The auctioneer’s gavel had just fallen when my husband’s beloved, Scarlett Hayes, lunged at me, tears streaming down her face. “Avery! That bracelet can save my dad’s life! Our spiritual advisor said it’s the only thing that can protect our family! Please, please just give it to me!” I yanked my hand away, a cold sneer twisting my lips. “Your dad is seriously ill, and you’re here begging me for an antique I just bought instead of finding a doctor? That’s absurd!” That very evening, Damien Lockwood burst through the door, his face contorted with rage. “Scarlett’s father died! All because you wouldn’t give her that bracelet! That was a human life!” I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping me. “And how is that my problem? Did I somehow *kill* him?” For that single sentence, he drugged me. The next thing I knew, I woke up on a remote island in the Pacific. A global live-stream lit up the screen – Damien Lockwood, CEO of Lockwood Corp., personally confirming: his wife, Avery Lockwood, suffered from severe paranoid delusions and required isolated treatment. The live chat exploded: “That witch deserves it!” “Crazy people should just die!” The hashtag #MrsLockwoodIsInsane was trending high. On camera, I was “helplessly” curled up. Off camera, my finger pressed a hidden signal transmitter. *Quinn, do it.* Damien, your business empire is about to crumble! 0
My eyelids felt heavy as I forced them open a crack. The blinding white light instantly pierced my pupils, triggering involuntary tears. My blurry vision hadn’t yet focused when a massive, suspended screen on the opposite wall jolted into view. The screen was covered with dense, rapidly scrolling text: **[The witch is awake! Look at her eyes! Definitely insane!]** **[Crazy woman, go take your meds! Don’t pollute the screen!]** **[The murderer who killed Miss Hayes’s father still has the nerve to live? Pay with your life!]** **[Mr. Lockwood got the absolute worst luck marrying this madwoman!]** **[#MrsLockwoodIsInsane is trending #1! Universal celebration!]** Every word felt like a sharp sword plunging into my brain. My mind buzzed. Where was I? Were these vicious words directed at me? Fragments of memory, accompanied by a surge of fury, suddenly flooded my mind: At the auction house entrance, Scarlett Hayes’s pathetic, tear-streaked face had lunged at me, clutching my sleeve tightly: “Avery! Please! Our spiritual advisor said only this bracelet can protect our family and bring peace to my father’s soul! Will you please let me have it? I’m begging you!” Her act was so sincere, as if my refusal would make me a cold-blooded murderer. Now, amidst the hateful comments, it seemed utterly ironic. I pulled away from her, my voice calm and cold. “Scarlett, your father is gravely ill. Instead of finding a doctor or staying by his bedside, you’re here begging me to ‘give’ you a three-million-dollar antique? That logic is laughably absurd!” Her face had instantly paled, but I caught the flash of venom in her eyes. It was so clear now. My refusal had infuriated Damien, touching his beloved Scarlett, who apparently couldn’t tolerate even the slightest discomfort. My memories were suddenly cut short. The heavy iron door swung open with a resounding *clank*. The pungent smell of disinfectant instantly flooded my nostrils. A woman in a crisp, starched white lab coat, wearing rimless glasses, and with an indifferent expression, walked in. This was Dr. Anya Petrova, Damien’s personal physician. Behind her followed two burly, expressionless orderlies. “Mrs. Lockwood, you’re awake.” Dr. Petrova’s voice was flat and emotionless, the cold needle in her hand glinting ominously. “Your emotions seem very unstable, which is not good for your ‘treatment’. Please cooperate with the sedative injection.” “Treatment?” My voice was hoarse, laced with unbelievable anger. “What disease do I have? Tell Damien to get out here! How dare he do this to me, all for Scarlett Hayes?!” It was exactly as I’d suspected. Damien had sent me to this hellhole just to appease Scarlett. Damien’s favoritism wasn’t new, yet he was my husband! Scarlett had “accidentally” spilled scalding coffee on my new limited-edition handbag. Just as I was about to scold her, Damien had cut in, frowning, “It’s just a bag, Scarlett didn’t mean it. Don’t make such a big deal out of it.” For our meticulously planned wedding anniversary candlelit dinner, he’d abruptly left because of a phone call from Scarlett claiming she was “feeling down,” his excuse being, “It’s not safe for a woman to be out alone at night.” At a crucial charity gala for the Lockwood family, he openly brought Scarlett, letting her stand by his side as his “assistant,” soaking in everyone’s attention, while I, his legitimate wife, felt like an outsider. Not to mention the countless expensive gifts, the late-night ‘heart-to-heart’ calls, and the way his eyes always held a touch more warmth when he looked at Scarlett than when he looked at me… Now, just because I refused Scarlett’s illogical, almost outright robbery-like demand once, Damien could twist the narrative, slap the ‘crazy’ label on me, and discard me like trash on this isolated island prison in the Pacific! He even used a global live-stream to humiliate and destroy me! “I’m not sick!” I screamed at Dr. Petrova, but it was more like roaring at the devil manipulating all this from behind the screen. “It’s Damien! It’s Scarlett! They’re the crazy ones! They’re insane!” The massive screen was right in front of me, the vicious comments still scrolling frantically. Every line felt like Damien and Scarlett mocking me through the mouths of thousands. Dr. Petrova’s eyes held only cold indifference. She gestured to the orderlies. Hands like steel vises once again pinned my powerless body. The cold alcohol swab rubbed against my skin, sending a shiver through me. “Mrs. Lockwood, please be quiet. Your delusions are worsening.” Dr. Petrova’s voice was a flat pronouncement. The needle pierced my skin, and the chilling liquid flowed in. Numbness spread rapidly, and my consciousness began to sink. Before I was completely swallowed by darkness, the huge screen and the scrolling hate comments morphed into Damien’s tender profile, wiping away Scarlett’s tears. I imagined Scarlett nestled in Damien’s arms, wearing my jade bracelet on her wrist. In the end, I was left with only one thought: *Damien and Scarlett, that twisted, despicable pair, won’t get away with this!* 0
I don’t know how much time passed before the suffocating effects of the drug slowly receded like a tide. I opened my eyes again. The massive screen on the opposite wall was still lit, though the comments seemed to scroll a bit slower. Still, those hateful words – “witch,” “insane,” “pay with your life” – appeared more and more frequently. “Ugh…” A dry, cracked throat made me groan. I struggled to sit up, but my limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. The drug hadn’t fully worn off. I painstakingly managed to stand. Just then, the iron door creaked open again. Dr. Petrova’s poker face reappeared, but this time she held a tablet, not a syringe. “Mrs. Lockwood, how are you feeling?” Her voice was still devoid of emotion, but her eyes held a hint of scrutiny. “Mr. Lockwood is very concerned about your condition. He’s arranged a video call.” She turned the tablet screen towards me. The screen lit up, and Damien’s handsome yet cold face appeared on the display. And leaning on his shoulder, almost filling half the screen, was Scarlett! Her eyes were slightly red, as if she’d just been crying, making her appear fragile and pitiable. But my gaze was instantly fixed on her raised wrist. My exquisite, luminous jade bracelet – a family heirloom from the early 20th century, with its perfect translucency and vibrant green hue – was resting firmly on Scarlett’s slender wrist! That was my mother’s family’s property! I had paid three million dollars for it, legitimately winning it at auction! Now, it was like a war trophy, ostentatiously worn by the woman who had framed me! A surge of blood rushed to my head, threatening to burst through my skull! “Avery,” Damien’s voice came through the cold electronic device, laced with fake concern and undeniable reproach. “I’m relieved to see you’ve ‘calmed down’. Scarlett made a special trip to see me today. She’s very worried about you, even though… you treated her that way.” He turned his head, gazing tenderly at Scarlett leaning on his shoulder, with a softness I had never received. Scarlett, at the opportune moment, raised the hand wearing the bracelet, wiping away non-existent tears, her voice choked. “Damien, don’t talk about Avery like that. She didn’t mean it, really. It’s just, just that my father…” She started to speak, then stopped herself, subtly throwing out the implication of her “father’s death” again, successfully igniting a deeper resentment and disgust towards me in Damien’s eyes. “See? Scarlett is still defending you!” Damien turned to the screen, his tone suddenly stern. “Avery, you stay here and ‘reflect’ properly, cooperate with Dr. Petrova’s treatment! Think about what you’ve done! We’ll talk about anything else only when you truly realize your mistakes and stop your paranoid delusions against others!” His gaze swept over my pale, haggard face. There was no trace of pity, only impatience. The screen went dark. Dr. Petrova took back the tablet, and a tiny, almost imperceptible sneer tugged at the corner of her mouth again. “Mrs. Lockwood, you heard Mr. Lockwood. For your ‘recovery,’ please maintain emotional stability.” She turned and left with the orderlies, the iron door once again closing heavily. The giant screen remained lit, scrolling with new comments: **[Wow! That was Mr. Lockwood and Miss Hayes! They look so good together!]** **[Miss Hayes is so kind, even speaking up for that crazy woman!]** **[Seeing that madwoman look so pathetic makes me feel relieved! She deserves it!]** **[Her hands are empty. She really doesn’t deserve to wear that bracelet! Miss Hayes looks so much better wearing it!]** My empty stomach clenched, making me feel nauseous. It wasn’t hunger. It was the overwhelming tide of malice, Damien’s blatant favoritism, and Scarlett wearing *my* bracelet, nestled in my husband’s arms, soaking in the world’s sympathy and praise. While I was trapped on this isolated island, branded as insane! Rage, humiliation, and hatred filled my mind like a burning flame, threatening to consume me entirely! With difficulty, I moved my numb fingers, inch by inch, exploring deep into my hair. My fingertip brushed against an incredibly tiny, hard bump. I pressed hard with my finger, activating the switch on the miniature signal transmitter. 0
Dr. Petrova brought me lunch, but it was just a sticky, foul-smelling gruel. I refused to eat it. This clearly angered Damien. Soon, a new “treatment” began. It wasn’t just sedatives anymore. The medication Dr. Petrova injected no longer brought drowsiness, but intense headaches, severe stomach cramps, and uncontrollable nausea. The orderlies’ movements grew rougher too. Each injection or “examination” felt like torture, leaving large patches of ugly bruises. “Mrs. Lockwood, Mr. Lockwood hopes you can ‘recognize reality’ and ‘sincerely apologize’ to Miss Hayes.” Dr. Petrova said flatly after an injection, though her eyes seemed to hold a fleeting, imperceptible hint of something complex. “Your ‘delusions’ and ‘aggressiveness’ are very detrimental to your recovery.” “Dream on!” “I, Avery Reed, will die here before I bow down to that pathetic woman and her pathetic lapdog!” My defiance seemed to enrage Damien. The torment escalated. The unidentified drugs were injected more frequently, in larger doses. My consciousness often teetered on the edge of extreme pain and oblivion. Vomiting became a daily occurrence. Even when my stomach was empty, I could only retch bitter bile. On the huge screen, the malice in the comments also escalated with my “misery,” filled with words like “serves her right” and “good riddance.” That afternoon, after another injection, a sharp abdominal pain seized me. Cold sweat drenched my entire body. I curled up on the cold floor, barely able to breathe. The comments instantly flooded with mockery: **[She moved! Starting to go crazy?]** **[Sign of a mental breakdown? Grab your popcorn!]** **[Who is she putting on a show for? Does she think anyone pities her?]** Just then, a warm gush, without warning, surged from between my legs! My body stiffened. I looked down in disbelief. A small, striking patch of dark red had spread across my light-colored pants! Blood?! My mind went blank. My period? No, the timing was completely off! And this feeling was entirely different from usual! The comments clearly caught my abnormality and my action of looking down, immediately exploding: **[WTF! What’s wrong with her pants? What’s that red stuff?]** **[Could she be on her period? How disgusting! Polluting the camera!]** **[What does a crazy person care about periods? Maybe she self-harmed!]** **[Tsk tsk, so dirty! Mr. Lockwood, divorce her already!]** Panic instantly seized me! This wasn’t right! Something was terribly wrong! The bleeding from my lower body, coupled with a constant, heavy ache in my lower abdomen, instinctively filled me with immense unease. “Blood… I’m bleeding! Dr. Petrova, help me!” I ignored the humiliation, my voice trembling uncontrollably with fear, as I called for Dr. Petrova. “I don’t know what’s happening! My stomach hurts so bad! I need a doctor! A real doctor! I need to go to a hospital!” Dr. Petrova, who had rushed over, also froze. She saw the rapidly expanding dark red bloodstain, and for the first time, her brows genuinely furrowed. She quickly walked over, knelt down, and swiftly examined me with gloved fingers. Her face instantly turned grim. She motioned for the orderlies to step back, then stood up and walked to the room’s corner, to the communicator connecting to the outside world, pressing the call button. Her voice was barely a whisper, but in the silent cell, it was still clearly audible: “Mr. Lockwood, Avery’s condition is not good! She—she’s experiencing heavy bleeding from her lower body!” “This exceeds the expected scope of ‘treatment’. I recommend immediately stopping the current medication regimen and conducting a detailed examination, or sending her to the hospital! Any longer, and her life may be in danger!”
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