They Locked Me In a Tower. All To Please Her Chapter 07

They Locked Me In a Tower. All To Please Her Chapter 07

“Mila. Wake up.” A gentle voice.

My eyes opened. Heavy. Vision slowly focused.

The therapist closed her notebook. Calm.

“That’s the end of today’s session.”

I sat up. My body still weak from the hypnosis.

I thanked her quietly. Walked out.

Outside a glass observation elevator.

I stepped in.

It descended. Seventeenth floor. Down.

The drop hit my stomach. That familiar dizziness crept up my temples.

The acrophobia written into my bones.

But this time, I didn’t shake. No cold sweat down my spine.

The doors opened with a ding. I walked out. Calm.

Downstairs, an old woman with white hair leaned against the wall.

Cloth bag in hand. Eyes smiling,

“Mila, you’re back. Supermarket had a sale.”

“I bought your favorite tomatoes. Tomato pasta tonight?”

I smiled faintly. Nodded, “Okay, Grandma. Thanks for waiting.”

Warmth spread through me.

After the fire, I’d dragged a broken leg, covered in wounds, clutching the last of my cash.

Bought a one-way ticket to Paris.

A stranger in a new country. Broke.

This old woman-who ran a small restaurant-took me in.

I worked there. Paid rent. Survived the worst days.

Later, I got into the Paris Design Academy. Still rented the small apartment above her restaurant.

Evening. Dinner done. Lights soft.

I sat at my desk. Spread out my drafting board. Pen down. Lost in the work.

My phone buzzed. A colleague.

[Mila, this year’s Red Dot results are out.]

[The first-place work-the style looks exactly like yours. You need to see this.]

My hand paused. I clicked the link.

On screen-my torn design. The core piece.

Composition. Texture. Color. Identical. Signed: Ella.

No rage. Just cold.

I replied,

[That design is mine. Send me the committee’s contact.]

Got the number. Called. Filed a complaint.

Submitted everything-the full sketch records, the rest of the series.

Done.

I took a breath. Opened the old messaging app I’d abandoned.

It was flooded. Mom. Dad. Dorian. Daisy. Knox.

Knox had sent the most.

A new message popped up. From him.

[Mila. I’ve cut Ella off completely.]

[I Sold the river-view penthouse. Bought a house with a big yard.]

[No high floors. You can plant flowers. I was blind. I regret everything. Can you come back?]

I stared at the screen. The past flashed through my mind.

I typed one line.

[Stop messaging me. We broke up a long time ago.]

Sent. Blocked him.

A moment later, an unknown number called.

Blocked that too. Turned off my phone.

The noise of the past. Shut out.

Next morning. The office.

My colleague walked up, smiling.

“Mila, congratulations.”

“Your solo exhibition application was approved. You need to name it.”

I thought for a moment. Then, certain.

“Call it Nirvana.”

The exhibition came together.

The hall-dominated by deep black and striking red.

Center: a throne woven from thorns and blades.

On the cold steel-engraved lines.

Confessions. Excuses. Apologies that came too late.

Around it-my work from the past two years.

Every piece holding struggle. Brokenness. And the power to be reborn.

After opening, the crowds came.

Many stood before the throne. Read the words on the blades.

Looked at the pieces. Eyes red. Some, silently crying.

I didn’t bury the pain.

I turned every scar into a medal of my own.

A week passed.

Red Dot released an official statement.

Ella’s award revoked. The full chain of plagiarism evidence made public.

The internet exploded.

People dug up her old cases-past competitions, stolen work.

“Repeat offender” stuck to her name.

She deleted her Instagram in disgrace.

Her old posts, once flaunting everything, now buried under attacks and curses.

The international committee blacklisted her for life.

No design competition would ever accept her again.

I scrolled past the news. My fingertip moved across the screen.

No ripple inside.

Late justice couldn’t heal scars that had already closed.

Evening. I walked home from work.

Under the plane trees at the corner-two familiar figures.

Knox. And Dorian.