Chapter 2

A week later, Olivia was holding court from a chaise lounge in the sunroom, a cashmere blanket draped over her legs. She looked pale and beautiful, like a tragic heroine from a Victorian novel. She spoke in hushed, weak tones about the battery of tests she was undergoing.

"The specialists say it's my heart," she sighed, dabbing at her dry eyes with a silk handkerchief. "A rare condition. They say the treatment is experimental... and very, very expensive."

She glanced at our grandmother, her eyes wide and innocent. My grandmother, who could spot a forged Monet from a hundred paces, was completely fooled by Olivia's third-rate acting. She clutched Olivia's hand, her expression a mixture of fear and devotion.

"We will spare no expense, my darling," she vowed. "Whatever it takes."

Daniel was a constant presence by Olivia's side. He brought her flowers, read her poetry, and fed her soup, all while casting sympathetic, yet patronizing, glances in my direction. He finally pulled me aside one afternoon, his voice dripping with false reason.

"Emily, this changes things," he said, gesturing towards the sunroom where Olivia was dramatically sniffing a rose he'd brought her. "Eleanor is, understandably, redirecting her resources to Olivia's care. Your academy fund... it's needed for something more important now."

He paused, as if expecting me to agree. I just stared at him.

"I've been thinking," he continued, leaning in conspiratorially. "There's a way this can still work for everyone. A perfect solution. We'll postpone our engagement, of course. For now, all our energy must go to Olivia. And you, Emily... you could be her assistant."

I recoiled as if he'd slapped me. "Her assistant?"

"It makes perfect sense," he said, his smile never faltering. "You'll be by her side, helping her, supporting the family. It will show your grandmother your character, your humility. It's a noble sacrifice. And once Olivia is well, we can revisit our own plans."

The insult was so profound, so dismissive of my entire being, that I was speechless. He wasn't just postponing my dream; he was trying to twist it into a tool for my own subjugation, turning me into a servant for the very person sabotaging me.

The final nail in the coffin came from my grandmother that evening. She called me into her study, the room where she made all her most important financial decisions. The checkbook was already on the desk.

"Daniel is a good man, Emily," she said, not looking at me. "He has a kind heart. He suggested you become Olivia's companion during this difficult time. I think it's a wonderful idea."

"You want me to give up the academy to be Olivia's nursemaid?" The words came out sharper than I intended.

"I want you to support your family!" she snapped, her head whipping up. "Is your painting more important than your cousin's life? The funds for Blackwood are going to Olivia's treatment. There is no more discussion."

The finality in her voice was absolute. My future had been liquidated to pay for a phantom illness. I felt a cold, clear anger rise within me, pushing past the despair.

"If it were me who was sick, Grandmother," I asked, my voice steady, "and Olivia had a chance to go to a prestigious academy, would you ask her to give it up for me? Would you tell her to become my assistant?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy and damning. I was challenging the unspoken rule of the house: that I was the dependable one, the one who could be sacrificed, while Olivia was the delicate one who must be protected at all costs.

My grandmother's face flushed a deep, blotchy red. She was cornered by her own hypocrisy, and she hated me for it.

"How dare you!" she sputtered, rising from her chair. "You are selfish and ungrateful! After everything this family has given you, you only think of yourself! Olivia is suffering, and all you can do is ask these wicked, manipulative questions!"

Her anger was a shield, hiding the fact that she had no answer. She knew, and I knew, that she would never ask the same sacrifice of Olivia. In that moment, her bias was laid bare, a raw and ugly thing that had shaped my entire life. The conflict I had always felt simmering beneath the surface had finally erupted, and the lines were drawn.