Chapter 2

The doorbell rang less than an hour later.

I was still on the floor, unable to move without a fresh wave of agony shooting up my leg. Mark hadn' t made a move to help me. He just stood there, staring at me as if I were a piece of furniture he' d just noticed was broken.

It was Mia who had opened the door.

"Grandma! Grandpa!" she cried, her voice thick with fake tears. "Olivia is being mean to Daddy! She said she wants a divorce and she' s trying to stop my real mommy from coming home!"

My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds, rushed into the foyer. They saw me on the floor, then looked at the tear-streaked face of their precious granddaughter, the child of their favored daughter, Sophia.

Their choice was instantaneous.

My mother marched over to me, her face a mask of cold fury. She didn't bend down to check on me. She didn' t ask what happened.

Instead, she slapped me.

The crack of her hand against my cheek echoed in the cavernous hall. My head snapped to the side, the sting sharp and humiliating.

"How dare you?" she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "After everything the Sterlings have done for this family, you want to throw it all away? You selfish, ungrateful girl!"

My father stood beside her, his arms crossed, his expression one of deep disappointment. "Olivia, you have a duty. You made a commitment ten years ago to save this family from the shame Sophia caused. You will not back out of it now."

I stared up at them, at the faces of the people who were supposed to love me unconditionally. I saw no love. I saw no concern. I only saw their terror at losing the wealth and status this marriage provided them. I was not their daughter; I was a business asset, a pawn to be sacrificed.

"She pushed me," I whispered, my voice hoarse. I looked at Mia, who was hiding behind my mother' s legs, peeking out with wide, innocent eyes.

My mother scoffed. "Don' t be ridiculous. A ten-year-old girl? Look at you, a grown woman, lying on the floor for attention. It' s pathetic."

They believed the lie. Of course, they did. They had always believed Sophia, always chosen her.

The pain in my heart was so immense it threatened to swallow me whole. I was utterly, completely alone.

With a surge of adrenaline fueled by pure rage, I used my arms to push myself up. A cry of pain escaped my lips as I put weight on my injured ankle, but I bit it back. I would not give them the satisfaction of seeing my weakness.

Leaning heavily against the wall, I hobbled past them, past their accusing stares and Mia' s triumphant smirk. I didn' t say another word. There was nothing left to say.

I drove myself to a small urgent care clinic a few towns over, where no one would recognize the Sterling name. The doctor confirmed it: a sprained ankle, two bruised ribs, and a mild concussion. He wrapped my ankle, gave me a prescription for painkillers, and told me to rest.

Rest was a luxury I couldn't afford.

From the clinic, I drove to the university. The campus looked the same, a painful reminder of the life I had given up. I met Dr. Lee in his office. He took one look at my bruised face and bandaged ankle and his kind eyes filled with concern.

"Olivia, what happened to you?"

"I fell," I lied, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. I couldn't bear to speak the humiliating truth. "I' m fine. I just need to sign the papers."

He didn't press. He simply slid the contract across the desk. I signed my name, my hand steady. With each letter, I felt a chain breaking. I was reclaiming my name, my future.

When I finally returned to the Sterling mansion, it was late. The lights were on in the living room. As I limped through the door, the sound of the television washed over me.

Mark and Mia were sitting on the couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn, laughing at some mindless sitcom. They glanced at me as I entered, their expressions flat and uninterested.

"There you are," Mark said, not taking his eyes off the screen. "I' m hungry. What' s for dinner?"

I stared at him, at the bandage on my ankle, at the visible bruise forming on my cheek. He didn' t see it. Or he didn' t care.

Mia chimed in, her voice dripping with malice. "Yeah, I want pasta. And I don' t want your gross healthy kind. I want the real kind with lots of cheese."

For ten years, I would have silently complied. I would have limped into the kitchen, pushed my pain aside, and made them their dinner.

But the Olivia who did that was gone. She had died at the bottom of that staircase.

"No," I said.

The word hung in the air, sharp and foreign.

Mark finally turned to look at me, a frown creasing his brow. "What did you say?"

"I said no," I repeated, my voice stronger now. "I am not your servant. I am not your cook. And I am not the villain you created for your daughter to hate."

Mark' s face darkened with anger. Mia' s jaw dropped in shock.

"You have no right to talk to my daddy like that!" she shrieked, jumping off the couch.

"I have every right," I said, looking directly at her. "I have spent ten years of my life raising you, loving you. And you repaid me by throwing me down a flight of stairs."

Mia' s face turned red. "You' re a liar! I never touched you! You' re just trying to make everyone hate me before my real mommy gets here!"

The sheer audacity of her denial, the venom in her voice, sent a fresh wave of cold fury through me.

Before I could respond, Mia let out a scream of pure rage and sprinted out of the room. I heard her feet pounding up the stairs, followed by a loud slam.

Then came the sound of something shattering.

Mark and I both looked toward the staircase. Another crash, louder this time. The sound of wood splintering.

A sickening realization dawned on me. She was in my room. My sanctuary. The one place in this house that was truly mine, filled with my books, my old research notes, the few mementos of the woman I used to be.

And she was destroying it.