Chapter 8
She should’ve never come back.
A bitter, self-deprecating smile tugged at Daisy’s lips as she turned toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Her father’s voice sliced through the room, cold and sharp with restrained fury.
Daisy paused but didn’t look back. Instead, she took a deep breath, her voice firm despite the pain simmering in her chest. “I’m cutting ties with the Johnson family. I’m leaving, for good.”
The shift in the room was instant. Everyone stiffened.
“Don’t even think about it!” her father roared. “If I have to beat you into submission today, so be it! I won’t let you disgrace this family outside these walls!”
He snapped his fingers. “Bring the whip!”
A servant quickly obeyed, returning with a horsewhip in hand. The chilling crack of leather echoed through the air, sending shivers down Daisy’s spine.
Before she could react, hands shoved her to the ground, pinning her in place. The first strike came down hard, slicing through her skin like fire. Blood bloomed beneath the torn fabric of her shirt.
But the pain wasn’t the worst part.
It was the silence.
The eyes around her, watching without emotion. The people she had once called family, cold, unmoved.
By the time it was over, Daisy’s back was a bloody, ravaged mess. Her vision blurred, her body limp. Darkness crept into her edges, and finally, she blacked out.
She didn’t know how much time had passed, but the sharp sting of cold air eventually pulled her back.
Opening her eyes, she saw Desmond sitting beside her bed, his hands gentle as he applied ointment to her torn skin. His expression was calm, too calm, soft in the dim light, as if none of this had ever happened.
She flinched away from his touch.
Desmond looked up, concern flickering in his eyes. “Does it hurt?”
Daisy didn’t answer.
He brushed a damp strand of hair behind her ear, his voice low. “Daisy, you’re only human. Keep pushing like this and you’ll destroy yourself. Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
Still, she said nothing. Her gaze was empty, distant, like she wasn’t really there.
She used to fight. She used to argue, cry, scream, because a part of her still hoped. Hoped they’d listen. Hoped they’d care.
But now?
There was nothing left to protect.
Desmond had come prepared to reason with her, to try and pull her back from the edge. He wanted to say that even with the scars marring her face, she was still Daisy to him. That he had never seen Heather as more than a sister. That he planned to marry Heather because it was the “right thing to do.”
But Daisy was like ice, cold, closed off, untouchable.
“Don’t shut me out, Daisy!” His voice finally cracked, frustration rising to the surface.
Just then, Heather appeared in the doorway.
“Desmond,” she said sweetly, “let me talk to my sister. This whole mess is because of me. If we clear the air, maybe things can be fixed.”
Desmond hesitated. He looked between them, uncertainty clouding his features.
Heather gave a soft smile. “Don’t worry. She’s too weak to do anything now.”
After a beat, Desmond nodded and stepped out.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Heather dropped the act.
She wiped her fake tears, lips curling into a sinister smirk. “Didn’t think you’d overhear that little chat with Dad, did you?”
Daisy stiffened.
“Shocking, huh?” Heather purred. “Your ‘real’ father wants you dead. And I was just trying to figure out how to replace you, then Desmond showed up. Lucky me.”
She leaned closer, voice lowering with venom. “And guess what? He’s picked me over you again. And again. Your mother? Pathetic. Fawning over the mistress’s daughter like you’re the outsider.”
Heather’s fingers brushed against the raw scars on Daisy’s face. “Honestly? I almost pity you. Almost.”
Then her tone turned colder. “Want me to help you end this sad little life?”
Daisy’s eyes widened in alarm. “What are you, ”
“I heard you have brain clots. One bad fall, and you’ll be a vegetable again.”
Before Daisy could react, Heather yanked her toward the stairs.
Daisy tried to resist, but her body had nothing left to give. Weak and disoriented, she was helpless as Heather shoved her down the stairs.
A sickening crash rang through the stairwell.
Her head cracked against the landing. Then, nothing.
Silence. Cold. Darkness.
Just like the coma she had once escaped… she was slipping right back into it.
