YOU ARE MY SIN

"Believe me, it wasn't me." Ophelia stubbornly stared at the person inside the car. The heavy rain was pouring down, blurring the car window and faintly revealing a stern face inside. Trembling in the rain outside the car, Ophelia shouted, "Alaric! Just listen to me!"

Suddenly, the car door swung open. Before Ophelia could feel any relief, a strong force pulled her into the car, causing her to crash against him. His crisp white shirt quickly soaked through.

"Alaric, I didn't have anything to do with those thugs who hurt Elowen..." Ophelia began, but his long, strong fingers harshly gripped her chin. His deep, magnetic voice came from above, "Do you like me that much?"

His cool voice carried a hint of tobacco—his scent.

"What?" Ophelia was confused. She liked him; the whole world knew. Why was he asking now?

The man pinched her chin, and with his other arm—strong and lean—he reached out to gently touch her rain-drenched cheek. In those gentle eyes, Ophelia felt she might drown, imagining him asking if she was cold.

But suddenly, he exuded an icy aura. "Ophelia, do you like me so much that you'd harm Elowen?"

A chill spread from her heart to her limbs. Ophelia momentarily snapped back to reality, a bitter smile forming. Of course, his tenderness was never hers—it was nothing more than the devil's smile.

"I didn't mean to hurt Elowen..." she tried to explain.

"Right, you didn't intend to. You just paid some thugs to violate her," he interrupted, anger flickering in his eyes. Without giving her a chance to speak, he tore her clothes with a single motion.

"Ah!"

Amidst a scream, Ophelia was ruthlessly pushed out of the car, falling into the rain. Her ear caught his clear, cold voice through the downpour: "Ophelia, Miss Winslet, whatever you did to Elowen, I'll do to you. How does being exposed feel?"

Ophelia looked back in disbelief towards the car door. The man sat inside, glanced at her from above, and then calmly wiped his fingers with a handkerchief. "Miss Winslet, I'm very tired right now. Please leave."

"Alaric! Listen to me, I really didn't..."

"Having Miss Winslet speak isn't entirely impossible," he replied nonchalantly, glancing at her. "If Miss Winslet is willing to kneel outside my estate for a night, maybe I'll give you ten minutes."

The door slammed shut. A handkerchief from the car fluttered down, landing wetly at her feet.

Ophelia picked up the rain-soaked handkerchief, gripping it tightly.

The car drove into the Storm family estate, the gates closing firmly behind it, leaving her outside in the rain.

With a pale face, Ophelia stood for a long time before resolutely heading to kneel outside the gates. She pressed her lips tightly together, kneeling with a thud.

She knelt—not for repentance—but because Elowen was her friend. Her friend had died; she owed her that. Not because people thought she was responsible.

She knelt to earn the chance for a ten-minute explanation. She hadn't done it and refused to be falsely accused.

Would she ever get that chance?

Could she really clear her name?

Would anyone believe her?

The rain poured relentlessly.

---

Through the night, Ophelia remained kneeling in the storm outside the estate.

By morning, the now lively estate slowly stirred as an elderly butler with silver hair and a traditional black umbrella approached.

The heavy iron gates slowly creaked open, revealing the butler in the gap. Ophelia lifted her head, giving him a weak smile.

"Miss Winslet, Mr. Storm asks you to leave," said the impeccably groomed butler, even in the rain. He tossed her some clothes.

With rain-wrinkled hands, Ophelia shakily put them on, her voice hoarse but firm: "I must see him."

The butler, without lifting an eyelid, relayed: "Mr. Storm said your presence soils the estate. Please don't offend his eyes."

Throughout this ordeal, Ophelia showed no weakness. But now, her feigned strength was faltering, her trembling shoulders betraying her pain.

As the rainwater mingled with tears or raindrops on her face, Ophelia said, "Mr. Harper, regardless of what you think, I didn't bribe those men to destroy Elowen's innocence. I can't accept your hatred without a word."

Despite exhaustion, Ophelia spoke clearly and firmly. She was a woman defined by pride and resilience.

The butler finally showed a reaction beyond disdain—his brows furrowed, his gaze full of hatred. "Elowen was my daughter, always obedient. She never set foot in chaotic places like bars, yet she died after being violated by thugs she encountered there."

"We checked her communications. Before it happened, she called you and sent a message saying: 'I've arrived at 'Night,' Ophelia, where are you?'"

His eyes were filled with venom as he accused: "Ophelia, you didn't just harm an animal, you took a human life! And you still deny it! Everyone knows your feelings for Mr. Storm, who only loved Elowen and detested you. Out of jealousy for Elowen and frustration over Mr. Storm, you tried to ruin her. Your malice is unbearable!"

Ophelia had no defense. Elowen was Kevin Harper's daughter—Alaric's beloved. Ophelia was just the woman who pined after a man out of reach. Now, not only unloved, she was condemned as the villainess.

"Please leave, Miss Winslet," the butler said with restraint. "By the way, Mr. Storm asked me to tell you something."

Ophelia looked at him sharply.

"He said, 'Why wasn't it you who died?'"

Ophelia's kneeling form trembled with unbearable pain.

The butler turned away with a cold, grim smile on his face, heartbroken by Elowen's death and Ophelia's supposed treachery.

Struggling to her feet, Ophelia finally managed to rise, only to collapse again in pain, giving a bitter laugh—those words were just what she'd expect him to say. "Elowen, your death has made me a target of scorn."

In the Storm family estate, on the second floor, Alaric stood tall by a window. Draped in a black robe, his seductive frame was silent as he gazed at Ophelia's outline disappearing around the corner.

"Mr. Storm, I've passed on your message to Miss Winslet verbatim," the butler reported, having witnessed Ophelia's retreat.

Alaric swirled his wine, withdrawing his gaze from her. His cold, commanding voice issued further instructions. "Inform her family that shielding Ophelia invites my wrath unless they disown her."

"Yes, sir."

"Next, notify her college that Ophelia's records no longer exist. Tell her high school she was expelled for misconduct. Her highest education? Middle school."

"Understood."

"And finally," Alaric's voice turned icy, "ensure she's imprisoned."

The butler looked up, startled. "Mr. Storm?"

"Bribing others, deliberately plotting to take someone's life. Let her go to prison and serve three years. What? You think I'm wrong in doing this?"

"No, you're right... Thank you, Mr. Storm. If not for you, Ophelia would escape justice for what she did to Elowen. As a member of the Winslet family, she was untouchable. Thank you, thank you, Mr. Storm!" the butler wept gratefully.

Alaric turned, watching through the window as the distant figure vanished from view, his eyes darkening. He clenched his glass, downing the wine's crimson liquid in one gulp.

"Kevin, I'm chastising Ophelia not because Elowen is your daughter, but because she was my chosen woman," Alaric murmured.

---

Ophelia returned home, dragging an exhausted body, only to be turned away at the gates by the Winslet family. The butler, a lifetime servant, brought Alaric's decree, and Ophelia was "politely" cast out without even a glimpse of her parents.

Did they fear Alaric that much? She sighed, steeling herself against that steel gate that divided her past.

Emotionally adrift, she faced it one last time, finding two officers blocking her path: "Ophelia Winslet, you are under arrest for bribing others to assault Elowen Harper, leading to her critical injury. Please come with us."

Before her incarceration, Ophelia saw Alaric standing by a window, his commanding presence a constant.

"I didn't harm Elowen," she insisted firmly, though she trembled with unease.

Approaching slowly, Alaric faced her. He kept his pace, owning the space between them as Ophelia tried to remain composed. Her defiant face betrayed her nerves, shaking slightly under his discerning gaze.

A trace of surprise flashed in Alaric's eyes... Was she really still trying to maintain her dignity?

Of course, she was Ophelia—proud and untamed. Even when he rejected her confession, she never faltered.

Alaric's hand moved swiftly, capturing her delicate chin.

"Ouch—it hurts!" The grip was like an iron vice, threatening to crush her chin. Tears of pain sprang to Ophelia's eyes.

He showed no mercy, squeezing harder. "Who would have thought such a pretty face could hide such a poisonous heart?"

"I really didn't harm Elowen!" Ophelia bit her lip, her face ashen with pain. "You can't send me to prison without evidence."

"Oh, but I can," Alaric smiled cruelly. "Miss Winslet, enjoy your time in prison." He released her chin, turned away with a wave, and left without a backward glance.

Alaric was exacting his revenge. Ophelia's face turned pale, unable to utter a single word.

The women's prison was anything but peaceful. On her first night, Ophelia was dragged from her sleep.

"What do you want?" Ophelia warily eyed the circle of inmates surrounding her with malicious intent. "Don't do anything stupid, or I'll call the guards."

Her warning only spurred laughter from the group. The leader, a burly woman, pointed at her face. "Think you can call the guards? Go ahead, try it!" She slapped Ophelia hard, knocking her off balance. "Call them now!"

The slap left her ears ringing, and she steadied herself against the wall.

Unexpectedly, Ophelia struck back.

"Smack!"

The room fell silent. No one expected this delicate woman to dare retaliate.

The leader, eyes blazing, roared, "You filthy woman, beat her! I don't care if you break her. Mr. Storm said make her suffer, just as long as you don't kill her!"

Ophelia was stunned. A sharp pain spread through her body. Alaric! Alaric had ordered this.

No wonder there were no guards. No wonder these women felt untouchable.

Desperate, Ophelia tried to flee, but they grabbed her hair, pulling her down. "Help!" she screamed, clinging to the bars. "They're beating me! Help!" She knew no one would come but clung to the slim hope that Alaric might not have ordered this cruelty.

But the hope was in vain. Ophelia was pulled and beaten, lying on the ground in agony.

She stopped calling for help. She endured the blows, surrounded by mocking laughter.

It wasn't the pain she feared, but the shattering of that small glimmer of hope.

After a while, the attackers tired and returned to their bunks.

Ophelia lay in tears, never having felt so humiliated. She only loved Alaric, a man she shouldn't have.

Why should she bear the brunt of his rage and hatred just because something happened to Elowen?

After the incident, she explained to everyone around her, "I didn't harm Elowen."

No one believed her. She insisted she hadn't invited Elowen to "Night"; Elowen was curious about clubs and suggested they meet there.

People saw her as the reckless Winslet heiress, while Elowen was the timid, innocent girl who would never go to a wild place like a nightclub.

Ophelia's car had broken down, which was why she was late to 'Night.'

No one cared. They accused her of intentionally leaving Elowen alone so that the thugs she allegedly paid off could attack.

But she had no reason to harm Elowen. Elowen often assured Ophelia, "I don't feel that way about Alaric."

If Elowen had been Alaric's girlfriend, Ophelia would have stepped aside. But Elowen didn't even like him that way!

To everyone else, Ophelia was the vicious villain who deserved all the blame.

The thugs had vanished after the incident. Who knew where they were hiding? Ophelia desperately wanted them to be caught.

With tears streaming down her face, even as she was sent to prison, she believed she was innocent.

She realized then that as long as Alaric believed she was guilty, she was doomed.

And today, it was all because of Mr. Storm.

Ophelia knew that in her future prison life, more of "Mr. Storm's intentions" awaited her.

Without her family, records, or education, having been in prison... Alaric had erased all evidence of Ophelia's existence! Now she was just a criminal: Inmate 926.

Resolved, Ophelia curled into a tighter ball, clutching her knees. Alaric had erased her completely from existence!

By morning:

"Hey, wake up. Toilet duty," a fellow inmate nudged Ophelia, only to scream in fright, "Ah! A corpse!"

A braver inmate checked her breathing, finding it faint but present. "Stop yelling, she's alive! Get a guard!"

Ophelia narrowly survived, but it wasn't a blessing. Unending humiliation and darkness could drive anyone mad—or change them forever.

Three years later

The gates of the women's prison in City S opened, and shortly after, a woman slowly emerged.

She was alarmingly thin, wearing the same white dress she had worn when admitted three years ago, now hanging loosely like a sack.

She walked slowly, step by step, toward the bus stop over a hundred meters away. In her hand was a black plastic bag containing $31.50 and an old driver’s license.

The scorching summer heat radiated visibly from the gravel path. With temperatures reaching at least 37 or 38 degrees Celsius, the woman did not sweat a drop under the blazing sun.

Her pale skin bore blue and purple bruises, and a noticeable three-centimeter scar marred her face near the hairline at her temple.

The bus arrived, and she boarded, carefully extracting a coin from her black plastic bag to pay the fare. There weren't many passengers. The driver took one look at her and quickly returned to staring ahead, a familiar look of disdain on his