Only one man could save me from this nightmare.
“This…” The bodyguard hesitated, then said, “A call is not allowed. But you may send one message.”
“Fine.”
I gave in, took the phone under his watchful eyes, and typed:
[Dad, Lily and I miss you.]
After I set the phone down, the urn was strapped onto my back, bending me nearly in half.
Forget climbing—walking a few steps on flat ground was nearly impossible.
The heat was suffocating, my face burning red.
And to make things worse, one bodyguard held a tablet on a live video call with Richard.
Onscreen, Richard sat beside Vanessa, eating watermelon in the cool air-conditioning, a glass of wine on the table.
To them, my suffering was just entertainment, like watching a circus act.
“What are you waiting for? Move,” Richard ordered coldly, raising his wine glass.
Vanessa didn’t speak, but the smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her satisfaction.
I gritted my teeth, took two steps, and collapsed as my right leg gave out.
The heavy urn pinned me down, crushing my bones like a mountain.
A scream of pain escaped me.
Some of the guards couldn’t bear it and tried to reason with Richard.