Chapter 6

I sat on the edge of the hospital bed, a hollowed-out shell.

I watched them fuss over Keira, wiping her fake tears, whispering reassurances.

I was used to this scene. I had been watching it play out for months.

When they finally left, I checked myself out of the hospital, ignoring the doctor's protests. I took a cab back to the mansion.

The first thing I saw when I walked into my room was the large, framed family photo on my dresser.

Me, at the center, smiling brightly. My three handsome brothers surrounding me, their arms slung protectively around my shoulders.

A perfect, happy family. A perfect, horrible lie.

I picked it up and threw it against the wall. The glass shattered, splintering the image into a thousand broken pieces.

My room was a museum of their lies.

The shelves were lined with gifts. A limited-edition telescope from Brett. A first-edition book of poetry from Andrew. A diamond tennis bracelet from Jackson.

Every gift was a testament to a love I once thought was real.

"Maria," I called out. The head housekeeper appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide with alarm at the shattered frame.

"Pack all of this up," I said, sweeping my arm to indicate the entire room. "Everything."

Maria looked stunned. "But, Ms. Brooklyn... you always cherished these things. You told me they were your most prized possessions."

I remembered that. I remembered firing a maid once for accidentally chipping a porcelain doll Jackson had given me. I had been that girl.

"I'm sure," I said, my voice flat. "Take whatever you and the other staff want. Throw the rest away."

The maids couldn't believe their luck. They scurried around, thanking me profusely as they filled boxes with designer clothes, expensive jewelry, and priceless collectibles.

Brett found me an hour later, standing in the middle of my now-barren room. He saw the piles of boxes in the hallway.

"Still angry, Brook?" he asked, his tone condescendingly gentle. "Look, I know Jackson was harsh."

The pain in my side was a constant, throbbing reminder of their 'harshness'.

"I wouldn't dare be angry," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

His jaw tightened. "I came to make it up to you. I got you something."

He held up a shopping bag from a famous designer. "It's the new season's limited-edition handbag. The one you wanted."

I stared at the bag. I remembered seeing it on Keira's arm just last week. Jackson had bought it for her.

"Is this a hand-me-down, Brett?" I asked, my voice dangerously sweet. "Did you take it from Keira after she was done with it and decide it was good enough for me?"

His eyes widened in shock. He quickly tried to cover.

"No! Of course not! Keira... she wanted you to have it. She felt bad about what happened."

"Right," I said. "You can leave now."

He left, looking flustered and annoyed.

I leaned against the empty wall, my hand pressed to my side. I was so tired. So tired of their games.

I remembered how they used to be. If I so much as misplaced a gift from them, they would turn the house upside down to find it, their faces etched with worry.

Now, they offered me another woman's cast-offs as an apology for mutilating me.

Just as I was about to close my eyes, Andrew burst into the room. His face was a thundercloud.

"Where is it?" he demanded, his voice sharp.

"Where is what?" I asked wearily.

"Don't play dumb with me, Brooklyn! Who else would have taken it?" he snarled, his eyes scanning the empty room as if he could find what he was looking for.

He looked at me with such hatred, as if he wanted to tear me apart.

"My badge," he said, his voice tight with fury. "The one Keira gave me. Give it back. Now."

My mind flashed back. The badge. It was a cheap, silver-plated thing Keira had won at her first college debate tournament.

But to Andrew, it was a holy relic. He kept it in a velvet-lined box on his desk, a symbol of his pure, noble love for her.

I clenched my fists.

"I didn't take your stupid badge, Andrew."

"What use would it be to me?"