Part 2Champagne for My Execution

Kian’s voice, dripping with undisguised contempt, crackled through the speakers in the wall.

“Look at the way the little fool is shaking! She actually thinks she’s about to be executed for murder.”

“It was Corinne’s idea, and it was a brilliant one. Hire a few actors, put them in uniforms, and we’ve scared the pride right out of Rhea.”

“That’s what she gets for making our little princess cry. This ‘private prison’ is her own personal playground, built just for her.”

Every word was a sledgehammer to my heart.

It was all fake.

There was no murder, no prison, no sentence.

This was all because three years ago, Corinne had framed me time and time again, until my family’s disappointment in me curdled into hate. The final straw was when she cried that I had pushed her down the stairs.

Just because she had whispered, “Does my sister hate me?”, my entire family had conspired to create this hell for me.

To appease their precious adopted daughter, they had spent a fortune building this basement, hiring professional actors, and faking everything.

Three entire years.

Right under their noses, I was tortured like an animal.

And they were right here, on the other side of the glass, sipping wine and watching my suffering for their own amusement.

A casual after-dinner entertainment.

My vision blurred. Not with tears, but with a despair so absolute it felt like blindness.

Corinne seemed to notice me looking at her.

She walked up to the glass, picked up a microphone, and her voice, sickeningly sweet, filled my cell.

“Happy birthday, sister.”

“This little gift took the boys a long time to prepare. Do you like it?”

“All you have to do is get on your knees, bow to me three times, and say you’re sorry. Then we’ll let you out, okay?”

She giggled, a delicate, tinkling sound.

Behind her, Wyatt stroked her hair fondly. “Corinne, you’re too soft-hearted. Trash like her should be scared to death in there.”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

A metallic sweetness flooded my throat.

These were my blood relatives.

The family I had fought so desperately to belong to, to please.

“Proceed with the execution,” our father’s stern voice commanded, tinged with impatience. “Don’t be late for the celebration dinner tonight.”

The “executioner” behind me pulled the trigger again.

BANG!

A deafening roar.

I felt a massive impact at the back of my head, and a violent ringing consumed all other sound.

It was a blank, but at this range, the concussive force and sound were enough to shatter a person’s spirit.

My body convulsed, my heart seizing violently in my chest.

The world began to spin as darkness flooded my vision.

And in that final moment, a cold, mechanical voice exploded in my mind.

[Host’s vital signs are in rapid decline.]

[Host’s mental threshold has collapsed.]

[System activated.]

[Host, have you had enough of this so-called family?]

With the last shred of my consciousness, I grasped onto that lifeline.

Had I had enough?

How could I not have?

If I had another life, I would rather be a blade of grass, a stone, anything but a member of the Blackwood family.

[Do you wish to abandon the salvation of the Blackwood family and depart from this world?]

[The moment this body dies, you will be able to return to your original world and embrace a new life.]

I want to go back.

I’ve dreamed of escaping this place.

[Affirmative. Teleportation sequence initiated.]

[Detachment commencing.]

[Let them weep over a corpse.]