Chapter 10 – The Taste of Defeat

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

My cheek still burned from the slap, the sting lingering like a cruel reminder. But I didn’t let it show. I refused to. If this was a test, I had no choice but to pass it.

The woman—my so-called teacher—watched me with that same cold gaze, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She was waiting, assessing, as if she could see right through me.

Alexander, on the other hand, was enjoying himself. He leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

“This is entertaining,” he murmured, tapping his fingers against the desk. “I think I’ll enjoy watching you break.”

I gritted my teeth.

That word again. Break.

I wanted to tell him that no matter what he did, no matter what he put me through, I wouldn’t break. I had survived years of pain, years of being nothing to my own family.

But I knew better than to say that out loud.

Because in this place, words meant nothing. Only actions did.

The woman finally moved, stepping forward. “You controlled your reaction well,” she said. “But you’re still weak.”

I swallowed the sharp retort on my tongue.

She wasn’t wrong.

I was weak—physically, at least. I had no power here. I was completely at their mercy, stuck in a world I didn’t understand.

But if I wanted to survive, I had to change that.

I had to learn.

She motioned for me to follow her. “Come.”

I hesitated, but Alexander’s voice cut through the air.

“You’d better listen, Evelyn.”

My fingers curled into fists.

I wanted to fight, to push back, to tell them both to go to hell—but that wasn’t an option. Not yet.

So I forced my feet to move, following her across the room.

She stopped near a large, floor-length mirror. It was beautiful—ornate, with an intricate gold frame. But when I looked into it, all I saw was a girl who barely recognized herself.

My reflection was a mess. My hair was tangled, my clothes wrinkled, my skin pale from exhaustion. But it wasn’t just my appearance that unsettled me.

It was the look in my eyes.

I looked… lost.

Like I didn’t know who I was anymore.

The woman stood beside me, her sharp gaze locked onto mine in the mirror. “What do you see?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t know.

She tilted her head. “A victim?”

I flinched.

The word sent a rush of memories flooding through me. My mother’s cold stare. My father’s indifference. My siblings’ laughter as they watched me suffer.

Was that what I was?

A victim?

I gritted my teeth. “No.”

The woman studied me for a long moment. Then, finally, she nodded.

“Good.”

She stepped back and gestured to the center of the room. “Stand there.”

I hesitated but obeyed.

The air felt heavier now, like something was about to happen. My body tensed as I waited, my mind racing with questions.

Then—

A sharp pain shot through my legs.

I gasped as they buckled beneath me, my knees slamming into the cold, marble floor.

I looked up, heart pounding.

The woman held a thin wooden cane in her hand.

She had struck me.

I blinked, struggling to process what had just happened.

Pain flared through my skin, but it wasn’t unbearable.

It was humiliating.

I gritted my teeth, refusing to make a sound.

She lifted the cane again. “Stand.”

I pushed myself up, my legs shaking slightly.

Crack!

The cane struck the back of my knees again, and I collapsed once more.

Anger burned through me, hot and wild.

I clenched my fists, my breathing uneven.

“Why are you doing this?” I spat.

The woman remained calm, her expression unreadable. “Because you need to learn.”

I glared at her. “Learn what? How to be a punching bag?”

Alexander chuckled from behind me. “She’s got a mouth on her.”

The woman ignored him. “No. You need to learn control.”

She walked around me slowly, her heels clicking against the floor.

“You have spent your life reacting,” she said. “Crying, begging, lashing out. Every time something hurt you, you let it consume you. That is why you have always been weak.”

I sucked in a breath.

Because deep down… I knew she was right.

I had always felt powerless.

And when people hurt me, all I could do was feel.

But feeling never changed anything.

The woman stopped in front of me. “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is a choice.”

She struck me again.

I gasped but bit down on my tongue, forcing myself not to react.

I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

She nodded approvingly. “Better.”

I stayed on the floor, my body tense, my heart pounding.

Alexander watched, still smirking. “This might actually be fun.”

I didn’t look at him.

I couldn’t.

Because in that moment, I realized something.

They weren’t just trying to hurt me.

They were trying to reshape me.

To mold me into something else.

Something stronger.

And I had two choices.

I could fight them and suffer.

Or I could learn their rules.

And find a way to win.

----

The room felt colder now, the air thick with something unspoken. My knees throbbed from the repeated strikes, but I forced myself to stay still, my body tense, my breaths uneven.

I had never been hit like this before.

Not by a stranger.

My family had their own ways of hurting me—cruel words, silent neglect, cold stares that cut deeper than any slap ever could. But this… this was different.

This was calculated. Deliberate.

And yet, beneath the pain, there was something else.

A challenge.

The woman lowered the cane and studied me, her dark eyes unreadable. “You’re learning,” she murmured, almost to herself.

I wanted to snap back, to tell her I wasn’t learning anything. That I was just waiting, biding my time, trying to figure out how to get out of this nightmare.

But I didn’t.

Because I was starting to understand something.

If I wanted to survive here, I had to be smarter.

Not reckless. Not impulsive.

Smart.

So I swallowed my pride and did something I had never done before.

I bowed my head.

A silent act of submission.

The woman’s lips twitched, as if she was amused. “Good girl.”

My stomach twisted, but I stayed quiet.

Alexander, however, wasn’t impressed.

“That’s boring,” he drawled, pushing off the desk and making his way toward me. His shoes echoed against the marble floor, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.

When he stopped in front of me, he crouched down, tilting his head as he studied my face.

“You’re not really broken yet,” he murmured, his voice almost… disappointed. “But you will be.”

I held his gaze, refusing to look away.

Because I wanted him to see it.

The fire.

The silent promise that no matter what he did, no matter how many times he tried to break me, I would still be me.

His lips curved into a slow, dark smile. “Interesting.”

I didn’t flinch when he reached out, tracing his fingers along my jaw.

I refused to give him the reaction he wanted.

But my body betrayed me anyway.

I was trembling.

Barely. Almost imperceptibly. But I knew he saw it.