KIMBERLEY'S POV
The moment the door slams shut behind me, I know there's no escape.
The guards are silent as they hold me, each one of their hands like iron cuffs around my limbs.
This was all a setup. A well-laid trap designed to make sure I'd never be able to leave again.
I want to scream, to fight, but I know it's useless. My body hurts too much.
DAY ONE IN THE DUNGEON
The sound of boots on stone echoes as the guards step closer, and I hear one of them snicker before the first blow lands.
The crack of the whip against my back is like a lightning strike, searing through me, and I can't hold back the scream that escapes my lips.
The pain is excruciating, my body writhing as each strike lands.
Another lash. Another scream.
I can't stop it.
The pain is consuming me.
Each strike feels like it's tearing me apart, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I curl in on myself, trying to protect my already bruised body, but it doesn't matter.
The next blow comes, and I'm sure it'll break me. I'm sure I can't take much more of this.
But then, just as suddenly as it starts, it stops.
The sound of the whip cracks no more.
My back burns, and I can barely move, but I force myself to look up.
"Get up," one of the guards barks at me, his voice dripping with disdain. "Get up and start working."
I try to push myself up, but my body won't respond.
My limbs are too stiff, too sore.
I can barely breathe, let alone move.
Then, a sharp kick to my ribs sends me rolling onto my back.
I gasp for breath, but it's hard to get air into my lungs.
I'm sure they'll beat me until I'm nothing but a broken shell, but for now, I force myself to rise.
"Good," the guard sneers. "Time to work."
A mop and bucket are shoved toward me, the water inside brown and murky, smelling of filth.
My stomach turns, but I don't have the strength to protest. I take the mop, my hands trembling, and start scrubbing, my body begging for relief, but none comes.
The pain in my back is unbearable, and the blisters forming on my hands are nothing compared to the torment that rages inside me.
The hours drag on, each minute an eternity.
When they finally released me from work, I could barely stand.
My body is covered in sweat, dirt, and blood from the wounds they've left behind.
I crawl into the corner, my stomach empty, my throat dry, and close my eyes.
There's no point in trying to fight anymore. Tomorrow will be worse.
Day Two
The first thing I feel is the pain. Another kick to my ribs, harder this time, and I groan, barely able to react.
My body is already screaming for mercy, but it's clear there will be no mercy here.
I force myself to move, to stand, even though every part of me is protesting.
The day was filled with endless work and punishment.
The pain is constant, my body unable to recover from the beatings of the previous day.
My hands are raw, covered in blisters and cuts.
My muscles ache from scrubbing the filthy floors. No food.
Just the torment that never seems to end.
I'm starting to lose track of time. I don't know how many hours I've been down here, how many times I've been kicked or whipped.
I only know that I'm so tired. So broken. But they won't stop. They won't let me rest.
By the end of the day, I can barely stand. My vision is blurry, and I feel like I might collapse. I think I might die down here.
Day Three
I don't even feel the pain anymore.
When they throw me to the ground again, I don't react. I don't scream. I just wait, hollow, empty. I'm nothing now. Just a shell.
But then, something happens. The whip never comes.
Instead, I hear a voice. A soft, commanding voice.
"What the hell is going on here?!"
My eyes snap open, and through the haze of pain and exhaustion, I see her.
Alexander's mother. And beside her, his sister.
Well I do see them on TV "
I don't know whether to feel relieved or terrified.
Alexander steps forward, his expression cold and icy. "She deserves it," he says, his voice cold.
His mother's eyes narrow as she assesses the scene. "You locked her in a dungeon? Had her beaten like an animal?" Her voice sounds as if she was disgusted by her son's act.
I can barely process it.
My mind is too foggy, too battered, but there's a glimpse of hope.
Maybe they'll see the truth. Maybe they'll believe me.
Alexander pulls out his phone, showing them the video. I try to speak, to defend myself, but his sister cuts me off.
"Disgusting," she mutters, her gaze full of contempt as she looks at me.
Alexander's mother shakes her head in disbelief. "Like mother, like daughter," she says, her words like a slap.
"No," I whisper, my heart breaking. "It wasn't like that. I swear."
But Alexander turns away, dismissing me. "Enough."
I've lost. I'm alone.
And then his mother turns to Vanessa who had been standing at the corner all this while a satisfied smile on her face.
Who called Vanessa here, why was she here?, but I don't have the gods to say that out.
Dear son, when you told me on the phone I thought you were lying and this Vanessa of a girl was just cooking things up, Alexander mom said".
She's a good girl, Alexander 's sister added.
"You should be Alexander's mistress," she says.
Her mother nodded in agreement, you both will make a great couple.
I feel my blood run cold.
They believe her. They all believe her.
And I am completely, utterly alone, nobody is on my side.
No one at all.