They Locked Me In a Tower. All To Please Her Chapter 02

They Locked Me In a Tower. All To Please Her Chapter 02

I covered my face. Tears poured down.

Six months ago, Ella and I entered the same international design competition.

Both of us made the finals. But our submitted work was identical.

Ella accused me of plagiarism.

She didn’t know I’d recorded everything—from sketch to final piece.

Ella was banned. Boycotted online.

She broke down. Slit her wrists. Left a suicide note calling me her killer.

She was saved. But I became the villain.

Knox looked at my tear-streaked face. Not a flicker of emotion.

“Ella made one mistake. She’s paid enough. Stop going after her.”

Going after her?

For half a year, I was the one with nightmares every night.

I was the one whose dignity was trampled.

I was the one turned into a clown for entertainment.

Who was going after who?

The last warmth went out.

I was exhausted. Too tired to argue.

I lifted my head. My voice was flat,

“Knox. Let’s break up.”

He froze. Reached for me. Like he used to.

Daisy grabbed his arm, “Don’t. She’s just trying to compete with Ella for attention.”

Dorian spoke too. Calm. Certain.

“Mila’s all talk. Every time she got scared this half year, she threatened to break up.”

“Two days later, she came crawling back.”

The panic in Knox’s eyes vanished. Replaced by ice.

“Mila. I hate it when people threaten me with breakups.”

“Next time, we won’t even get the license.”

I bit my lip. Pulled out my phone.

I Cancelled the marriage license appointment in front of him.

“No next time. We’re never getting it.”

I turned. Walked away. Tears falling.

Knox used to hate my tears.

He knew I was scared of heights.

Every apartment he rented was a damp ground-floor unit nobody wanted.

If there was a pedestrian bridge, he’d walk the long way through the underpass.

Anything over three steps—he carried me.

When people called me dramatic, he’d snap back.

Then hold my face.

“Being scared of heights isn’t your fault.”

“The world just isn’t flat enough. Step on me. I won’t let you fall.”

Those soft promises. That careful love. Still burned into me.

Now he’d left me alone a hundred meters up—just to make Ella laugh.

So this was love. Changing in an instant.

—

I walked four hours home from the suburbs.

My heels were raw.

I pushed the door open. Warmth and spice hit me.

Father came out of the kitchen with a plate of meat sauce pasta,

“Babe’s home! I made you pasta. Come eat.”

My nose stung. My eyes burned.

I sat at the table. Took a big bite.

Then—fire. My whole mouth.

I coughed. Doubled over. Gagged. My face went red.

Click.

I looked up.

Father. Phone in hand. Filming me.

“Hahaha. No wonder Ella laughs so hard at those videos. Mila’s face is hilarious.”

Ella walked out of my room. Wrapped her arm around my Father’s.

“Send that to the group chat. Let everyone laugh.”

I stared at her. My throat still burning. My voice hoarse.

“Why is she here?”

Father held back a smile, “I asked her to move in. The doctor said Ella can’t be alone.”

“Her parents are gone. She’s safer here.”

“She lives here. Then where do I live?”