Chapter 2

Five years ago, when Bella first came to the Sterling household, she gave me a small, inexpensive keychain. A little Statue of Liberty.

As a return gift, a welcoming gesture, I gave her a Tiffany bracelet worth ten thousand dollars.

Later that day, I was about to open a box of macarons when Ethan snatched it away.

He glared at me, his voice sharp. "That was a gift from Bella's mother, her only memento! You'd stoop to stealing that?"

I stared at Bella, completely baffled, waiting for her to explain that she'd given it to me freely.

Instead, Bella burst into tears, dropping to her knees. "No, no, Miss Avelia didn't steal it! I gave it to her! Miss Avelia is very good to me, she even gave me this beautiful bracelet! I'm not upset, really!"

She then started banging her head on the marble floor, a Klieg light of melodrama. The sight made the three men's eyes redden, reminding them, I suppose, of their own "dependent" status.

They rounded on me.

"Even if you're Avelia Sterling, you have no right to force someone to give you their mother's cherished keepsake!" Noah had yelled.

"That keychain might not be worth much money, but its sentimental value is far greater than some ten-thousand-dollar bracelet! Give it back to Bella, now!" Lucas had added, his usual composure gone.

Ethan's voice was cold. "Always so entitled. You only care about your own amusement, never mind anyone else's feelings."

My face burned. I thought there must be a misunderstanding, something we could clear up later.

Swallowing my anger, I held the keychain out to Bella. As she reached for it, her hand "slipped."

The little Statue of Liberty clattered to the floor, its arm breaking off. She bit her lip, then screamed at me, "If you'd rather destroy it than return it to me, Miss Sterling, why pretend?"

Ethan, always the champion of the "underdog," had turned icy. "Apologize to Bella. Right now. Or don't blame me for calling off any understanding between us."

I had, in a moment of youthful foolishness, confessed to Ethan that I liked him, that I hoped he'd be the one.

He used that confession as leverage, forcing me to bow my head to Bella.

I was young then, too scared to risk losing him by defending myself.

So, I apologized, my eyes stinging with unshed tears.

And that apology set a precedent. For five long years.

Ever since then, whenever Bella saw me, she'd react as if seeing a predator – either dropping to her knees or bursting into tears.

Even though I had done nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I hardened my expression, looking directly at Ethan. "If you're so worried about me 'bullying' Bella, then perhaps you should keep her leashed to your side at all times."

It was a sarcastic remark, dripping with bitterness.

Ethan frowned. "Are you threatening me? What are you planning to do to Bella?"

Lucas clapped his hands together. "Oh, I get it! Is it because we gave Bella early access to the Starbright Arts Center? You're going to use that as an excuse to pick on her, aren't you?"

The Starbright Arts Center. A state-of-the-art facility Sterling Media had funded, intended as a surprise birthday gift for me. My birthday was next week. Ethan had been tasked with overseeing its completion and presenting it.

Noah's eyes narrowed. "You have everything, Avelia. Bella has so little. That center, it was just sitting there. Ethan thought it would be a nice gesture to let her have a small preview showing for her paintings. What's the harm?"

My Starbright Arts Center. My dream. The place I'd sketched designs for since I was a teenager, a place meant to foster young, undiscovered artists from backgrounds like Ethan's, Noah's, and Lucas's once were.

Ethan had taken Bella there. For her.

"The harm," I said, my voice dangerously quiet, "is that the Starbright Arts Center was meant for me. It was my project. My father funded it for my upcoming birthday."

Ethan actually scoffed. "Don't be so possessive, Avelia. It's a building. Bella has genuine artistic talent. Giving her a platform, even a small one, is a good use of the space. You wouldn't understand."

"She's been working so hard on her paintings," Bella sniffled from behind Ethan, dabbing at her eyes. "Ethan just wanted to encourage me. He said... he said it was a space that should celebrate real art."

The implication was clear. My involvement was merely ownership; hers was passion.

The three of them looked at me, their expressions ranging from pity to contempt. As if I were a spoiled child, crying over a toy given to a more deserving playmate.

My heart, already bruised, felt a fresh stab of pain. Not like a needle, no. More like a heavy, cold stone settling in my chest.