Your Regrets Mean Nothing To Me

The memory fragment stopped abruptly, leaving the feed black and soundless. In the tense silence that followed, one comment appeared that would
shake the studio: [So Fenwick actually set up his own sister.]
The accusation hit like a stone in still water, triggering an immediate surge of defensive responses from Fenwick's fans.
[He's just a guy with a typical guy fashion sense. Cut him some slack.]
[She could have said no if she hated it that much. Her choice, her consequences.]
Their support bolstered Fenwick's wavering resolve. "Just bad luck, really. Why else would—"
"Because she never refused us anything back then," Torin cut in, his voice raw. "And you knew how much she hated anything fuzzy."
"What exactly are you suggesting?" Heat crept into Fenwick's voice. "That I forced her?"
His composure cracked as veins stood out on his neck. "Are you letting thirty minutes of footage make you forget about Rowena—our real sister who
truly loved us—lying in that hospital bed?"
His fans immediately turned on Torin.
Though not a celebrity, Torin's striking looks and position as Vice President of the Drayton Group had turned many employees into devoted fans. The
chat exploded into chaos as his supporters clashed fiercely with Fenwick's fanbase.
"Focus," Torin's voice sliced through the chaos. "We caught the kidnapper but never found the woman pulling the strings." He strained against his
bonds with renewed purpose. "She was the mastermind. This case isn't closed. I need to find her."
Stellan spoke before he could break free. "Rest assured, Mr. Drayton. The police have the recording. They'll investigate."
"Shall we continue?" Stellan asked softly. "Don't you want to see what happened next?"
Torin's struggle stilled. The question twisted in his gut. If Elysia had been this pure, this selfless, what darkness had transformed her into someone so

cruel?
An older woman's voice pierced the silence in the footage. "Lucky me! Found myself a free child today."
[That must be the woman Elysia betrayed—the one who raised her for ten years!]
[A decade of care repaid with a lawsuit. Talk about ungrateful.]

One comment drifted past unnoticed. [Something feels wrong about what this woman just said.]
Everyone was too busy playing judge and jury from behind their keyboards to notice the truth.
The memory began skipping forward like a scratched record—flashes of yellow earth, green fields, a village frozen in the last century. Through the
fragmentary images, one voice remained clear.
"Dorian, look what I brought home!" Lyra Brook called out excitedly.
"Half an hour and you snag a girl?" Dorian Brook asked. "Still breathing after your rough handling?"
"Found her like this," Lyra replied, expectation in her voice. "Still kicking. Pretty little thing—she'll fetch a good price once she heals up."
Sharp intakes of breath filled the studio. Even the critics fell silent.
[Trafficking? Is that why Elysia sued them?]
[But she lost that case.]
[Must be fake then. Maybe they sold her to good parents.]
[Not all traffickers are monsters. This couple might have been good people—maybe Elysia was just seeing evil where there was none.]
[You're sick. Hope your kids meet some "kind" traffickers.]
The scene jumped forward abruptly. When Elysia opened her eyes again, the viewers found themselves witnessing a new horror. This time she was
in a cattle pen, its brick walls stained black with filth. The ground was covered in straw mixed with mud—revolting just to look at, let alone lie in.
Her mud-caked arm twitched. Her princess dress had been replaced by a yellowed, shapeless shirt, and she huddled helplessly, hugging her knees

to her chest.
"Dad... Mom," she whimpered, curling into herself. "Where are you? I'm so hungry." Her sweet voice had gone sandpaper-rough from crying and
hunger.
Dawn broke. The pen's lock clicked. A plain-faced woman appeared, her gentle features twisting as she spoke. "Ready to behave, you little beast?
Welcome to my lair, sweetie. Nobody leaves unless I say so."
She dragged Elysia out by her hair, rough hands yanking mercilessly.

Fresh blood welled from the child's scraped palms against the ground, adding new wounds to those barely healed—a horrifying sight.
"Please... it hurts," Elysia whimpered.
Lyra threw her into the courtyard. Too weak to fight, Elysia could only beg, "Please don't sell me. My family will worry."
Lyra showed no mercy. Disgusted by the blood and mud on Elysia's body, she muttered "Filthy creature" as she washed her hands. Without
hesitation, she aimed the hose at the helpless child.
Ice-cold water left Elysia shivering in the autumn air.
As if something caught Lyra's attention, she lifted Elysia's chin, her cruel expression smoothing into calculation. "Well, aren't you a pretty one," she
mused.
She brought Elysia inside, changed her clothes, and even treated her wounds. "Behave, and I might keep you." Her earlier cruelty vanished like
morning mist.
The viewers finally let out their held breath. At least if she stayed in Stoneford, there was still a thread of hope for rescue—better than being trafficked
to some distant, unknown place.
[See? This woman wasn't completely heartless.]
[They picked her up when she was injured—she might have died there. Not to mention they raised her for ten years. Some call that mercy.]
In the studio, Fenwick latched onto these comments like a drowning man grasping at straws. "Look, Torin. Her captor showed mercy. Yet she still
turned on her—just like she turned on us."
"Enough!" Torin's voice cracked like a whip. "I believe in her inherent goodness. Later influences twisted her into... what she became."
His voice hardened with conviction. "But that woman was still a trafficker. Anyone who preys on children deserves punishment."
At their exchange, Stellan let out a cold laugh and deliberately held his tongue.