Matteus Scarlett NovelBone-Deep Betrayal,sir, I Won't Forgive

Matteus Blackwood hated me to the core, convinced I was the hit-and-run driver who killed his mother five years ago.

He personally sent me to prison, ruining my reputation and my life.

After my release, he dragged me back to his mansion, making me the lowest servant, tormenting me day and night.

He tore up my sketches, a cruel sneer twisting his lips.

Do murderers even deserve to dream? he mocked.

It wasnt until my blood stained the floor, until I was clinging to life, that he finally realized

The one who truly killed his mother and escaped justice was the woman he had cherished above all else.

Later, he abandoned everything, kneeling outside my door, weeping and begging God to give me back.

But I simply leaned weakly against my treating doctor, and whispered to him:

Matteus, I dont for give.


I once believed Matteus and I would go from high school sweethearts to walking down the aisle.

Until three years ago, when his mother died in a car crash, and I became the cold-blooded bystander in his eyes, the one who saw death and fled.

Three years of wrongful imprisonment. I spent over a thousand days and nights in that dark place.

On the day of my release, the sky hung dull and gray like a dirty rag.

I dragged my left leg, severely deformed from an old break maliciously inflicted in prison and left untreated.

Every step felt like treading on broken glass, the grinding sound of misaligned bones something only I could hear.

My only possession was a thin release paper, its edges softened by sweat.

I shivered, cold rain mixing with the coppery tang of pus and blood, soaking my threadbare clothes.

A black Maybach, like a phantom, glided to a silent stop before me.

The window descended, revealing Matteuss face, sculpted and cold.

Three years hadn't diminished his arrogance one bit. Instead, theyd added a crushing weight to his presence, making him impossible to look at directly.

His gaze, when it landed on me, was laced with venomous hatred, devoid of any past warmth.

Get in.

His voice was devoid of warmth, an unquestionable command.

I instinctively recoiled, the sharp pain from my injured leg almost sending me sprawling.

Scarlett,

A cruel curve formed on his lips as he flashed his phone screen C my father, withered and unconscious in a nursing home.

Or would you prefer him to be tossed onto the street to feed the stray dogs tomorrow, for unpaid bills?

My blood ran cold instantly. I could almost hear my heart cracking as it turned to ice.

My father was my only weakness. Three years ago, the shock of my imprisonment had left him paralyzed by a stroke.

I knew I had no choice.

Gritting my teeth, I mustered every ounce of strength, dragging my ruined leg, practically crawling into the car.

A small, damp patch of mud stained the luxurious leather seat.

He recoiled in disgust, tossing a clean silk handkerchief at me.

Clean it up,

He didnt even look at me, his gaze fixed on the rain-swept road ahead.

Dont use your filthy, murderers hands to defile my car.

My hands trembled as I took the handkerchief, not to wipe myself, but to meticulously clean the spot where I had sat and the small stain on the floor.

My utter subservience seemed to amuse him. He let out a soft, contemptuous scoff.

Scarlett, look at you now. Three years inside, and you haven't learned a thing. Except how to be utterly pathetic.

I didn't respond, only bowed my head lower.

My stomach churned. Memories of the foul-smelling prison food and the beatings surged back.

The car pulled up to the opulent villa I once called home.

Mrs. Gable, the housemaid, glanced at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes quickly replaced by silent pity.

Put her in the downstairs staff room, the one converted from the storage closet, Matteus commanded casually as he shed his coat, as if disposing of trash.

From now on, shes a servant here. Shell do the dirtiest, hardest work.

He paused, then added, his voice like ice splintering in my heart:

Scarlett, remember your place. You live only to atone for your sins against my mother, through your suffering.

Yes, Mr. Blackwood, Mrs. Gable mumbled.

I stood there, head bowed, clutching the release paper so tightly that its edges left white crescent marks on my palm.

In the cold, lavish hall, I watched his retreating back as he ascended the stairs.

My heart felt instantly frozen, then shattered into dust by a heavy hammer.

Matteus, is this truly the ending our love story deserved?




My "servant" life began.

Every day, I woke before dawn, dragging my injured leg to clean the vast garden,

Scrub the cold floors, and wash mountains of dishes.

With every bend, every exertion, excruciating pain shot through my left leg, often leaving me drenched in cold sweat and on the verge of collapsing.

My ankle was swollen and shiny, the skin an ominous purplish-blue.

The other staff members looked at me with scorn and mockery.

Thats her, the one who killed Mrs. Blackwood. Mr. Blackwood is kind to even let her live.

Look at her, a cripple. Serves her right.