Celeste’s fingertips began to tremble, because she realized she was the substitute for this girl!
In the photo, this girl was affectionately holding his mother’s arm, clearly very much liked by his mother. The photo should have been taken by Ethan Barnes, and this girl was his beloved.
Because she bore a seventy to eighty percent resemblance to this girl, Ethan took a fancy to her. When the fostering agreent didn’t work out, he orchestrated a series of events that pushed her into hell.
Just then, with a "click," the bathroom door suddenly opened, and Ethan erged from a cold shower.
"What are you doing..." Ethan’s words stopped abruptly because he saw Celeste holding his photo in her hands.
His face turned cold as he strode forward, snatching the photo from Celeste’s hand, "Who gave you permission to touch my things, Celeste, are you looking to die?"
Ethan was angry. His face twisted as he roared, raising his hand to slap Celeste’s face.
Celeste didn’t dodge. Not only did she not dodge, but she also bravely t his slap, "Go ahead and hit , it’s not like you haven’t before."
In the year he held her captive, he had slapped her. Deep down, he was extrely dark and violent, utterly terrifying.
Celeste had a gentle and kind nature. Her mother’s early death made her mature quickly. She was very filial, knew how to take care of her younger brother, and her love for design filled her with dreams, hope, and anticipation for the world.
She was inherently pure, warm, and innocent—a stark contrast to Ethan.
Perhaps she used to be afraid of Ethan, but now, she wasn’t afraid at all.
What does she have to be afraid of when she’s already died once?
There’s nothing harder in life than slitting her own wrists, and she’s already gotten through that.
Looking at her stubborn, beast-like eyes and her bold defiance, which carried a certain pitiful charm, Ethan’s hand froze mid-air, unable to strike her.
"You’re not going to hit ? If you’re not, then I’m going to sleep now, I’m very tired." Celeste got up herself, lifted the covers, and lay down.
She lay sideways, curling up at the edge of the bed.
Ethan was truly angry, so angry he almost laughed. He realized her courage was growing.
Putting the photo back into his wallet, Ethan lifted the covers and lay beside her, "Turn around, sleep in my arms."
Celeste didn’t move, only smirked and said, "Does she also like sleeping in your arms?"
Ethan’s handso brow furrowed deeply, and the atmosphere turned tense again.
"No wonder you love seeing in a white dress so much, always asking to wear one. I used to think you had so sort of white dress fetish, but now I realize it’s because it reminds you of your precious white moonlight that even a touch of thought hurts."
Ethan’s face darkened, his thin lips moved, and suddenly he laughed, "What, are you jealous?"
Jealous?
Celeste just found herself pitiful, pathetic, even the slash on her wrist was laughable.
She was rely a shadow, a sacrificial offering, a nto of him and that girl’s beautiful past.
Hah.
It was all so undeserving.
At that mont, all the wounds in Celeste’s heart transford into the hardest armor. She found a strength; she had to protect her brother, she had to leave this place, and she would not allow anyone to trample on her dignity ever again.
Seeing her silence, Ethan reached out his arm, turning her over and pulling her into his embrace, "She’s gone, so don’t ntion her again. You should be grateful I can’t forget her because the harder she is to forget, the better I’ll treat you. Celeste, resembling her is your blessing."
His cherished "white moonlight" was untouchable, even ntioning her was forbidden.
Clearly, she was only a sacrifice, yet she had to be grateful. Ethan was truly a master of manipulation.
Celeste didn’t say anything.
Ethan assud she was being obedient. He lowered his head and kissed Celeste’s red lips.
Celeste wanted to struggle, but Ethan tightened his grip around her soft waist, "Don’t move, okay?"
Celeste indeed stopped moving, closing her eyes, pretending she’d just been bitten by a dog again.
Survival was already hard enough, there was no need to fuss over this.
Ethan hadn’t touched her for a long ti; a young girl’s body was like poppies, easy for him to get addicted to, and he deepened the kiss.
At first, Celeste silently endured. But when she felt his fingers fall on her buttons and starting to undo them, she imdiately stopped him, "Young Master Barnes, are you really that desperate? I just had surgery, and this is still a hospital ward, can it wait a few days?"
Ethan rolled over, pinning her underneath him, his eyes were tinted with lust, his fingers not stopping. Maybe he found her buttons troubleso, so he directly ripped open two of them, "What’s with the yelling, I know what I’m doing, I won’t kill you."
"..." Celeste tried hard to close her eyes, lest he saw the murderous intent in them.
She was always just his plaything, his tool for release.
At that mont, Ethan grabbed her small hand.
Celeste imdiately knew what he wanted. She forcefully shook him off, unwilling to serve him.
"Be good, please and I won’t bother you for the next few days, otherwise, I’ll be thinking about you every night." He whispered vulgar words in her ear.
He wouldn’t co for a few days?
Celeste gave up struggling. If this could bring her a few days of freedom, she was willing.
...
Ethan kept his word, he really didn’t co for the next few days, and Celeste enjoyed a brief period of freedom and peace.
When Miles pushed open the door of the hospital room, all he saw was Celeste sitting on a chair by the window. She had pulled open the curtains, opened the window, and was bathing in the golden sunlight, greedily breathing in the fresh air from outside. And in her hand, she was gripping a pen, ardently writing on a sheet of white paper.
"Oh my gosh!" Zachary was truly astounded, "Miles, what’s up with Sister Celeste? Why does she seem reborn?"
Miles stood at the door; these past few years his sister had shut herself in a dark and damp little room, never wanting to go out. This was the first ti she opened her heart and ca out.
Celeste had truly co out.
Miles looked at his sister. Now, in his sister, he could see shadows of her from four or five years ago—pure, clean, warm, and beautiful, but his sister wasn’t the sa as before anymore, because...it seed his sister now had an invincible strength.
Without breaking, there’s no standing. Eyes beco clearer from shedding many tears; hearts beco warr from weathering many storms.
Miles suddenly realized that his sister no longer needed his protection.
Miles walked over and glanced at his sister’s drawing. Just one look, and he was stunned, overwheld.
Celeste had drawn a butterfly, but this butterfly didn’t have colorful wings. Its whole body was black, trapped in a web—a dense, enclosing net binding and imprisoning it.
But this butterfly did not admit defeat. It struggled mightily, flapping its wings with all its strength, breaking free from the confining shackles to embrace the sun.
This painting, it struck the soul, involuntarily bringing tears to one’s eyes.
"Miles, you’re here? I rember the AIGA design competition is about to start, I think I still have ti to participate."
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