Your Regrets Mean Nothing To Me

Chapter 5



The stream jumped to another scene. "Two escapes in three days." Lyra's fingers tightened in warning. "Try again, and you'll wish for the cattle pen."
She studied Elysia on the bed, greed darkening her eyes as she took in the beauty dirt had hidden. The hunger in her gaze threatened to swallow the
little girl whole.
When Elysia instinctively shrank back, a sharp crack split the air.
"Still defiant?" Lyra spat.
"No! I'll be good," Elysia whispered, her voice trembling. "Just please tell my parents where I am. They must be so—"
The second slap sent her sprawling.
"Parents?" Lyra sneered. "I'm your mother now. Someone paid thirty thousand dollars for your life. You should thank me for keeping you breathing.
Forget about your family—that's nothing but a dream now."
Elysia curled into herself, tears blurring her vision. Her four-year-old mind couldn't grasp what it meant for someone to "buy her life." She only knew
what her brother had always said—bad children get taken away, never to see their families again.
'But I was good,' she thought. 'I dressed myself, ate properly, slept alone. I always listened to Mom and Dad and my brothers. Why did the bad people
still take me?'
"Fenwick," she whispered through her tears, "you promised if I listened to you, bad people wouldn't come."
In the studio, the words struck Fenwick like physical blows. He'd wielded that threat so casually, never realizing how deeply she'd taken it to heart.

His fans fell silent while other viewers continued commenting.
[I thought my display was malfunctioning when everything got blurry. Then I realized—those were her tears. Now I'm about to cry too.]
[That slap felt real through the screen. God, poor Elysia.]
[Are we glossing over the fact that someone bought her life?]
Lyra's words also sparked a chilling realization throughout the stream—someone had located Elysia within twenty-four hours and arranged her
murder.

In the studio, blood vessels stood out in Torin's eyes as he gripped his chair. Not ransom, but murder. Thirty thousand dollars was all it took to reveal
humanity's darkest face.
[This trafficker actually has a bit of conscience. At worst they're a little harsh—it's Elysia who doesn't know when she's got it good!]
Lyra's next words shattered that delusion with brutal efficiency. "Can't sell her yet—her face is plastered everywhere. Better wait till she's older. With
looks like that? Rich men will throw money at us."
Outrage buried the trafficking apologist in the chat feed.
[Where's that "conscience" defender now? Bet they're part of the ring! Investigation needed.]
[Police need to see this footage.]
While viewers called for justice in the present, the stream continued.
Elysia's trembling intensified, but her tears fell silently now. She'd learned that sobs brought more pain. Besides, she had no strength left for crying.
Three days. One bowl of cereal. Every mention of home, every escape attempt earned fresh bruises.

"Torin and Fenwick... miss you... help..." Her whisper faded into the darkness.
The image faded to black, but sounds lingered. Lyra burst in, fearing another escape. She found only a pale bundle in the corner, skin like ice.
"Damn—three days without food. She's passed out," Lyra said, panic creeping into her voice.
"Let her starve," Dorian's gruff voice replied. "We got paid anyway."
"Don't be an idiot!" Lyra snapped. "Why settle for one payday when we can have two? Feed her some milk, she'll earn it back working in the fields
later."
Back in the studio, soft sobs echoed through the studio as younger viewers broke down by Elysia's suffering.
"Can't believe she had such a terrible childhood," one whispered. "An heiress treated like an animal, destined for..."
Words failed as the tragedy sank in. Even the crude Caellan fell silent.
Catching Stellan's glance, he forced a scoff. "She was somewhere in Stoneford. She had ten years to escape that place. Besides, since when does
suffering excuse what she did to my sister?"

[Caellan's right. Her sad past doesn't justify pushing Rowena down those stairs.]
[There's more to her crimes. My sister witnessed her bullying kids at school firsthand. Just proves the old saying—evil company breeds evil ways.]
The heated accusations in the chat suddenly died away as the memory stream shifted to a new scene.
Elysia's reflection appeared in a mirror—barely five, with large, bright eyes set in a delicate oval face. Already beautiful, despite skin stretched too thin
over fragile bones.
[Has anyone seen her recent photos?]
[Found one online. Looks like a horror movie monster.]
[Went to her school once. She's unrecognizable now—can't see her eyes, face all scarred. Hard to believe she was ever this pretty.]
The cruel comments hung in stark contrast to the innocent image in the memory stream. Elysia braided her hair with practiced movements in the
cracked mirror. Viewers silently willed the moment to last, appreciating this perfection before its inevitable loss.


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