Chapter 2

Dinner was a quiet, tense affair. The housekeeper, following my family's pre-sabbatical instructions, had prepared a simple meal of roasted chicken and vegetables. It was healthy, functional food, the kind I ate every day while they were gone.

My father stared down at his plate as if it contained an insult.

"Is this what you've been eating for a year, Ava?" he asked, his voice dripping with disdain. "We run a billion-dollar empire, and our daughter is living on peasant food."

"It's efficient," I said, not looking up from my own plate.

Maya, of course, saw her opening. She picked at a piece of chicken with her fork, her expression one of polite struggle.

"Oh, it's... it's lovely," she said softly. "It's much more than I'm used to. I'm just so grateful to be here."

Then came the broadcast, aimed directly at my parents and brother.

Poor me. I'm so humble and grateful, while their real daughter can't even be bothered to arrange a proper welcome-home meal. She doesn't care about them at all. She's selfish.

My mother put her fork down with a sharp click. "That's the problem, Ava. Efficiency. Is that all you think about? Your family comes home after a year away, and you can't even be bothered to show you care. Maya has been through so much, and this is the welcome she gets."

"I'm not the household staff," I replied calmly. "My job is to monitor the company's network security, which I've been doing flawlessly for the past twelve months. You wanted a welcome banquet, you should have called a caterer."

"You insolent girl!" my father roared, slamming his fist on the table. The plates jumped. "Maya is your sister now. You will show her respect. You will show us respect. Apologize to your mother. And apologize to Maya for your cold, selfish behavior."

I looked at him. In my first life, this was the moment I started to cry. This was when I begged them to understand, which only made them see me as weak and hysterical.

Not this time.

"No," I said.

The word hung in the air, heavy and absolute.

My father's face turned a dangerous shade of red. "What did you say?"

"I said no. I have nothing to apologize for."

"Get on your knees and apologize," he commanded, his voice low and threatening.

I met his gaze without flinching. "I will not."

That was when Ethan moved. He was always my father's enforcer. He shot up from his chair, rounded the table, and grabbed my arm, twisting it behind my back.

"Dad told you to kneel," he snarled in my ear.

He forced me out of my chair, trying to shove me to the floor. I resisted, planting my feet. The pain in my arm was sharp, but the memory of a thousand worse pains from my first life burned hotter. He was strong, an athlete, and he put his full weight into it. With a sickening crack, he forced me downward. My knee slammed into the hard marble floor.

The impact sent a jolt of agony up my leg, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I coughed, a dry, racking sound, and a small trickle of blood dripped from my lips onto the pristine white floor.

For a second, there was silence. The sight of the blood shocked them. My mother let out a small gasp. My father's face went pale. Even Ethan loosened his grip, a flicker of horror in his eyes.

"See?" I whispered, my voice hoarse. I looked up, not at them, but at the spot of blood. "This is what you do. This is who you are."

I pushed myself up, ignoring the throbbing pain in my knee.

"You want to talk about cold and selfish?" I said, my voice gaining strength. "Remember when I was ten and I got pneumonia? You were both in Zurich closing a deal. You left me with a nanny who didn't speak English. I ran a fever of 104 for three days. When you finally came home, you didn't even ask how I was. You were angry that I'd 'caused a fuss' and distracted you from your work."

My mother flinched as if I'd slapped her. "Ava, that's not... we didn't know it was that serious."

"You didn't know because you didn't ask," I shot back. "You never ask. You just assume I'm fine, an efficient machine running in the background. But now you have her." I flicked my eyes toward Maya. "A new toy who knows how to perform all the emotions you want to see."

A wave of genuine remorse washed over my family. I could feel it. Their guilt was a palpable thing in the room. This was a new feeling for them, and for me.

But Maya was a master of her craft. She didn't let the moment last.

They're feeling guilty. I can't let that happen. I have to remind them why she's the problem.

A new projection, subtle and warm, like a comforting blanket, enveloped my parents and brother. It was a feeling of justification, of rightness.

She's just trying to manipulate you. She's bringing up the past to make you feel bad. A good daughter wouldn't do that. A good daughter would forgive. She's cruel. She's trying to tear this family apart, right when we've finally found some happiness with Maya.

The shift was instantaneous. The guilt vanished from their faces, replaced by renewed anger and indignation.

My father's jaw hardened. "You are dredging up the past to hurt us. To hurt Maya. You've always been manipulative."

I almost laughed. The irony was suffocating.

I didn't bother to argue anymore. It was pointless. They were puppets, and she held all the strings.

I turned and walked out of the dining room, my knee screaming in protest with every step. I didn't limp. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

"We are not done, Ava!" my father shouted after me. "Tomorrow is the annual Sterling Foundation Gala! You will attend, and you will be on your best behavior. You will not embarrass this family. Is that understood?"

I didn't answer. I just kept walking, leaving my drop of blood on their perfect marble floor like a promise.