Chapter 3

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.

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