CHAPTER 241: A SLAVE WHO FEELS WORTHLESS (I)

[I don’t ever want to go through that nightmare again.]

Primrose didn’t know exactly what kind of experience Hazelle had endured, but she was certain it had been something so terrible, so soul-shattering, that it broke her both mentally and emotionally.

Still, Salem once mentioned that Hazelle was still a virgin. So, no—it probably wasn’t something sexual.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t traumatic because there were plenty of ways to humiliate, break, and hurt a woman without ever touching her like that.

And the things Primrose had heard of didn’t even come close to the kind of cruelty people with sick, twisted hearts were capable of.

"I know someone who can help remove your slave seal," Primrose said gently but directly because she didn’t want to waste time dancing around the truth.

Hazelle stepped back like she had been struck by lightning. Her eyes widened in disbelief, and the calm, expressionless mask she always wore crumbled in an instant.

She opened her mouth a few times to say something, but no words came out.

[It must be a trap,] Hazelle thought, still unable to believe Primrose had just offered her something so strange.

[If I say yes ... she might report me to Dr. Silas. And then ... then he’ll punish me.]

[He’ll punish me! No—please—I don’t want to be punished again!]

Suddenly, she crouched to the ground and covered her ears with both hands. Her entire body trembled, then she began to hit her own head over and over with her fists.

"I don’t understand anything, Your Majesty!" she shouted. "I really don’t understand!"

The sight was heartbreaking. She kept hitting herself, again and again, so many times that Primrose lost count. "Please, don’t punish me! I’m sorry! I’ll do better, I promise!"

Primrose was frozen for a moment. She hadn’t expected this kind of reaction at all.

It wasn’t the first time Hazelle had been in trouble.

Back when she caught her sneaking food from the palace kitchen, Hazelle hadn’t panicked or begged. She’d simply bowed her head and calmly asked to be executed.

How ironic was that?

While most people saw death as the worst possible outcome, something to be feared more than anything, Hazelle, on the other hand, feared living far more than dying.

Whatever punishment Silas—and the other sicked people in her past—had inflicted on her ... it clearly wasn’t something that could be taken lightly.

Primrose should’ve considered that before dropping such a heavy offer on her so suddenly, and she hadn’t meant to send Hazelle into a breakdown like this.

But now, it was too late to take back what she’d said, and saying "I was just joking" would be far crueler than any punishment Hazelle had ever endured.

So she took a breath and knelt beside Hazelle. "Hazelle," she said softly, "everything we talk about here ... it’s just between us."

"Dr. Silas will never hear a word of it." Primrose reached out slowly and gently took Hazelle’s trembling hands into her own. "And I promise you I’m not working with him. I’m not trying to trap you. I would never hurt you."

Her voice lowered, calm but fierce. "In truth ... I hate Dr. Silas."

she whispered. "Truly. Just like you do, and I want to make him pay for everything he’s done, maybe even worse than what he did to you."

Hazelle’s eyes darted around wildly, scanning Primrose’s face like she was looking for any sign of a lie, any crack in her words.

[She could be lying,] her thoughts whispered in panic. [I can’t just trust her.]

Primrose was caught off guard when Hazelle suddenly began speaking a lot inside her mind.

She sounded terrified, so much that even inside her own mind, her words were jumbled and hard to understand

But even so ... it was still a good sign.

At least now, Primrose could hear her thoughts more clearly.

That was when she finally realized something.

Hazelle had lived so long under someone else’s control. She had followed orders, obeyed every command, and wasn’t allowed to speak unless spoken to.

Her clothes, her voice, her opinions, her entire identity, everything had been shaped and controlled by Silas and her former master.

Therefore, maybe her mind had been trapped for so long that she had forgotten how to think for herself.

Maybe that’s why Primrose had rarely heard anything from Hazelle’s mind, not because it was protected by magic—but simply because ... she really wasn’t thinking about anything at all.

It sounded strange, but that was the only explanation that made sense right now.

"Alright," Primrose sighed quietly, watching as Hazelle continued to avoid her eyes. "If I really were working with Dr. Silas ... then why would he try to poison me?"

Those words made Hazelle freeze.

Her eyes widened. Slowly, she lifted her head and looked straight at Primrose. For the first time in a while, her expression shifted into uncertainty, realization, and confusion all at once.

It seemed like, little by little, Hazelle was starting to think clearly again, and starting to realize just how foolish it was to believe that Primrose and Dr. Silas were on the same side.

But still ... there was something was holding her back, something was making her hesitate.

"What do you mean, Your Majesty?" Hazelle asked, trying to sound calm, but her voice trembled slightly. "How could I even dare to put poison in your bath?"

Primrose smiled. "I never said anything about poison being in the bath," she said, tilting her head.

Her voice dropped, soft and cold, as she leaned in just enough to make Hazelle flinch. "Did you put poison in my water, Hazelle?" she whispered. "That sounds like a serious crime, doesn’t it? I wonder what kind of punishment my husband would give if he ever found out."

Primrose hadn’t said those things just to scare Hazelle. She genuinely wanted to help her, though admittedly, she had chosen a slightly forceful approach.

It was only because Hazelle seemed so hesitant, so afraid to believe even a single word she said.

Yeah, yeah, Primrose knew it wasn’t the kindest way to handle things.

But sometimes, when someone’s trapped that deep, a gentle hand doesn’t always reach them. Sometimes, you have to push a little harder to pull them out.