Chapter 7

When Suzanne awoke again, she found herself back in the hospital. Her injuries were far worse than before. Every breath tugged at countless wounds; the pain was so intense it made living feel worse than death. Spencer was keeping watch by her bed. When he saw her open her eyes, his face immediately filled with concern and guilt. "Suzie! You're awake! How do you feel?" He took her thickly bandaged hand carefully, his voice low and heavy. "I'm sorry... This is all my fault... I only stepped away for a short while. I never imagined you'd be kidnapped and tortured like this... "Don't worry, though—I've already sent the culprits to jail. They'll never see daylight again! From now on, I'll arrange more bodyguards for you. Round-the-clock protection. I'll never let anything like this happen again!" Kidnapped? Tortured? Suzanne lay there, listening to his earnest but flimsy lies. The pain was unbearable. How could he put on a show so casually? How could he look at her with such affection after everything he had put her through? She bit down on her lip and said nothing. Only one thought echoed in her mind: She must leave this place as soon as possible—leave him, and leave this hell. Suzanne endured many more days in the hospital before she was finally discharged. The day she left the hospital happened to be her wedding anniversary with Spencer. Spencer hosted a lavish banquet in her honor, inviting numerous prominent figures. The scene was extravagant. He held her hand as they entered the hall, accepting everyone's well-wishes. He perfectly portrayed the role of the deeply devoted husband. Halfway through the banquet, the large screen lit up with photos. It started with sweet memories. Travel photos, everyday moments, images where they looked sweet and loving. Then, the pictures changed. They shifted into obscene nude photos. Photos of her at age 18, after she had been assaulted. Disheveled, broken, her eyes hollow. "Gosh, isn't that Mrs. Price?" "Oh my lord! So, the rumors were true? Was she really..." "How could they display photos like these?" Chaos erupted within an instant. Gasps, whispers, and looks of disdain surged toward Suzanne like a tidal wave, drowning her. Suzanne stood frozen in the center of the stage, staring at the images she had spent years desperately trying to forget—yet could never erase. Her face turned ashen. It felt like the blood in her body congealed all at once. Crushing shame and overwhelming despair threatened to swallow her whole. Spencer's expression darkened. He rushed onto the stage toward Suzanne, who was swaying precariously. Pulling her into his arms and shielding her face, he barked at the staff, "Turn it off! Shut the screen down! Now!" The staff scrambled in panic until the screen went black, but it was far too late. The damage was done. Everyone had seen it. Spencer continued shielding Suzanne and tried to lead her away from the scene. Before they could escape, a swarm of reporters appeared out of nowhere. They surged forward like sharks drawn to the scent of blood. Cameras and microphones were thrust in Suzanne's face. "Mrs. Price! Are those photos real? Have you really been assaulted?" "Mr. Price, did you already know about your wife's past? How did you overcome the psychological barrier to accept her?" "Mrs. Price, what methods did you use to win Mr. Price's devotion despite your history? Could you share your secrets?" "There are rumors that you employed improper means to marry into the Price family. Can you confirm if this is the case?" Suzanne wanted to scream, to question them, to flee. However, it felt like an invisible hand was clamped tightly around her throat. She couldn't make a sound. Her legs felt as heavy as lead, bolting her to the spot. At that moment, she saw Mason pushing through the throng. He was holding a bottle that he proceeded to throw at her. It was sulfuric acid! A sharp, choking stench pierced her nostrils. Heat seared her skin. Suzanne tried to dodge, but she didn't make it. The liquid splashed onto her arm, instantly corroding her skin. The pain was so severe that her vision went black, and she passed out. A short time later, Suzanne found herself drifting in and out of consciousness. Her mind felt like it was floating in thick, icy black sludge. The harrowing pain in her arm felt like countless red-hot needles, relentlessly stabbing and stirring under her skin. Vaguely, she seemed to hear voices. The words were fragmented, distant, as though behind a thick layer of water. "You didn't use enough acid," Spencer chided. "And why her arm? You should've aimed for her face and disfigured her." Then came Mason's voice, casual and flippant as always. "What's the rush? I've still got to sleep with her. If her face is ruined, how the hell do you expect me to stomach it?" Spencer fell silent for a moment. When he spoke again, there was clear displeasure in his tone. "I made you sleep with her to humiliate her, to get revenge. Don't tell me you're actually addicted?" "Hey, what can I say?" Mason somewhat lowered his voice. "She's... Got her charms. Don't be fooled by how cold and aloof she acts. In bed... "It's a different experience entirely. If you don't believe me, you're welcome to find out firsthand." "Shut your mouth!" Spencer snapped, undisguised disgust and rejection spilling from his voice. "I would never touch her! She's filthy! The only one in my heart is Immy!" Only Immy… Filthy... So that was how she existed in his heart. She was not just an enemy, not just a tool for revenge. She was something so filthy that even touching her filled him with revulsion.