I Was the Grass Beneath Your Feet

Eight years ago, my cousin Wendy Cooper was involved in a drunk driving hit-and-run. Yet, my parents made sure all the evidence pointed toward me.

The victim's family waited outside my school every day with gasoline, threatening to die with me. Because of that, the school took away my guaranteed admission to university.

That day, my parents and brother all tried to persuade me.

"Wendy's terrified. Just give her your spot to make her feel better."

I refused, fought back, and even tried to talk them out of it. But the next day, they handed me over to the police themselves.

Lance Stewart, my fiance and a powerful business tycoon, had orchestrated it all.

As he was afraid I'd run or cause trouble, he personally pinned several charges on me and sent me to an isolated island prison. He left me with no way out.

When my sentence began, he made me a promise.

"Esme, just endure it for a few years. I'll get you out once Wendy graduates, and then we'll get married."

Eight years later, I finally stepped out of prison.

"Esme Walker, now that you're out, live an honest life. Keep moving forward, and don't look back," a prison guard said.

I took the few personal belongings I had from the prison guard and boarded the fishing boat that had come for me.

Wendy graduated four years ago, but I had spent eight years in this prison.

…

As soon as I stepped ashore in Whitville, I saw a luxury car. The window rolled down, and there was my fiance, Lance Stewart, with the same perpetual indifferent expression.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that. I promised you we'd get married," he said.

I didn't answer him and just got into the car.

I saw myself in the rearview mirror. My skin was dry and sallow, marred by scars of varying lengths and depths.

I looked hideous.

Lance noticed how miserable I looked, too.

"Esme, you—"

He had just started to speak when a ringtone cut him off.

I could already guess who was calling and what was coming next. After all, this sort of thing happened time and time again.

"Esme, I'm sorry. Wendy's sick," Lance said. "She's kind-hearted and has always felt guilty about what happened eight years ago. Your release today reopened old wounds again.

"I need to go to the hospital right away. When you see her, talk to her, okay? Tell her you did everything willingly."

Before he could finish, I got out of the car on my own.

Lance froze for a second. As he looked at me standing by the roadside, his expression grew hard to read.

"I'll arrange for a driver to take you home. As for your injuries, give me a few days. I'll arrange for a consultation with a doctor."

I had been imprisoned and tortured for eight years, and thousands of sunless days had taught me one thing.

All of them, including Lance, never loved