a chair in a dark, moldy basement, a burlap sack ripped from my head. The kidnapper held
alling me "useless." The physical pain was nothing compared to the cold dread that settled in my heart. Why was he so busy? A week ago, Ethan paid a th
e busy right now. He's putting my shoes on for me." The camera panned to Ethan, kneeling, gently sliding a crystal-heeled shoe onto her foo
is burner phone, putting it on speaker, and calmly declared a new ransom: "One dollar. For every time he doesn't answer, I cut off a finger." On the fourt
c. Then, Ethan' s voice, cold and impatient, filled the silence. "Sarah? What is this? Chloe said
ideo call Ethan, just so he could see. Ethan appeared, annoyed, with Chloe beside him, dabbing a tiny scratch on her foot. He called me a liar, manipulative, and selfish, accus
anished, replaced by a storm of protective rage directed at me. "Look what you've done," he snarled. "You're making Chloe cry. All you do is cause pain. You
ncée – bruised, bloody, and broken. Comments flooded the screen: "Fake," "Awesome special effects!" until people recognized me. The kidnapper cursed, ending the feed, but th