Chapter 4

The following days were a strange kind of limbo.

I moved into a small studio apartment in Greenwich Village, a place Chloe found for me. It was tiny, a little rundown, but it was mine.

My hand throbbed constantly, a dull ache that was a permanent reminder.

I deleted Ethan's number. His email. Blocked him on every social media platform.

It felt like erasing a part of myself, but a necessary amputation.

One rainy afternoon, there was a knock on my door.

It was Ethan.

He looked... out of place in my cramped hallway, his expensive suit damp, his hair disheveled.

"Amelia," he said, his voice hesitant. "Can I come in?"

I didn't move. "Why are you here, Ethan?"

"I... I wanted to see how you were. Your hand."

He carried a small, ridiculously expensive-looking bouquet of lilies. My favorite. Or, they used to be.

"It's fine," I said. A lie. It was agony.

"Look, about the piano... Veronica told me what really happened. She... she feels terrible. She said she was adjusting the music stand and it slipped. She never meant for the lid to fall."

His eyes pleaded with me. "She's very fragile right in, Amelia. This whole ordeal..."

Fragile Veronica. Of course.

"She sent these," he said, holding out the lilies. "As an apology."

I looked at the flowers, then at his face. The earnestness there. The complete, blind devotion to my sister.

"Tell Veronica I accept her apology," I said.

His face relaxed into a relieved smile. "Thank you, Amelia. That means a lot to her. To me."

He made a move to step inside.

"But you can't come in, Ethan."

His smile faltered. "What?"

"We're done," I said, my voice flat. "There's nothing left to say."

"Amelia, please..."

I started to close the door.

"Wait!" he said, his hand shooting out to stop it. "I... I miss you."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unbelievable.

I almost laughed. "You miss me? Or you miss the convenience of me?"

His face flushed. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" I pushed the door a little further. "Goodbye, Ethan."

I closed it firmly, engaging the deadbolt.

I leaned against the door, my heart hammering.

Miss me? After everything?

The lilies lay on the doormat outside. I left them there to wilt.

A week later, Mom called, her voice tight with distress.

"Amy, you need to come home. It's... it's your father."

I found chaos.

Dad was in his study, his face pale, his hands shaking.

Veronica was there, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, though I suspected her tears were more for show.

"He... he hit me," Veronica choked out, pointing a trembling finger at Dad.

My father? Hit Veronica? Unthinkable. He worshipped the ground she walked on.

"What happened?" I asked, looking at Mom, who stood wringing her hands.

"It was about the company," Mom whispered. "Veronica wanted to make some... aggressive investments. Your father disagreed. They argued."

"He called me a spoiled brat!" Veronica wailed. "He said I was going to ruin everything he'd worked for! And then... then he raised his hand to me!"

She dramatically showed a faint red mark on her cheek. It looked more like a self-inflicted scratch.

"Richard, how could you?" Mom said, her voice barely audible.

Dad looked bewildered. "I... I didn't hit her. I just... I waved my hand in frustration. I would never hurt Veronica."

"You're a liar!" Veronica shrieked. "You've always resented my success!"

Suddenly, Ethan was there. He must have been called by Veronica.

He went straight to her, his arm protectively around her shoulders.

"Mr. Walker," Ethan said, his voice like ice. "I am appalled. To strike your own daughter..."

"I didn't strike her!" Dad protested, his voice rising in panic.

"Perhaps it's time Veronica had a more... stable environment," Ethan continued, his gaze sweeping contemptuously around the room. "She'll come and stay with me."

Veronica looked up at him, her eyes wide and adoring. "Oh, Ethan, would you really?"

He nodded, his expression softening as he looked at her.

Dad just sagged, defeated.

I watched the scene unfold, a cold knot in my stomach.

Another perfectly orchestrated performance by Veronica.

And Ethan, her ever-willing audience and savior.

As they were leaving, Veronica paused at the door, her eyes meeting mine.

A tiny, triumphant smile touched her lips before she masked it with a look of sorrow.

I knew then. This was far from over.