Part 1

Carla Magdalena cradled her abdomen, the pain from Ivanka's kick still blazing through her.

"I've told you — stay away from Bastian. He's mine. Only mine. You're not worthy of him, and besides — he despises you!!" Ivanka's lip curled into a sneer as she looked down at Carla crumpled on the floor.

"Un... Uncle...!" Carla's hand reached up weakly into the air. Through the blur of tears, she watched Bastian's retreating figure grow smaller — walking away, leaving the room without so much as a glance back.

Tears ran freely down Carla's face. The pain in her body was nothing against the pain of watching Bastian trust Ivanka — trust her enough to let her cousin "discipline" her for being too possessive of her guardian.

He hadn't listened. When she had begged him to handle it himself — when she had pleaded that it should be him, not Ivanka — he had simply walked away.

Ivanka grabbed a fistful of Carla's hair and wrenched her head back, forcing Carla to look up at her.

"What kind of face is that? You look like a circus clown. No wonder everyone's disgusted by you. Even Bastian can't stand the sight of you. You worthless little bastard!!" She ground her heel down onto Carla's hand until Carla screamed.

"You bitch! Get your foot off me!" Carla's voice shook — weak and fury-raw — as the pain in her hand became unbearable.

Smack!

"You dare curse at me?! You orphan! I'll give you a lesson your mouth will never forget!!"

"Smack! Smack! Smack!"

Ivanka struck her across the face again and again until blood welled at the corner of Carla's mouth.

Carla wept, but even through the pain, she despised herself most of all. She had been so foolish — so desperately, blindly in love with Bastian, a man who would sooner believe Ivanka's poison than anything she ever said.

Her tears kept coming, soaking her face. Her body was on fire, and somewhere underneath the physical agony lived a deeper wound that refused to close.

She was so exhausted. Ten years of loving her adoptive uncle — the man her parents had entrusted with her care before they died, the man meant to protect her in their absence.

Bastian Kenneth had entered Carla's life when she was seven and he was seventeen, the year her father adopted him as his younger brother. From that moment, their family became his.

The first time Carla's heart stirred toward Bastian was when she was twelve — awkward, bright-eyed, on the cusp of something she didn't yet have words for. He was twenty-two.

By seventeen, she stopped hiding it.

At first, Bastian hadn't seemed to mind. He'd tolerated her following him everywhere, clinging to his side, orbiting him like she had nowhere else to be.

Then Ivanka arrived.

And Bastian changed.

He began believing everything Ivanka told him. He let Ivanka mock Carla to her face — in front of him. He simply stood there and allowed it.

"Aaah!!" Carla cried out as Ivanka seized her by the hair and slammed her skull against the floor.

A sharp sting bloomed across her forehead. She felt the warmth of blood before she saw the blur spreading at the edge of her vision.

Her limbs felt heavier than they should. She remembered, distantly, that she hadn't eaten in days — because Ivanka had denied her food as part of Bastian's punishment.

Bastian had locked her in her room for embarrassing him in front of a business associate. She had barged in on a meeting, furious that it had run so long he'd missed their lunch together. He had responded by handing her over to Ivanka's supervision.

Ivanka hadn't missed the opportunity. She starved Carla, tormented her, then lied to Bastian — telling him Carla was refusing to eat unless Bastian came personally to coax her.

Bastian had only grown angrier. He extended the punishment and stayed away entirely.

"Cry all you want. Your tears mean nothing to him. He will never love you — not now, not ever. He loves only me. My hold over him is absolute — he has no interest in any other woman. You poor, pathetic thing. You'd be better off dead. At least then you'd stop interfering with us." Ivanka looked at her with the satisfied expression of someone who had already won.

Thud!!

The kick hit Carla full in the stomach, and her body crumpled like a discarded sack.

"Uuugh!!"

Carla retched blood. The room around her dissolved into gray fog, and her arms would no longer support her weight.

Ivanka watched with cold delight, visibly pleased by what she saw.

"Give her the medicine." She directed the words at a woman standing nearby, holding a glass.

"Yes, Miss." The woman moved forward.

Carla was forced to drink.

With what little remained of her strength, she twisted her face away, tried to knock the glass aside — anything to keep it from reaching her mouth.

But two servants held her down, gripping her wrists and jaw. The liquid slipped past her lips and down her throat.

"Cough — cough—" Carla choked as the last of it went down. She tried to force it back up, heaving weakly against the burning in her chest.

"Ha ha ha...!" Ivanka's laughter was bright and merciless.

"Enjoy it! Die in there! Bastian belongs to me — he always has. Only I deserve to be Mrs. Kenneth!!" Ivanka's expression was triumphant as she watched Carla writhe, the poison already working its way through her.

"Uncle...* Carla's lips barely moved. I'm sorry I ever loved you. If there's a second chance" another life "I won't fall for you again. I want to live for myself. I want to find happiness far away from you. I want to find a man who loves me for exactly who I am.* Her thoughts came slow and fractured, like the last sparks of a dying fire. I hate you. I hate you so much."

More tears. They slid down her sunken cheeks as the pain claimed every corner of her.

She was so tired. So unbearably tired.

Carla's vision went dark at the edges. The world contracted to a thin, dim band. Through it, she watched Ivanka turn and walk out of the room, still laughing, her footsteps bright and carefree.

Then there was nothing.

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