I bent down and picked up the money. It was a thousand dollars. The bills were thick and heavy in my palm, damp from the rain. For a moment, my fingers trembled, not from greed but from what that moment meant. My pride felt like it was quietly dying, my dignity folding itself away to make room for survival. I didn't hesitate. I needed that money. I needed it desperately. And if there was one thing the Ragnar family drilled into my bones over thirteen years, it was that money should never be wasted.
So I took it. I told myself I wasn't being shameless, just practical. I was simply keeping what he threw away so casually.
In a strange way, I was even doing him a favor by clearing the street. It was the lie I clung to as I straightened my back, rainwater dripping off my chin. My soaked uniform clung to my skin like a second layer, cold and heavy.
What I didn't know was that while I was standing there, trying to steady my breathing and trembling hands, Taurus had already stepped aside. I noticed it faintly through the blur of the rain. Taurus had turned his back, his posture alert and rigid like a soldier on duty. He had a phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and composed as he spoke calmly into the rain.
"Hello," he said. "Is this the police? There's an assault happening at the bus stop near the Downson Motel. Yes, please come quickly."
Assault.
I almost laughed. A dry, bitter sound caught in my throat. Let them come, I thought fiercely. Let them come and I'd show them what assault really looked like. I'd show them the belt marks on my face and the bruises blooming on my ribs. I'd show them my split lip and the dirty water soaking through my clothes. I'd tell them how I was dragged, insulted, and humiliated. Maybe, just maybe, someone with a badge would actually listen to the truth.
Around me, the night kept moving as if nothing had happened. Cars splashed past. The rain fell in sheets. The motel sign flickered lazily in the distance. The playboy stood there wiping his nose, furious and offended, while Taurus hovered beside him like a shadow. And there I was, barefoot with one shoe missing, holding money that felt heavier than stones.
It didn't take long. The police sirens cut through the rain. Red and blue lights flashed across the wet pavement, reflecting off the black car that had started that nightmare. People began to peek out from the motel and nearby shops. Curiosity bloomed like rot.
Two police cars skidded to a stop. Doors flew open. Boots hit the ground with heavy, rhythmic thuds.
Before I could even open my mouth to speak, hands were on me. They were rough, firm, and completely unquestioning.
"Turn around," one officer barked, spinning me toward the patrol car.
"What?" I protested, confusion crashing into a new kind of fear. "I'm the one who was assaulted! Look at my face!"
Cold metal snapped around my wrists. My world tilted as they shoved my arms behind my back.
They didn't ask my name. They didn't ask what had happened. They didn't ask why I was barefoot or why my face was swollen, why I looked like I'd been dragged through a storm. One officer glanced at me and scoffed.
"You again," he said, voice laced with recognition. "This is the second report we've received about you today."
My chest tightened until it was hard to breathe. A second report.
I had never been around the police before. Never sat in the back of a patrol car or heard my life reduced to a report number. Yet there I was, being pushed into the hard plastic back seat like a common criminal, while the man who had splashed me stood free and untouched on the sidewalk.
They took me to the station.
Under the bright, humming fluorescent lights of the precinct, everything felt smaller and louder at the same time. My wet clothes smelled of rain and pavement. My skin burned where the belt had landed earlier, and my head throbbed with every heartbeat. I felt stripped bare in a place that smelled of floor wax, stale coffee, and authority.
One of the officers finally sat down at a desk and opened a file.
"Ms. Ragnar," he said, emphasizing the name. "Why did you attack him?"
I flinched at the name. Legally, it was still mine. Even after they threw me out, I was still tied to it.
"Because he deserved it," I answered honestly, lifting my chin despite the ache in my neck.
The playboy, who had followed us to the station, scoffed loudly from a nearby bench. "Deserved?" he snapped, pointing to his face. "Look at me. Look at my poor baby. Do you have any idea how much that car costs?"
"Who did what first?" I shot back, turning my gaze to the officers. "Did he apologize when he splashed me? Or when he dragged me like an object? This man assaulted me first."
The look the officers gave me made my stomach sink. It wasn't a look of curiosity or a search for justice. It was pure judgment.
One of them laughed under his breath. "Are you sure you aren't the one who assaulted him?" he asked casually. "Why would a man like him go for someone like you?"
The other officer nodded, eyeing my tattered uniform with disgust. "In your dreams, maybe. I know your type. Once they see a car like that, they go to extremes to get a payout."
He paused, as if waiting for emphasis. "Look at her injuries. Look how she's dressed. No shame at all. She probably did it to herself for the act."
Every word felt like another lash of that belt across my back.
"So," the first officer continued, his voice bored now, "all he needs is an apology. Apologize for the car and the assault, and I'll forget the report from earlier and let you go."
Apologize.
"No," I said firmly, my voice echoing. "Never. He's the one who should apologize to me."
Before the officer could respond, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The heavy front door swung open, and a woman walked in.
She was tall, elegant, and visibly furious. The entire room froze. Every officer stood up immediately, chairs scraping loudly against the floor. Even Taurus straightened up like a soldier receiving a commanding officer.
"Ma'am," one of the sergeants said nervously, "you should not be seen in a place like this."
The playboy's face darkened the moment he saw her. He stood up abruptly and stormed out of the station without a word, his anger rolling off him. Taurus moved to follow, but the woman held up a hand.
"Stay," she ordered. "Let him go. I will not have the world know my son is in a police station with some random village girl."
Village girl. My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
"You do not need to worry, ma'am," an officer said quickly. "Everything is under control."
"It is," she replied coolly, her eyes scanning the room. "But I heard the perpetrator refused to apologize."
I couldn't keep quiet any longer. "I'm sorry to intrude," I said, my voice shaking but steady. "I do not know who you are, but your son is the one who started this. Why should I apologize when he's the one who hurt me?"
She turned toward me slowly. Her eyes were sharp and cold, as if I were a stain on the floor.
"Oh, you will not apologize," she said softly. "Even after taking the money he gave you? Fine. Then we are in the right place to pay for sins."
She turned back to the officers, her voice cold and commanding. "Confine her. Let her sleep in a cell until she is bailed or tried for assault and attempted murder. I cannot believe she took money and is still demanding an apology. She's a common gold digger."
She called Taurus over. "Handle the paperwork and meet me at the estate. I will not risk a scandal or my son's reputation over a girl like this."
"How will you get back, ma'am?" Taurus asked.
"I came with a driver. And do not bring the car back until she pays for every cent of the repairs. Leave it in the impound if you must."
"But he said she wouldn't be able to pay," Taurus hesitated. "He only wanted to scare her."
She raised a single finger, silencing him instantly. "I speak. You listen."
"Yes, ma'am."
She turned and swept out of the station as quickly as she had arrived. The officers only relaxed once the door clicked shut behind her. I stood there, my wrists aching from the cuffs, my heart feeling hollow.
No one questioned her words. No one asked for proof. No one even asked for her name, because they already knew it. It was as if power itself had walked into the room and spoken.
The officers began escorting me toward the holding area, treating me like a burden, as if I were something disposable. As the officer at the desk typed on his computer, the keys clicked loudly in the quiet room. I realized with terrifying clarity: in that world, truth meant nothing. Only money had a voice.