Chapter 5｜The Girl Kept Alive Underground

The air smelled of mildew and medicine. Ivy pushed open the rusted gate of the abandoned Santa Monica sanatorium, the hinges shrieking a warning she could barely hear over the pounding of her own heart. Concrete walls stretched high, dotted with peeling paint and shattered windows, the building groaning under the weight of its own neglect. She had followed a trail of whispers, receipts, and suppressed panic from Caleb’s villa to this forgotten place—a place no one was supposed to remember, let alone enter. Her footsteps echoed in the empty corridors, each tap against the cracked tiles a reminder of the silence that had been imposed here for decades. She clutched a small flashlight, its beam quivering as though it were afraid too. And then she saw her. A girl, pale and small, curled on a narrow mattress in a damp corner, eyes wide but unfocused. Her hair was tangled, her wrists bruised and bony. A thin blanket covered her shoulders like a shroud. She didn’t move when Ivy approached. Didn’t even blink. “Scarlett?” Ivy whispered, voice trembling with disbelief. The girl’s head tilted slightly, confusion clouding her gaze. “Who… who are you?” Ivy felt a strange surge of something she hadn’t expected: protectiveness, anger, and heartbreak all rolled into one hot knot in her chest. “I’m… I’m someone who wants to get you out,” she said, stepping closer. Her voice shook, but it carried authority. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Scarlett’s eyes flickered with a brief spark of recognition, though it quickly faded. “They… they said… I’m bad,” she murmured, voice weak, nearly swallowed by the damp air. “I… I don’t… I can’t…” Ivy sank to her knees beside her. “Listen to me. You’re not bad. None of this is your fault. They lied to you. They made you believe you were a mistake.” Scarlett’s lips trembled, and for the first time, a tear traced down her cheek. Ivy reached out, brushing it away with her fingers. The girl flinched, but not away. She was fragile, like a porcelain doll that had been dropped too many times. “They kept you here… why?” Ivy whispered, more to herself than to the girl. “Because you weren’t… perfect for the cameras?” Scarlett nodded slowly. “They… said I… didn’t shine… for Mother. I wasn’t… good enough. I wasn’t… like Ivy.” Her words were staccato, broken, almost incoherent. The comparison stung, but Ivy didn’t correct her. She understood. “They medicated you,” Ivy said, realizing the faint smell of pills, the way Scarlett’s movements were sluggish, her eyes dull. “To keep you compliant. To make you quiet. To make sure no one noticed.” Scarlett’s hands flexed weakly against the mattress. “I… I tried… to scream… but they… they said no one would listen.” Ivy’s chest tightened. Every word carved into her like a knife. She thought back to Caleb, to Victoria, to the calculated smiles that had always felt rehearsed and sinister. This… this was the ultimate truth. While Ivy had been groomed, positioned, weaponized for the camera, Scarlett had been discarded. Left to rot. Hidden. Controlled. Alive, yes—but as a ghost. “You’re my sister,” Ivy said finally. “Your real sister. And I’m going to get you out of here. Do you understand?” Scarlett’s lips parted as if to respond, then closed. She didn’t fully grasp the promise, the gravity, or perhaps the audacity of it. But she nodded slightly, a hesitant gesture, small and trembling, as if even that small motion required permission. Ivy’s heart pounded harder. She scanned the room—the cracked tiles, the empty wheelchairs, the faint traces of forgotten meals, the graffiti scratched into walls that once held hopes of recovery. This was where Victoria’s judgment had been absolute, where Caleb’s silent approval had sanctioned life only if it fit the brand, the image, the perfection. Ivy clenched her fists. “Do you know what they told me? That some children are worth saving, and some… are only worth keeping alive enough to make someone else look good. You… you were the latter. But that ends now.” Scarlett looked up at her, confusion and fear warring in her eyes. “You… you’re real?” Ivy gave a small, bitter laugh. “I’m as real as it gets. And yes. I’m here, and I’m not leaving without you.” The girl’s lips quivered. A laugh or a cry didn’t come, only a shallow, shaky inhale. Ivy gently took her hand. Scarlett’s fingers were ice, trembling as if she were being held for the first time in her life. Ivy led her down the corridor. Each step felt like breaking through invisible chains. The walls seemed to close in with every footfall, the weight of years of secrecy pressing down. She remembered Caleb’s words, Victoria’s cold pragmatism, the way the family had decided who deserved to be visible and who deserved to be hidden, medicated, erased. “This… this is insane,” Ivy muttered under her breath. “No one should have this power over another human life. Not a mother, not a family, not anyone.” Scarlett stumbled slightly, and Ivy caught her, holding her close for a moment longer than necessary. “You’re safe,” she whispered. “I’ll make sure of it. I swear.” The sound of waves crashed in the distance, the Pacific roaring like it had just realized it was witnessing a crime. And in that sound, Ivy felt a bitter triumph. They had tried to bury Scarlett, to erase her existence, to make her into nothing more than a cautionary tale. But here she was—alive, fragile, terrified, and yet alive. Ivy tightened her grip on Scarlett’s hand. “You’re going to see the sun again. You’re going to breathe real air. You’re going to remember what it feels like to be free. And I’ll be with you every step.” For the first time in months, maybe years, Scarlett’s lips trembled into the barest semblance of a smile. It was weak, uncertain, but it was proof. Ivy let the girl cling to her, and together, they walked toward the exit, toward the light, toward the world that had never seen Scarlett before—but would soon understand that she had survived, against all odds, and that survival was the first act of rebellion. The abandoned sanatorium faded behind them, a tombstone for a family that had believed it could play god. And Ivy Monroe, furious, exhausted, and burning with righteous fire, vowed she would never let anyone else decide whose life was worth anything. Scarlett’s small hand in hers was the only proof she needed that she could fight, that she could dismantle the empire from within—and that this time, the game was hers to control.