June knelt before the cold marble floor, her knees numb, her fingers trembling as they dug into her torn dress.
"I didn't do it… Father," she whispered.
The grand hall was filled with mournful silence, broken only by the sobs of her stepmother and the shallow breathing of the girl lying on the couch behind her.
June lifted her head.
Her father stood there—tall, stern, dressed in black from her mother's funeral that had taken place only three days ago. His eyes, once warm when her mother was alive, were now sharp and distant.
"Enough," he said coldly. "I saw the blood. I heard the servants. How could you push your sister down the stairs?"
June's heart shattered.
"I didn't push her," she cried. "She grabbed me first—"
A sharp slap echoed through the hall.
June fell to the ground, her cheek burning.
Behind her, Madam Eleanor, her stepmother, clutched her chest dramatically and wept. "Please, don't be angry with her," she said softly, though her lips curled in a smile only June could see. "June is still grieving… she didn't mean to hurt Lily."
Lily.
Her step-sister lay pale and fragile, a bandage wrapped around her head. But June remembered it clearly—how Eleanor had whispered to Lily before pushing June forward, how Lily had screamed and jumped on purpose.
It was all planned.
But no one believed her.
"Grieving?" her father scoffed. "My daughter would never lie. June, you have always been jealous of Lily."
Jealous?
June laughed weakly through her tears.
Jealous of what?
A mother who was alive?
A father who still cared?
"I lost my mother," June said, her voice shaking. "She was all I had."
Her father turned away.
That was the moment June knew—she had lost him too.
"Pack her things," he said coldly. "She is no longer welcome in this house."
June froze.
"Father…?"
"She will stay in the old house," Eleanor said gently, stepping forward. "Your grandfather's abandoned place. It's quiet there—good for reflection."
June looked up sharply.
The desolated house.
The one no one dared to enter.
Her father nodded. "Take her there tonight."
No goodbye.
No explanation.
No mercy.
As the doors closed behind her, June clutched the jade pendant her mother had left her—the only warmth she had left in this world.
The rain came down mercilessly.
June dragged her suitcase down the stone steps of the mansion, the wheels screeching as muddy water soaked into the fabric of her dress. The sky roared above her, thunder cracking like mockery.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
Her mother's funeral clothes clung to her body, black fabric drenched, cold, suffocating—just like the grief crushing her chest.
"Move faster," the driver barked from the gate.
June nodded silently.
She didn't trust her voice anymore.
Halfway down the steps, her foot slipped.
She gasped as her body slammed hard against the stairs, pain exploding through her back. Her suitcase toppled, spilling her few belongings into the dirty water.
June lay there, rain pounding her face, her breath knocked from her lungs.
For a moment, she wished the rain would wash her away completely.
A sudden sound cut through the storm.
Laughter.
June lifted her head.
Through the mansion's tall glass doors, she saw them.
Her step-sister, Lily, stood beside Eleanor, perfectly dry, wrapped in a warm shawl. The bandage on her head was gone. Her pale, fragile look had vanished.
Lily covered her mouth—but her eyes sparkled with amusement.
"How clumsy," Lily said softly, her lips forming a cruel smile.
Eleanor leaned down and whispered something into Lily's ear.
They laughed together.
June's fingers clenched into the wet stone steps until her nails bled.
So this was the truth.
No injury.
No accident.
No guilt.
Only a carefully planned fall—and a perfectly staged performance.
Thunder rolled across the sky.
June pushed herself up, her body shaking—not from the cold, but from something darker.
She didn't cry anymore.
As the car door slammed shut behind her and the mansion disappeared into the rain, June made a silent vow:
One day… you will kneel where I fell.
June picked up her soaked suitcase from the ground with trembling hands.
Mud stained her fingers. Rain dripped from her hair into her eyes, but she didn't bother wiping it away. No one was watching anymore.
The mansion gates were already closing.
She dragged her belongings toward the waiting car. The driver opened the door without a word. June climbed in, clutching her suitcase to her chest as if it were the last proof she still existed.
The car started moving.
And it didn't stop.
Three Hours Later
Rain battered the windows relentlessly as the city lights faded into darkness. Roads narrowed. Streetlamps disappeared. Forests swallowed the horizon.
June had no sense of time anymore.
Her body ached. Her eyes burned from crying, though no tears fell now. She stared out the window, watching the rain blur the world into meaningless shadows.
After nearly three hours of nonstop driving, the car slowed.
Then stopped.
June frowned and looked up.
They were in the middle of nowhere.
An open, desolated airstrip stretched before her, cracked concrete overrun with weeds. Rusted fences leaned at odd angles, warning signs half-buried in mud.
And there—under dim yellow lights—stood a small, old plane.
Her heart skipped.
"A plane…?" she whispered.
"Get down," the driver said curtly.
June hesitated. "Where is this place?"
The driver didn't answer.
Two men in dark coats approached, their faces hidden beneath caps. One of them took her suitcase. The other gestured toward the plane.
June swallowed hard.
There was no turning back.
The plane was cold.
As it lifted into the stormy sky, June gripped the armrest until her knuckles turned white. The engine roared violently, as if protesting every second of flight.
Below her—nothing but black sea and endless rain.
She felt small. Disposable.
After what felt like forever, the plane descended.
Through the window, June saw land emerge from the mist.
An island.
Rocky cliffs surrounded it like a natural prison. A narrow strip of land held a few dim lights—weak, trembling, as if afraid to exist.
The plane landed roughly.
June's heart sank.
The Forgotten Island
The air smelled of salt and rust.
Cold wind cut through her thin clothes as she stepped off the plane. Before her lay a desolated island—silent, isolated, forgotten by time.
A man spoke flatly. "Only about a hundred families live here. Fishermen. Nothing else."
June looked around.
No cars.
No streetlights.
No buildings taller than two floors.
"Is there… internet?" she asked quietly.
The man let out a dry laugh. "No signal. No television. No contact with the outside world."
Her chest tightened.
"And that area," he added, pointing toward the dense forest beyond the village, "is restricted. Military training ground. Don't go there if you value your life."
June nodded numbly.
As they drove deeper into the island, houses became fewer. The road cracked. Trees grew twisted and wild, blocking the sky.
Finally, the car stopped.
Before her stood a desolated house.
Old stone walls. Broken windows. A roof covered in moss. The gate hung crooked, creaking as the wind passed through it.
"This was your great-grandfather's place," the man said. "You'll live here."
June stared at the house.
Loneliness wrapped around her like a curse.
As the car drove away and the sound of the engine faded, silence swallowed the island whole.
June stood alone in the dark.