Chapter 7

• He turned his phone screen towards me, showing a photo of us together, with his arm around my shoulder and tears streaming down my face.
• In the recipient field, Kian's name stood out.
• A wave of nausea hit my stomach, and I rushed to the bathroom to vomit.
• Joseph's punishment was more cruel than killing Kian. He wanted Kian to stay alive, sober, watching his most beloved things being crushed bit by bit, completely shattering his psychological defenses.
• From that day on, I was forced to put on those humiliating "accessories" again.
• Not the ones bought by Kian, but more exquisite, more expensive ones, specially customized by top designers as "art pieces".
• A thin platinum chain, with a black diamond pendant, the clasp cleverly hidden at the back of the neck, impossible to open without a key.
• He made me wear it, in front of him, reenacting scenes from the video.
• He never touched me, just sat on the sofa, looking at me with the eyes of someone appreciating art, calmly.
• He saw it as a form of "art", an aesthetic of possession and destruction.
• After a humiliating "performance", I completely lost control of my emotions and smashed a valuable crystal ornament on his desk.
• The shards cut my palm, blood dripping onto the pure white carpet, like a sinister flower.
• I thought he would get angry, would abuse me like Kian did.
• But he didn't.
• He just calmly walked over, took my bleeding hand, carefully wiped it clean with a handkerchief, and then said to me, "Follow me."
• He led me to the depths of the study, pushing open a hidden door disguised as a bookshelf.
• Behind the door was a room.
• A room filled with photos of me.
• From my childhood photos of babbling, to me in school attending classes, to my first time on the award podium, and the candid photos of me napping on set... every moment of my life was captured by him, framed, and hung in this secret room.
• He was like the most devout follower, collecting everything about me.
• He was a secretive stalker who had been watching me for over a decade, with a sick obsession.
• I felt a chill run through my body, a fear much deeper than facing Kian, gripped me.
• Kian's love was a crazy possession, while Joseph's love was the absolute control of a god over his plaything.
• I looked at his handsome yet cold face, and saw the sense of entitlement in his eyes.
• Suddenly, I realized that trying to escape from this man head-on was like committing suicide.
• I needed to find his weakness.
• After coming out of the secret room filled with my photos, I knew I had to become Joseph's most satisfied possession in order to have a chance to break free from this cage.
• From initially struggling and resisting, I started to become compliant. I willingly handed him the chains, letting him lock them around my neck, and gazing at him with pitiful yet hopeful eyes.
• He enjoyed my compliance.
• One late night, he received a phone call. His voice was unfamiliar to me, a kind of careful tenderness.
• "Yasmin, did you take your medicine on time today? Don't worry, big brother will come see you soon."
• After hanging up, he walked to the desk and picked up a silver frame, gently caressing it with his fingertips.
• I pretended to walk over with sleepy eyes, hugged him from behind, and caught a glimpse of the photo from the corner of my eye.
• In the photo was a girl sitting in a wheelchair, with a pale face but the same beautiful eyes as Joseph. She smiled sweetly, but within that sweetness, there was a fragility of long-term illness.
• Joseph's sister, his only soft spot.
• And also my only way to escape from here.