Forbidden Flames A Tale of Desire and Deception

The Scars She Hid From The World

REGINA MCBRIDE

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.

Modern Revenge Scheming

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When I was stabbed by the thug, the giant screen on the street was coincidentally broadcasting an interview with the movie star, Brenden.

The reporter asked who I was to him, and he replied, "She is my housekeeper."

With that single word, "housekeeper," he erased the ten years of love we had shared.

I lay in a pool of blood, watching the screen where he held the daughter of a billionaire, smiling indulgently.

Three years later, he burst into my wedding chapel, kneeling and begging for my forgiveness.

I said, "Sorry, big star, I have amnesia. I don't remember having any relationship with you."

My fiancé immediately played an old video: "Baby, look, he personally said you were his housekeeper."

On my 26th birthday, I prepared a table full of dishes.

But even by midnight, Brenden hadn't shown up.

When I checked my phone, the trending topic was "Brenden's High-Profile Birthday Celebration for Global Harmony Group Heiress."

It turned out today was also Jennifer's birthday, the daughter of the chairman of Global Harmony Group.

Brenden was busy celebrating with her, ignoring the dozens of messages I had sent him.

In the photo Jennifer posted on Twitter, she looked radiant and happy.

Brenden stood behind her, dressed in white, looking handsome and dashing, his gaze at her incredibly tender.

He hadn't looked at me with such tenderness in a long time.

I had been with him for ten years, watching him grow from a high school boy to an unknown actor, and then into a shining star.

But the entertainment industry had changed him too much.

To become famous, he had to curry favor with the powerful and climb up by any means necessary.

And I, with my ordinary background, was of no help to him.

He became increasingly indifferent to me, sometimes not contacting me for a whole month.

"Let's break up."

I sent him one last message, then blocked and deleted him.

Then I cried my eyes out, downing six bottles of beer by myself.

In the middle of the night, someone suddenly picked me up by the waist. "Dare to break up with me?

Malinda, you've got guts!" I opened my eyes to see Brenden, his eyes bloodshot, his expression fierce, his clothes soaked with the cold dew of the night.

"I've been running around like crazy, didn't even have time to drink water, and drove 300 kilometers to get here..." "Don't touch me! I've already broken up with you."

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