They Locked Me in the Basement to Please My Stepsister

Knowing I had severe claustrophobia, my stepfamily locked me in the basement just to make my stepsister smile.

"Evan, please! I can't breathe!" I pounded on the door until my nails bled.

But instead of saving me, my boyfriend of five years simply scoffed from the other side. "Aurora, drop the act. Daphne just wanted your room."

For fifteen years, I gave them everything, only to be treated like a parasite when the "true daughter" returned. They stole my home, my design, and finally, locked me in a burning attic. When the flames consumed me, would they finally be happy?

——

Aurora's POV

"Evan, let me out! Please, I can't breathe!"

I pounded on the basement door. The nails on all ten of my fingers were cracked and torn, blood trickling down the rusted metal.

"Aurora, drop the act."

From the other side of the door came a soft scoff. It was Evan, my boyfriend of five years.

"Daphne only wanted your sunlit room. Did you really have to push her down the stairs?"

"These three hours locked in here are exactly the punishment you deserve."

"But... I'm claustrophobic..." I continued to pound the door.

"Is that so?" My stepbrother Luke’s voice chimed in immediately. "Then get over it. Our family doesn't need a psycho who hurts her own sister."

Cold sweat soaked through my back. The sheer terror and lack of oxygen triggered a violent physical reaction.

I collapsed to my knees, convulsing and dry-heaving uncontrollably until bitter stomach acid spewed all over my dress.

When I was nine, I watched my biological mother close her eyes forever in a car crash. Afterwards, rescue workers accidentally locked me inside a utility truck for an entire night.

Ever since then, the dark and confined spaces had been my ultimate nightmare.

Evan knew this.

Three years ago, right after we got together, there was a blackout. He had held me tight and sworn, "Aurora, I will never leave you alone in the dark."

Yet now, he was the very person who had pushed me into this abyss with his own hands.

"Let it go," Daphne’s voice drifted through the door. "Aurora might actually be in pain. It's okay, I don't mind a little unfair treatment..."

"Daphne, you're just too kind-hearted." Luke's voice dripped with ache and pity.

"She’s rotten to the core, just like her mother. We have to teach her a lesson today. Call it exposure therapy—keep her locked up long enough, and she’ll naturally stop being afraid."

Exposure therapy.

For the past two weeks, under the guise of "helping me overcome my psychological barrier," they would frequently kill the manor's power at night or lock me inside the walk-in closet.

Every time I sobbed and begged for help, they would stand outside the door and tell me: This is for your own good.

I foolishly thought that if I just cooperated, if I just became "normal," I could win back my family’s acceptance and Evan’s love.

Half a year ago, Daphne—who had been missing for fifteen years—was finally found. Since then, my status in the family plummeted from the "apple of their eye" to the "parasite who stole her place."

Desperate to hold onto whatever warmth I had left, I compromised at every turn.

"Listen, she’s throwing up in there. Do you think she's about to pass out?" Daphne’s voice filtered through.

"She's definitely faking it," Luke scoffed.

"Evan, is the livestream in the group chat still running?" Daphne giggled. "When we open the door, we'll let everyone see her covered in her own puke, scared half to death. It’ll be hilarious!"

Livestream?!

So the "exposure therapy" over the past two weeks had never been about helping me.

It was just a sick carnival they put on to amuse Daphne, inviting our entire social circle to watch me humiliate myself.

I was nothing but a performing monkey for their entertainment. They stood outside, listening to me panic, vomit, and claw at the door, broadcasting it all as a joke.

Tears crashed onto the bloody mess of my hands.

I completely gave up on crying for help.

A few moments later, the heavy metal door was pushed open from the outside.

The hallway lights spilled in. Like a dying fish, I dragged myself desperately toward the glow.

"Help... help me."

Just as my bloody fingers were about to brush the threshold—

SLAM!

A wicked smirk tugged at the corner of Evan’s mouth as he grabbed the handle and forcefully slammed the door shut again!

The darkness instantly flooded back in, swallowing me whole.

"NO—!" I let out a harrowing, desperate scream.

Seconds later, the door was kicked wide open.

SPLASH—

A bucket of filthy water, thick with mud and dead leaves, was viciously hurled over me by Luke.

A bone-piercing chill drenched my entire body. My once-pristine white dress was now a sickening canvas of mud, vomit, and blood.

Luke casually tossed the empty bucket aside. He took a step forward, bringing his heavy combat boot down directly onto my bleeding hand, grinding his heel into my flesh.

"Jesus, you stink," Luke sneered condescendingly. "This disgusting sight is exactly what everyone needs to see."

Daphne was nestled snugly in Evan’s arms. He held her with one arm, while his other hand held up a phone, the camera lens shoved right in my miserable face.

On the screen, the very same socialites who used to kiss my ass were now spamming the chat with relentless, mocking comments.

"Surprise!" Daphne flashed a peace sign at the camera, her smile perfectly innocent. "Look, everyone! Isn't Aurora so much quieter now? We're just helping her build up her courage!"

In that instant, the rage within my chest detonated like a bomb.

I violently yanked my mangled hand out from under Luke's boot and lunged at Evan with every ounce of strength I had left.

"Are you crazy?!" Evan yelped in shock.

I snatched the phone right out of his hand and smashed it brutally against the concrete floor.

The screen shattered into a spiderweb of glass, abruptly cutting off the livestream.

"Ah!"

Daphne shrieked, cowering deeper into Evan’s embrace.