Chapter 361
When would the humiliation, the constant surveillance, and the arbitrary blows disappear from the pages of her life.
Yet the empty space answered only with silence, as though her fate had been written in ink that could never be erased.
Before the echo of her despair had fully settled within her, the sound of heavy, measured footsteps began to resound from the far end of the corridor.
The sound drew closer, not from one or two people, but from a dense group.
Around twenty figures in uniform, their faces equally stern and devoid of emotion, appeared and formed a semicircle before her.
They were not ordinary guards, but the iron hands of family authority come to assert their sovereignty.
The corridor lights caught their elongated shadows as they merged together, forming a dark wall that seemed to seal off every possible escape.
In unison, like perfectly programmed machines, their voices broke out together in a declaration that was not an invitation, but an absolute decree.
The sound echoed along the walls, affirming that from this very second, from this very breath, Erietta Bathee would be under their supervision.
Every breath she exhaled, every blink of her eyes, every beat of her heart would become their concern.
It was the announcement of a new prison, a cage not made of iron, yet far more effective because it was built from ever-watchful eyes and unquestionable authority.
"Walk faster. Do you think we have time to wait for you?"
Plaaak!!
"She's slow, as always. Impure blood can never be taught discipline."
Buuuk!!
"Watch your step. If you fall, we won't help you up."
"Ahahaha… like a chick that's lost its mother."
Feeling powerless, Erietta moved forward with a dull, standard pace.
The journey turned into a long and monotonous procession of humiliation.
Every step she took from the dormitory toward the waiting vehicle was accompanied by sharp and relentless verbal assaults.
The words were not hurled in explosive anger, but in flat, routine tones, like soldiers reciting standard operating procedures.
They called her a burden, a disgrace, a mistake the family was forced to bear.
Every slight stumble, every hesitant shift of her footing, became justification for rough hands to shove, pull, or occasionally jerk her arm sharply.
The physical violence was carried out with cold efficiency, without rage, without personal hatred, merely as a method to ensure the object moved along the designated path and speed.
The subordinates moved like machines calibrated for an unpleasant but necessary task.
Their gazes were empty, not seeing Erietta as a human being, but as a package—a valuable yet embarrassing item to be delivered.
Their touches were rough yet measured, leaving pain but rarely bruises too obvious.
This ritual of violence had become part of the silent culture within the Bathee family's structure, a method of constantly reminding those deemed "lesser" of their true place.
At times, short and dry bursts of laughter slipped from among them, not because of humor, but because Erietta's stumble or her barely concealed fear served as entertainment to relieve the boredom of their duty.
'She exists, yet behaves as though she has never existed.'
Through her blurred, throbbing vision caused by the swelling around her eyes, Erietta caught sight of two figures moving in harmony at the edge of the crowd.
The Chairman and his deputy walked close enough to supervise, yet far enough not to be dragged into the chaos they allowed to unfold.
They moved with calm, measured tempo, like two curators observing an exhibition of violence without disturbance.
Their gazes, especially the Chairman's, never left her, yet not to offer help or mercy.
It was the observation of a scientist toward a specimen, or a warden toward a prisoner with potential to rebel.
Throughout the cascade of verbal and physical abuse, the Chairman did not utter a single word to stop it.
His hands remained clasped behind his back, or at times rested against the short shotgun handle behind his neck, a relaxed posture that contrasted with the suffering occurring only steps away.
There was not even the slightest twitch upon his cold face, no unease in his authoritative stance.
His indifference cut deeper than open anger.
It was silent validation, a clear message that what his subordinates were doing was acceptable, perhaps even expected, within the framework of Bathee family discipline toward a member deemed deviant.
What Erietta perceived through her swollen eyes and gradually recovering vision—thanks to the flow of Lu Core within her body—was a cold evaluation conducted by the Chairman.
The man in the black coat seemed to be weighing her, measuring how many blows she could endure, how deep humiliation she could swallow before something inside her fractured or exploded.
More terrifying still, he appeared to be assessing his own subordinates, observing which among them was most cruel, most efficient, or most eager in carrying out the task of humiliating her.
It was not merely supervision, but an audition of brutality within a tangible atmosphere.
Behind his towering silence lay a vigilance as sharp as a blade.
The Chairman was not entirely passive.
His seemingly relaxed body was in fact tense and ready, like a locked spring.
He waited, with dreadful patience, for a specific moment—a critical point where one of his subordinates might be carried away by emotion and exceed the limit, intending to truly finish Erietta on the spot.
At that very second, Erietta felt with piercing instinct, the Chairman would move.
Not to save her, but to intervene over an asset that must not be destroyed before its appointed time.
'Please… do not let him see me make a mistake. Even the slightest hesitation, the faintest sign of slowness—'
Fhhh!
'He will punish me. Not with shouting, but with words sharper than blades.
Every sarcasm slices away the remnants of my dignity, reminding me how powerless I am here.'
"Your last step was 0.3 seconds slower than the standard set for this journey, Miss Erietta.
Is there an issue with your motor coordination.
Or is this some useless form of passive protest?"
Among all the guards surrounding her, it was the deputy chairman who compelled Erietta to strive desperately not to commit even the smallest mistake.
Within her heart, a prayer echoed endlessly—a silent plea that not a single movement of hers be deemed slow, not a single glance be considered improper, under the cold and unblinking eyes of the deputy chairman.
Every step was measured, every breath controlled, all to avoid the attention of this one figure.
For Erietta had learned, in the most bitter way, that the deputy chairman's dissatisfaction was not expressed through explosive anger, but through a precision of violence that destroyed.
Whenever her step slowed, even for a second—whether from exhaustion or pain—the deputy chairman would appear like a shadow.
Not with shouting, but with swift and efficient movement.
A calculated blow aimed at a part of her body that would not leave visible marks, or more often, a rain of words.
To be continued…