van earlier. He probably thought today was a massive success, because the great Harrison Sterling was in an excellent mood. He reached his car and reached out to pull the door handle. From behind two black SUVs parked nearby, two massive men wearing balaclavas lunged out without any warning. “What the fuck are you do—” Harrison was still drunk, his words slurring as he tried to curse them out. Standing right behind him, Julian held a solid aluminum baseball bat. He didn’t even blink. THWACK! The bat swung with absolute precision, slamming directly into the back of Harrison’s head. The force was controlled perfectly—not fatal, but absolutely enough to instantly neutralize any physical resistance. Harrison didn’t even make a sound. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he collapsed onto the concrete like a puddle of wet mud. I stepped out from the shadows a short distance away. Julian rolled his shoulders, gave the unconscious Harrison a kick, and turned to look at me. “Where to?” I stared expressionlessly at the man on the ground. “The abandoned auto shop on the West Side.” 3:00 AM. West Side, abandoned auto repair shop. The air was thick with the suffocating stench of motor oil, mildew, and an indescribable, sour body odor. SPLASH! A bucket of filthy, ice-cold water was dumped directly over Harrison’s face. “AHHHHHH!!!” Harrison let out a bloodcurdling scream, his eyes snapping open as he coughed violently. When his vision cleared and he registered what was happening, his entire body went rigid. He was bound to a massive, discarded tractor tire with rough nylon rope. His arms and legs were spread wide open in a horrifically degrading position. He couldn’t move an inch. But what broke his mind even faster was the realization that… His expensive designer streetwear was gone. He was stripped completely bare, save for a single pair of black boxer briefs. The cold wind blew through the shop, making him violently shiver. But it wasn’t just the cold making him shake. Surrounding him in a tight, suffocating circle were over a dozen men. These men were covered in grime, their hair matted, thick black dirt caked under their fingernails. They reeked of the putrid stench of not having showered in years. They were staring at his nearly naked body with a predatory, cloudy, almost pathologically excited hunger. Like they were admiring a prime cut of meat sitting on a butcher’s block. “Who… who are you people?!” Harrison’s voice trembled like a leaf in a hurricane. His usual arrogant swagger had completely vanished. “Do you know who I am?! I am the heir to the Sterling family! If you even touch me, I will end your entire bloodlines!” No one answered him. The homeless men just rubbed their hands together, letting out spine-chilling, guttural chuckles. I was sitting on a dilapidated sofa just outside the circle of men, my legs crossed. My injured right hand was now wrapped in a cast. In my left hand, I held a cup of freshly brewed hot coffee. I blew on it gently. Listening to his impotent rage, I finally spoke, my voice slow and methodical. “Look at the great Harrison Sterling, trying to throw his weight around.” Harrison’s head snapped toward the sound, spotting me through the gaps between the men. His pupils dilated instantly in absolute disbelief. “Serena?! You?!” He thrashed wildly, the nylon rope creaking against his skin. “Are you insane?! Do you have any idea what you’re doing?! Tell them to untie me right now! Or I’m marching straight to your house tomorrow to cancel the engagement!” I laughed. I laughed so hard my shoulders shook. Cancel the engagement? He actually still thought this was just a petty lovers’ quarrel. I casually tossed the paper cup onto the floor, coffee splattering across the concrete. I stood up and slowly walked up behind the circle of men. I looked at Harrison’s face, twisted in pure terror, and my voice was as gentle as if I were soothing a child: “This afternoon, didn’t your ‘bro’ Chloe inspect the goods for you?” “It’s only polite to return the favor.” “Tonight, I found a group of bros for you, too.” I turned my head, glancing at the eagerly waiting men beside me. I raised my left hand and gave a gentle wave. “Go ahead.” “Do a thorough inspection. Let’s see what kind of goods the great Harrison Sterling is packing.” The moment the words left my mouth. Over a dozen foul-smelling men swarmed him like starving wolves descending on a carcass. “Don’t touch me! Get off! Don’t put your filthy hands on me!” “AHHH!! GET OFF! HELP ME!!” Harrison unleashed a series of agonizing, soul-tearing screams. Over a dozen pairs of hands—hands as rough as sandpaper from years of digging through trash—mercilessly roamed over every single inch of his skin. Following my instructions, they didn’t actually cross the final line. But the overwhelming, suffocating groping, pulling, and malicious scratching was more than enough to obliterate the psychological defenses of any sane human being. His only remaining piece of clothing, those boxer briefs, was already hanging by a thread under the assault of multiple hands. His dignity, inside this decaying repair shop, was ripped to shreds. I watched him sob hysterically, watching him writhe and thrash against the tire like a skinned dog. I felt absolutely zero pity. The next morning. The first rays of sunlight pierced through the broken windows of the shop. The sour stench in the air seemed even thicker. Harrison lay slumped against the tire like a dead fish. His entire body was covered in scratches, bruises, and even bite marks from the men. The boxer briefs were long gone. His voice was completely gone, his dead eyes staring blankly up at the rusted tin roof. Hearing the sharp click of my heels against the concrete, his eyeballs rolled agonizingly slowly in my direction. The moment he saw me, pure, unadulterated terror and hatred exploded in his eyes. “Serena… you’re a demon…” He opened his mouth, his voice so raspy it was barely a whisper. “My parents… they will kill you…” I stopped three feet away from him. Julian, standing next to me, handed me a wet wipe. I wiped my hands, looking down at him from above. Looking at his body reduced to a pile of garbage, the smile on my face grew wider. “Harrison, why are you acting like a victim?” I mimicked the exact impatient, condescending tone he had used at the paintball arena yesterday. “You’re all men here, what exactly are they going to do to you?” “So what if they felt you up a little? You screamed so loud, and spread your legs so wide…” I leaned in slightly, my eyes as cold as absolute zero. “It’s almost like you were desperate for everyone to know what a slut you are, trying to seduce them, right?” “You—Blegh!”
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