Chapter 2

Catrina POV

Dozier Corbett stepped out of his sleek black sedan, his face a mask of anger. He strode towards us, his eyes, so like his father' s, burning with a familiar disdain.

"You're still here, Catrina?" he sneered, his gaze sweeping over my backpack with open contempt. "Still trying to extort more from them? Honestly, your greed knows no bounds. Angelique never asked for anything. She's grateful for every little thing they do."

I let out a short, incredulous laugh. It wasn't amusement; it was the sound of something breaking inside me, something I hadn't realized was still intact. "When have you ever acknowledged me as family, Dozier?" I shot back, my voice sharp. "When have any of you? Did you ever introduce me as your sister at those fancy Ivy League parties you attended? Or was I always the 'intern' or the 'charity case' you graciously allowed into your home?"

My gaze locked with his. "And as for greed, Dozier, Angelique has never lifted a finger for anything in her life. She gets everything handed to her on a silver platter. I earned every penny, every scholarship, every shred of dignity I possess. You, on the other hand, stole my robotics design and gave it to her for her college application, didn't you?"

Dozier's face went pale. He averted his eyes, the casual arrogance replaced by a flicker of something that might have been shame. I remembered the first time I met him, three years ago. He had been so charming, so seemingly kind. He' d helped me with my homework, shared his lunch, even told me I could call him "big brother." The words had felt like a balm on my wounded soul. For a brief, intoxicating period, I thought I had found an ally. A protector.

That illusion shattered the day Angelique cried, accusing me of ruining her expensive dress. She swore I had purposefully spilled paint on it, knowing I was a meticulous artist. He saw the genuine distress in my eyes, the paint smudges on my own clothes from my latest project, but he didn' t see the tears that streamed down my face. He only saw Angelique' s. Her tears were always more potent, more real to them. He'd yelled at me, shoved me against the wall, called me a manipulative liar. Then he' d stormed into my room, ransacked my belongings, and threw my art supplies out the window, convinced I was hiding some evidence of my "crime."

"It was a misunderstanding," Dozier mumbled, his gaze fixed on the ground.

I laughed again, a harsh, brittle sound that grated in the quiet evening. "Misunderstanding? Was it a misunderstanding when you accused me of plagiarizing my own physics project? Was it a misunderstanding when you told the entire school I was a gold-digger, trying to steal Angelique's inheritance? Was it a misunderstanding when you stood by, arms crossed, watching as Angelique poured bleach on my foster mother's clothes, then blamed it on 'my temper'?"

No, it wasn't a misunderstanding. It was calculated. All of it. Angelique knew I was a threat, not to her inheritance, but to her place in their hearts, a place that was rightfully mine. She saw my intelligence, my resilience, as a challenge to her carefully cultivated fragility.

"You watched," I continued, my voice gaining strength, "as they confiscated my books, as they threw away my childhood photos, as they made me sleep in the unheated pantry because I 'deserved to be punished.' You watched as I went hungry, as my clothes became threadbare, as my knees bled from scrubbing their floors. You were my 'big brother,' Dozier. You were the one who promised to protect me. But you never said a word. Not one." I shook my head, a bitter taste in my mouth. "You forfeited that title a long time ago. You are no brother of mine."

My words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. Cordell and Dona stood frozen, their faces a mixture of shock and something else – embarrassment, perhaps, that their dirty laundry was being aired so publicly. But it wasn't pity I saw in their eyes, not for me anyway. It was the dawning realization of a potential PR nightmare.

"Catrina, get back inside!" Dona shrieked, her voice shrill with anger, her perfectly coiffed hair trembling. "This is not the place for family squabbles!"

I turned to her, my expression cold. "We are not family, Dona. Not anymore. And there will be no more squabbles." I took a step back, my gaze sweeping over the whole sordid group. "I came to retrieve what little is mine and to say my final goodbyes. The only thing I feel now is pity. Pity for the pathetic, desperate creature you are, Angelique."

Angelique' s face, usually so composed, crumpled. Her eyes, wide and terrified, met mine. She looked genuinely afraid, perhaps for the first time in her life. Good. She should be.

"I hereby sever all ties, legal and emotional, with the Corbett family," I declared, my voice clear and strong. "I am not your daughter, Cordell and Dona. I am not your sister, Dozier and Angelique. I want nothing from you, and I will take nothing from you. And I will never, ever acknowledge your existence again."

Without waiting for a response, I spun on my heel, picked up the old, faded backpack I had left on the flagstones, and slung it over my shoulder. It felt lighter than it ever had before, as if shedding the weight of their names had lifted a thousand pounds from my soul. I didn't look back. I walked away from the perfectly manicured lawns, the opulent mansion, the suffocating prison that called itself a home.

The night air was cool against my skin, cleansing. It washed away the cloying scent of their hypocrisy, the bitter stench of their lies. For the first time in my life, I felt truly free.

But as the adrenaline faded, a different kind of sensation crept in, an icy loneliness that settled deep in my bones. I was free, yes, but I was also utterly alone. The Corbetts were gone, a toxic limb amputated. But there was another wound, a deeper one, festering beneath the surface. Asher. My childhood friend, my confidant, my supposed knight in shining armor. He was the one who had promised me salvation, only to betray me in the cruelest way imaginable. Hadn't I saved him, once?