Her Rebirth of Retribution

At that time, her grandmother had just died, and Calista had never seen the look on Yelena's face before. Her malice was so glaringly obvious that it made Calista clutch her clothes tightly while trembling.

In a state of confusion, she was hauled into the bathroom. Faced with a basin of cold water, she recoiled, refusing to move. Her hands were already frostbitten and swollen significantly. She had just applied some medicine. If she dipped her hands in cold water again, she would end up losing her fingers.

However, in the end, the housekeeper forced her hand into the water.

"Wash them! If you don't wash your dirty clothes properly, you're not leaving the bathroom today!"

After she spat out her harsh words, she turned off the heater and flung the windows wide open. The temperature plummeted to minus five degrees. Meanwhile, she stood behind the door, watching her through the window. They were separated by a mere door, yet one was as warm as spring while the other was trapped in the biting cold of winter.

"She really thinks she's here to live the high life and doesn't even bother to check her own worth. She even expects me to wash her clothes. How ridiculous!"

From behind the door, the faintly discernible voice of Rosalyn echoed. "You're nothing but an unwanted illegitimate child, yet you dare to act like a prominent young lady? Under Mrs. Stafford's rule, your life and death are in her hands! You better behave yourself!" Calista was crouched in front of the massive water basin, her hand already withdrawn, but still a bright, frostbitten red. She felt scared, yet also a sense of indignation and unwillingness.

Her hands trembled incessantly as if touching water was akin to surrendering to fate.

Her tears fell one by one into the water brimming with bubbles. She finally understood her place in this family. Without the presence of the two kind elders, she could only rely on herself. With these thoughts in mind, Calista took a deep breath and abruptly plunged her hands into the water, beginning to wash the clothes.

Once she understood, she was perfectly aware that disobedience would lead directly to her being cold and hungry. If Benedict didn't return home that night, she might suffer terribly with no one to turn to for justice. She had to wait for Benedict's return and report their wrongdoing.

Filled with humiliation, she vigorously scrubbed the clothes. The housekeepers watched from behind, surprised that she didn't resist and just got on with the task. They snickered, calling her spineless and saying she was born without any luck for wealth and prosperity. They even went as far as to mock her for being content with her lowly status.

And so, she scrubbed with all her might, gritting her teeth to hold back the tears. In a moment of carelessness, the fingernail of her right hand grazed a frostbitten spot on her left thumb, causing thick blood to seep out. The blood mingled with the soapy water, and even though it should have hurt, she felt nothing. Her fingers had already succumbed to numbness from the cold.

Unable to hold back any longer, she burst into tears. Yet even amid her sobbing, she continued to do the laundry. She wanted to finish quickly and return to her room. She never knew before how much she could despise doing laundry.Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

At last, she finished washing her clothes, her fingers nearly worn out.

She returned to her room in silence and treated her own wounds. Her hands trembled as she put on gloves. Her body was chilled to the bone. Clutching her blanket, she wept until she gradually fell asleep.

In the evening, Benedict returned home. Upon seeing her own hands, battered and bruised, Calista immediately rose to her feet. She was determined to lodge a complaint, to show Benedict what Yelena had done to her hands. But as she was on the staircase, she heard her stepmother speak.

"What should I do, Benedict... I think

Callie really distikes me, and she hates this home. She doesn't even want the housekeepers to touch her clothes, insisting on washing them herself. Now her hands are injured. I tried to give her medicine, but she threw it away. Her hands must be terribly hurt. I just don't know what she's trying to do..."

Benedict was taken aback, "What? She hurt her hands? Don't feel guilty. Mom and Dad are gone and Callie has become much more reserved. Take good care of her. With time, she will understand your intentions."

On the staircase, Calista looked at her fingers bleeding even through her gloves. Suddenly, she realized that even if she went and complained, Yelena could easily claim that she had intentionally injured her fingers to frame her, simply out of dislike for her. Yelena had been living with Benedict for over a decade, whereas Calista had only been here a few days. It was pretty clear who Benedict would believe.

However, she didn't hold any resentment toward Benedict. According to her grandmother's teachings, Benedict was a man of limited talent, but he worked

tirelessly for his family. All sheet

do was silently endure, for speaking out would only result in Benedict's disappointment due to her lies.

Later, when she returned to her room and peeled off her gloves, a piece of skin came off with them. Did it hurt? Truly, it didn't. Her fingers felt as if they had lost all sensation. The flesh was mangled and it looked terrifying.

And so, when she later noticed her right hand beginning to fester, particularly at the joints of her

thumb and index finger, to the point where the bone was visible, she was terrified into tears again. She applied medicine and cried, and spent her nights trembling, cradling her hands as she slept. Her medicabskills were crucial; she couldn't afford to lose the use of her hands.

Perhaps it was due to the strong recuperative abilities of children that she had grown up now, and the place on her fingers, which was once so severely injured that the bone was visible, bore no scar at all. It was as if nothing had ever happened. Did it really never happen? The scar wasn't on the hand, but deep within the heart. A mere glimpse revealed a raw, festering wound, seemingly incapable of ever healing.

"Callie! Callie!"

When Calista was awoken, the dense darkness before her eyes gradually dissipated. It felt as though she had been abruptly pulled from a quagmire. The lingering fear from her dream was still etched in her heart.