Matteus Blackwood hated me to the core, convinced I was the hit-and-run driver who killed his mother five years ago. He personally sent me to prison, ruining my reputation and my life. After my release, he dragged me back to his mansion, making me the lowest servant, tormenting me day and night. He tore up my sketches, a cruel sneer twisting his lips. “Do murderers even deserve to dream?” he mocked. It wasn’t until my blood stained the floor, until I was clinging to life, that he finally realized— The one who truly killed his mother and escaped justice was the woman he had cherished above all else. Later, he abandoned everything, kneeling outside my door, weeping and begging God to give me back. But I simply leaned weakly against my treating doctor, and whispered to him: “Matteus, I… don’t… for… give.” I once believed Matteus and I would go from high school sweethearts to walking down the aisle. Until three years ago, when his mother died in a car crash, and I became the cold-blooded bystander in his eyes, the one who saw death and fled. Three years of wrongful imprisonment. I spent over a thousand days and nights in that dark place. On the day of my release, the sky hung dull and gray like a dirty rag. I dragged my left leg, severely deformed from an old break maliciously inflicted in prison and left untreated. Every step felt like treading on broken glass, the grinding sound of misaligned bones something only I could hear. My only possession was a thin release paper, its edges softened by sweat. I shivered, cold rain mixing with the coppery tang of pus and blood, soaking my threadbare clothes. A black Maybach, like a phantom, glided to a silent stop before me. The window descended, revealing Matteus’s face, sculpted and cold. Three years hadn’t diminished his arrogance one bit. Instead, they’d added a crushing weight to his presence, making him impossible to look at directly. His gaze, when it landed on me, was laced with venomous hatred, devoid of any past warmth. “Get in.” His voice was devoid of warmth, an unquestionable command. I instinctively recoiled, the sharp pain from my injured leg almost sending me sprawling. “Scarlett,” A cruel curve formed on his lips as he flashed his phone screen – my father, withered and unconscious in a nursing home. “Or would you prefer him to be tossed onto the street to feed the stray dogs tomorrow, for unpaid bills?” My blood ran cold instantly. I could almost hear my heart cracking as it turned to ice. My father was my only weakness. Three years ago, the shock of my imprisonment had left him paralyzed by a stroke. I knew I had no choice. Gritting my teeth, I mustered every ounce of strength, dragging my ruined leg, practically crawling into the car. A small, damp patch of mud stained the luxurious leather seat. He recoiled in disgust, tossing a clean silk handkerchief at me. “Clean it up,” He didn’t even look at me, his gaze fixed on the rain-swept road ahead. “Don’t use your filthy, murderer’s hands to defile my car.” My hands trembled as I took the handkerchief, not to wipe myself, but to meticulously clean the spot where I had sat and the small stain on the floor. My utter subservience seemed to amuse him. He let out a soft, contemptuous scoff. “Scarlett, look at you now. Three years inside, and you haven’t learned a thing. Except how to be utterly pathetic.” I didn’t respond, only bowed my head lower. My stomach churned. Memories of the foul-smelling prison food and the beatings surged back. The car pulled up to the opulent villa I once called “home.” Mrs. Gable, the housemaid, glanced at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes quickly replaced by silent pity. “Put her in the downstairs staff room, the one converted from the storage closet,” Matteus commanded casually as he shed his coat, as if disposing of trash. “From now on, she’s a servant here. She’ll do the dirtiest, hardest work.” He paused, then added, his voice like ice splintering in my heart: “Scarlett, remember your place. You live only to atone for your sins against my mother, through your suffering.” “Yes, Mr. Blackwood,” Mrs. Gable mumbled. I stood there, head bowed, clutching the release paper so tightly that its edges left white crescent marks on my palm. In the cold, lavish hall, I watched his retreating back as he ascended the stairs. My heart felt instantly frozen, then shattered into dust by a heavy hammer. Matteus, is this truly the ending our love story deserved?
My “servant” life began. Every day, I woke before dawn, dragging my injured leg to clean the vast garden, Scrub the cold floors, and wash mountains of dishes. With every bend, every exertion, excruciating pain shot through my left leg, often leaving me drenched in cold sweat and on the verge of collapsing. My ankle was swollen and shiny, the skin an ominous purplish-blue. The other staff members looked at me with scorn and mockery. “That’s her, the one who killed Mrs. Blackwood. Mr. Blackwood is kind to even let her live.” “Look at her, a cripple. Serves her right.” “She used to think she was the lady of the house. Now she’s beneath even us.” Their whispers, like tiny needles, pricked at me constantly. But I could only remain silent. Here, I had no right to defend myself, no right to resist. Matteus seemed to completely forget my existence, until the evening of the third day. I was struggling to clean the stove in the kitchen when Veronica’s soft, sugary voice floated from behind me. “Honey, I’m craving a coffee, the kind only you can make.” My body stiffened, but I didn’t turn around. “Okay.” Matteus’s deep voice responded. He walked into the kitchen, saw me busy, and his tone instantly turned glacial. “What are you doing here? Get out.” I lowered my head, put down the rag, and prepared to leave. “Wait,” Veronica called out. She walked over to me, a sweet, innocent smile playing on her lips. “Scarlett, long time no see. I heard you were out of prison, and now… a servant here?” She looked me up and down, her gaze lingering on my limping leg for a moment, a flash of triumph in her eyes. “Let bygones be bygones,” she said magnanimously, though every word was a barb. “Even though you copied my designs and almost ruined my career, Matteus and I won’t hold it against you. Just focus on your work here.” My nails dug deeply into my palms, reopening old wounds. The sticky, metallic scent of blood mixed with dish soap filled my nostrils. Forget about it? She was the one who stole my sketches, published them first, then had the audacity to accuse *me* of plagiarism! She was the one who fabricated evidence at the crash site, framing me and sending me to prison! I looked up at Matteus, a faint, lingering hope in my eyes. But he only stared back at me, cold and impatient. “She spoke to you. Did you not hear her?” In that moment, the last tiny spark of hope flickered, then died, leaving behind only a pile of cold, dead ashes. “I heard, Miss Hayes.” I lowered my head again, my voice numb. Veronica smiled contentedly, linking her arm intimately with Matteus’s. “Let’s go make coffee. I’m a little tired.” Matteus immediately embraced her, his voice tender in a way I had never heard before. “Of course, you go to the lounge and rest. I’ll be right there.” They walked away together, leaving me alone in the cold kitchen, feeling like a fool. That night, my leg pain was so severe that my movements were slow, and I didn’t finish clearing the trash on time. When Matteus found out, he flew into a rage. “You can’t even do this one small task? Scarlett, did you spend three years in prison just learning how to be lazy?” He ordered the piled-up kitchen waste to be dumped at the entrance of my staff room, then said coldly: “If it’s not cleaned up tonight, you won’t sleep!” That night, dragging my agonizing leg, I toiled in front of the putrid garbage until dawn. The stench of decay in the air made me retch, as if I were back in the endless, unbearable nights of prison. Tears, cold sweat, and pus-laced blood streamed down my face, but I dared not even cry aloud. Matteus, what is your heart made of?
Just as I was about to be swallowed by this boundless darkness, a sliver of light pierced through. That day, I was pruning flowers in the garden when a sudden, tearing pain shot through my left leg. Unable to stand, I collapsed heavily to the ground, the garden shears flying far away. “Are you alright?” A gentle male voice spoke above me. I looked up. Silhouetted against the light, I saw a young man in doctor’s scrubs, wearing gold-rimmed glasses. He had a clean-cut and refined aura, and his eyes held concern as he crouched down to look at me. “I… I’m fine.” I tried to get up on my own but failed again due to the pain in my leg. “Don’t move. Your leg is severely injured.” He pressed my arm, his voice firm. “I’m the new family doctor, Dr. Nolan Reid. Let me take a look.” His fingers were warm and dry as he gently pressed my left leg, examining the injury. “It’s an old fracture of the tibia and fibula, severely dislocated, and there are signs of infection. You need immediate surgery, or you could lose the leg, and it might even lead to sepsis.” He spoke gravely, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and pity. “Why hasn’t this been treated?” Why? I lowered my head bitterly. Because the person who holds my life in their hands simply doesn’t care if I live or die. Dr. Nolan didn’t ask further. He helped me to a nearby bench and skillfully treated the scrapes on my knee from the fall. His movements were gentle, imbued with professional focus and kindness. “Thank you.” I murmured, the long-forgotten kindness making my eyes prickle with tears. He looked at me, his gaze complex. “I’ll inform Mr. Blackwood about your condition.” “No! Don’t!” I instinctively grabbed his sleeve, my eyes wide with terror. “Please, Dr. Nolan, don’t tell him! I’m fine, really!” Dr. Nolan observed my frantic reaction, then sighed after a moment of silence. “Alright. But I have some anti-inflammatory and pain medication here. Take them as prescribed. If the pain is severe at night, you can ice it.” He handed me a small packet of medicine, carefully writing down the dosage and instructions. Just then, a voice, cold as ice shards, cut through the air behind us. “What are you doing?” Matteus stood not far away, his face terrifyingly dark. His gaze, like a knife, flickered between Dr. Nolan and me. It finally settled on my freshly bandaged knee and the small packet of pills in my hand. As if burned, I yanked my hand back, and the pills scattered across the ground. Dr. Nolan stood up, his expression composed. “Mr. Blackwood, this young woman’s leg injury is very serious and requires immediate—” “Dr. Nolan,” Matteus cut him off, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. “Your job is to look after Veronica. As for anyone else who doesn’t matter, don’t waste your concern.” He emphasized the word “doesn’t matter.” He strode over to me, looking down arrogantly, his eyes filled with undisguised contempt and fury. “Scarlett, I truly underestimated you. It’s only been a few days, and you’ve already mastered playing the victim to lure men? Hmm?” He lifted his foot and viciously ground the white pills scattered on the ground. The powder mixed with the dirt, as if crushing the last sliver of hope that had just bloomed within me. “It seems the work here is too easy, leaving you with time for such filthy schemes!” “No, Mr. Blackwood, we were just…” I endured the intense pain and fear, attempting to explain. “Shut up!” He roared, grabbing me roughly. “If your leg is fine, then go pick up all the fallen leaves in the backyard by hand! If you don’t finish, you won’t eat tonight!” My injured leg couldn’t withstand his harsh tug. A sharp pain flared, and I nearly fell again, but he dragged me forcibly towards the backyard. Dr. Nolan tried to intervene: “Mr. Blackwood, her leg can’t be treated this way—” “Dr. Nolan!” Matteus turned, his eyes cold as steel. “Remember your place. Meddle again, and you’re out!” Dr. Nolan froze, watching as Matteus dragged me away like a sack of garbage, his eyes filled with powerless rage. The backyard was covered in thick layers of fallen leaves, reflecting my desolate heart under the gloomy sky. I knelt on the cold, damp ground, picking up leaves one by one. The pain in my left leg surged in waves. The freshly bandaged wound on my knee began to bleed again, staining the withered leaves red. Tears fell silently into the mud. The tiny spark of light Dr. Nolan had brought was utterly, completely crushed by Matteus.
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