CHAPTER 116: CHAPTER 116: RUIN HER HANDS

When she called his phone again, it was already showing as turned off.

Sophia Lowell was gasping from exhaustion.

If Zane Sterling hadn’t messed with her so viciously last night, her legs wouldn’t be this worn out.

Her hands were shaking violently as she nervously opened Faye Ellison’s WhatsApp and tried to start a video call; Faye had just left not long ago, so he must still be at the hospital.

She watched as the man ran up the stairs from below, and he let out a cold laugh, "Where do you think you’re going?"

Sophia realized the guy downstairs was underage. She took a breath, glanced at him, wanting to head upwards, but saw that someone was coming down from above too.

——

When Zane Sterling came out of the washroom, he saw his phone lying on the ground. He bent down to pick it up—it was turned off.

"Sorry, I accidentally knocked it while I was getting water. Check if it’s broken," Beau Morgan said, struggling to prop herself up in bed, her face slowly regaining color.

Zane ignored her.

Yet the flush on Beau’s face lingered, refusing to fade.

Seeing Zane standing tall next to her, fiddling with his phone, Beau couldn’t help but recall that heated scene between him and Sophia just moments ago.

She fantasized that the woman in Zane’s arms was herself, that the one lying beside him was her.

Her face involuntarily turned red again.

Honestly, what woman wouldn’t fall for a guy like Zane?

Zane unlocked his phone and saw several missed calls from Sophia. Realizing she’d been gone for over half an hour, he figured something must have held her up.

He called her back, but no one answered.

Sophia’s phone kept ringing endlessly inside the fire escape stairwell. He called again and again, but there was never any answer.

His brow furrowed.

Was this woman refusing to pick up?

He opened WhatsApp and sent her a message.

But both his messages and calls vanished without a trace.

——

At an unfinished building.

Sophia was tied to a broken chair, hands and feet bound tight, her mouth stuffed with her own scarf, messy blond hair framing a pale little face.

Sitting directly across from her were three teenage punks.

She remembered vaguely: the guy downstairs dragged her by the legs, but someone upstairs knocked her out with a stick and stuffed her into a sack. She vaguely heard someone get behind the wheel when they put her in the car.

She whimpered softly. The stabbing pain in her shoulder made it impossible to sit up; she could only slump sideways in the chair, head buzzing.

She didn’t even know if Faye Ellison had picked up her video call earlier; when she was dragged down, her phone dropped from high above, God knows where it landed.

"Just stick to the plan and get the cash. However pretty she is, don’t touch," said the driver.

"You guys are scared, I’m not. Hell, I’ve never had any fun like this!" the older youth said, chomping on takeout and rubbing his nose.

Sophia sized him up—looked just barely an adult.

"We shouldn’t do this, it’s the holidays. They said to ruin her hands. Just do that—anything else is too much," another guy muttered, trying to persuade him without pushing too hard.

"They just said wreck her hands, didn’t say not to touch her. We get to decide..."

Sophia listened to them talking, carefully trying to work the rope loose behind her back, but it was knotted tight, biting painfully into her wrists.

Her forehead broke out in cold sweat as tears welled in her eyes. She tried to figure out their intentions.

These three were here to wreck her hands.

Her hands were her lifeline as a designer. Ruin her hands, ruin her life!

Who could be so cruel as to use her own hands for revenge? Two people came to mind.

First was Tim Sawyer—for obvious reasons; they were both designers, and hands meant everything to them.

The second was Henry Quinn. All of Henry’s pain this year stemmed from Sophia, but really, the blame was on him.

Actually, another person flashed through her mind—Beau Morgan.

According to Faye Ellison, Beau wasn’t a good person. To get Sophia into the hospital, hurt her so badly—and yet Beau had endured it all. What else could she be capable of?

Sophia didn’t dwell on it. Right now, the most important thing was to escape.

She racked her brain for a way to untie the rope behind her.

But even after the boys finished eating, she still hadn’t loosened the knot. Her wrists were streaked and raw; the more she struggled, the more they hurt.

The older boy approached, a toothpick dangling from his mouth, dragging his feet in dirty gray slippers.

Sophia’s eyes widened in terror; she shrank back, but couldn’t move.

The scarf jammed in her mouth was violently yanked out, leaving her lips burning and stinging.

Having her mouth stuffed so long had dried it to a cough; head bowed, her jaw finally eased.

But then, the punk’s rough hand clamped around her pointed chin, the pale skin chafed raw and squeezed out of shape, like he was trying to snap her in two.

"Hurts!"

Sophia forced out the word; tears slid from the corner of her eye, dripping onto her shoulder.

"Pain’s good, babe!" the kid moved the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.

He tilted his head, sizing Sophia up.

The other two kept their distance, frowning but not intervening—obviously new to this kind of business, or they wouldn’t be sweating bullets in the dead of winter.

The teenager flicked her chin away carelessly, stepped back a few paces, his lips curled with a hint of gleeful excitement.

Sophia felt her neck might snap from the force, barely able to turn her head.

"Get ready to take the photo." He cocked his head, spat out his toothpick, then ran his tongue along his lips—like he wanted even more.

"Bro, you sure we’re doing this?" The skinny kid on the left looked at the pretty woman, a little spooked.

"How the hell will they believe us if we don’t have proof?" The older youth squinted, then smacked the younger one upside the head.

The kid staggered, bowing low, too scared to look up, forced to comply with trembling hands.

When he stepped toward Sophia, his hands shook.

"You really want to do this?" Sophia gritted her teeth, staring at his timid face.

"You’re a minor. Nothing you do sticks for long, but that guy—he’s an adult. Why isn’t he doing it? He’s trying to put all the blame on you! If you all get caught, he’ll face a much lighter charge, but you could get locked up and ’educated’..."

"Asking for trouble!" Before the words faded, the older kid shoved the younger aside and slapped Sophia hard across the face, without a second’s hesitation.

"Ah! Ugh..." The taste of blood filled her throat.

The other two kids froze, shocked—they’d never considered that part.

They were just getting paid, told to grab a girl and take a few photos, nothing more. They definitely didn’t want this mess to escalate.