Every muscle in my body locked. My fingers curled into fists.
"Apologize for what?" I couldn't stop myself. "What exactly did I do wrong?"
Hubert's eyes went wide. "You hired a driver to run Clarissa down, and you're going to stand there and play dumb? The driver already gave you up. What's left to argue?"
Attempted murder. That was a charge I could never accept. A stain like that would destroy any future I had left.
Before I could open my mouth, Clarissa let out a pitiful whimper. "Mr. Stephens, please don't put yourself through this. After all, no one ever admits to the crimes they've committed."
"Stubborn, are we?" Hubert's lips curled. "I have plenty of ways to deal with stubborn."
He ordered the bodyguards to haul me to the police station, and right in front of me, he told them to give me "special treatment."
That night, I was shoved into a cramped, pitch-black room. Several heavyset women filed in after me.
They didn't say a word. Fists knotted in my hair, nails raked across my skin, hands tore my clothes to shreds. The moment I tried to fight back, a storm of blows rained down.
After three hours of beating, I heard a voice ask: "Are you ready to confess?"
"I didn't do any of—"