Left to Rot, Held by Her Again

Mom had promised me that dress when she was still alive.

I’d begged Dad for it a hundred times. He always told me it was bad luck—said it didn’t suit me. And now he’d given it away so easily to Rose.

I felt heat crawl up my neck. I forced a laugh, trying to sound casual. “It’s only Mom’s dress. I have plenty. You think that’ll make me angry?” I said too loudly.

I’d been living with Rose for nearly five years. By now I knew how she worked—how every little jab, every carefully timed insult, was meant to get me furious. She wanted me to blow up so everyone would see her as the calm, sensible one and hate me even more.

Her smile turned ugly. She leaned close to my ear. “I hate your high-and-mighty attitude. I’m the one Dad loves,” she whispered. “Why are you the heir and not me? You think being here makes you special? You’re not even a blood daughter.”

“You’re not even his real kid. What are you so bitter about?” I shot back. “You act like you’re some heiress because you got loving treatment for a few years.”

She sneered. “You’re adopted. No matter how you dress it up, it’s the truth.”

I clenched my jaw. “I’m his only real child—Mom and Dad’s only. Heir is obviously me.”

Her mouth twitched, and then she laughed in a way that made my skin crawl. “Ava, do you really think you’ll be the last one standing? Look at how he treats you. Has he ever trained you to inherit? Has he ever cuddled or petted you? Remember the times he beat you? Remember how he called you—”

She hit the exact place that hurt. My face went white. She had a point—one that pulled at the weak spot I’d been trying to ignore: Ethan had never once acted like he was grooming me to take over. He’d never treated me as an heir. I’d been pretending to myself.

Then she grabbed my collar. “Fine—maybe I can’t beat you on paper. But Dad’s love is mine. Don’t get cocky. When push comes to shove, I’m in charge. I’ll say one word and you’ll be finished.”

I snapped. “Get out of my room.”

She tightened her grip. I shoved her hard to break free. Instead, she stumbled, hit the corner of the desk, and blood welled at her forehead.

She screamed for Dad. In a second the world spun. Someone shoved me from behind so hard I hit my knees. When I looked up, Ethan was carrying Rose, eyes rimmed with red fire.

“You ruined your sister’s birthday,” he roared. “She’s worried about you—she’s always thinking of you. And look at what you’ve done!”

“Ava Harrington! You killed your mother once, and now you nearly killed your sister!” he spat, without asking a single question.

He condemned me right there, in front of everyone. Did I mean that little to him—so disposable? I’d been disappointed in him so many times, but this verdict froze me. My body became ice-cold.