Leaving After Learning My Lesson

My birthday present this year is a written contract titled 'Behavioral Reform Contract'.

My fiance, who was the mafia head Matteo Giovanni, and my parents have already signed their names at the bottom. Together, they had me sent to the Behavioral Correction Center.

…

The windows are always shut, and the sunlight is filtered through the metal window bars.

They drug, reprimand, and ostracize me to make me shove my feelings of aggrievement down. Even while I am being humiliated and punished, they teach me to force a smile and maintain a steady breath.

It was all done in the name of "treating" me.

A year passes, and I go from being a so-called "troublemaker" to their ideal version of me—quiet, elegant, and utterly perfect.

Matteo beams at me and says, "You've finally become my perfect wife. We can finally marry."

I match his smile, a gesture that they think means obedience from my part.

However, it is not true. It is just me bidding my farewell before I leave for good.

There's something I don't understand, however. They constantly found me lacking, so now that I am gone from their lives, why are they falling apart?

The day of my discharge happened to be on my adopted sister Vivianne Sadler's birthday.

My parents, Andrew Sadler and Rosalie Bloom, told me it was Vivianne who'd voluntarily spoken about me, saying she was willing to "give me a chance to start anew". That was why my parents had agreed to discharge me from the "institution" I was in.

The said "institution" was actually called the Behavioral Correction Center.

It was a secluded organization owned by the Giovannis, a mafia family. On the surface, it claimed to be a wellness center that provided mental reformation for the children of the wealthy. However, everyone knew its actual purpose was to deal with those who defied the Giovannis.

I had already packed my luggage earlier in the morning, so I had been waiting by the door all this time.

However, not a single person from my family showed up all day long.

Only when night fell did my phone finally ring.

"Are you throwing a tantrum again, Vanessa Sadler?" My brother, Hugh Sadler, asked over the phone in a cold and firm tone. "It's been a year since you went to that facility. Haven't you learned to be considerate of others yet? It's Viv's birthday today. Why must you make everyone worry about you?"

My lips curled slightly, but there was not a single shred of warmth.

I'd spent a whole year in that facility, shut in a pure white room devoid of windows, the lights perpetually on. I had to write "I will be obedient" repeatedly each day. They even drugged me to keep me quiet and obedient so that I would not resist.

They called it "reprogramming".

Sometimes, I would be locked in what was called The Silent Room. It was a room that was devoid of all sound and noise. It