The Favored Fake Daughter Fears My Return

"Wipe your shoes again."

Julian Veyra stood at the top of the marble steps, his arms crossed over his tailored suit.

I stared down at the pristine floor. My scuffed, mud-caked sneakers left faint brown smudges on the white stone.

"They are as clean as they get," I told him.

"Julian, she is tracking filth onto the Persian rug," Eleanor Veyra whispered loudly from the doorway of the drawing room. She clutched a silk shawl around her shoulders, eyeing me like a stray dog that had wandered into a palace.

"Take them off," Julian ordered.

I kicked the sneakers off. My mismatched socks hit the cold marble.

"Happy?" I asked.

Eleanor pinched the bridge of her nose. "The attitude. It is exactly as the private investigator described. Feral."

"You try living in the Narrows for twenty years," I shot back. "See how polite you turn out."

"Mom? Dad? Is she here?"

A soft voice drifted from the grand staircase. Clara descended the steps, her velvet slippers making absolutely no sound. She wore a pristine white dress, her blonde hair resting perfectly over her shoulders. Eighteen years old. Eighteen years of luxury, tutors, and unblemished safety.

She was the child they adopted two years after I was taken. The replacement daughter who turned out to be everything I wasn't.

Clara paused a few steps from the bottom, her large doe eyes fixing on me. A perfect picture of innocence.

"You must be Elara," Clara said, offering a warm, flawless smile. "Welcome home."

I didn't smile back. "I don't have a home. I have a biological DNA match."

Eleanor gasped, rushing forward to wrap a protective arm around Clara. "Do not speak to your sister that way. She has been waiting all day to meet you."

"She is not my sister," I stated.

Clara’s lower lip trembled. She looked down at her hands. "I know I don't share your blood, Elara. I know I am just the girl they took in to heal their broken hearts. If you want me to leave, I will pack my things tonight."

"Don't be ridiculous, sweetheart," Eleanor soothed, stroking Clara’s hair. She shot me a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "You are a Veyra. You will always be a Veyra. No one is kicking you out."

Julian stepped down to join his wife and adopted daughter. They formed a tight, impenetrable wall of wealth and affection. I stood alone in my dirty socks, wearing a jacket I bought from a thrift store for three dollars.

"We brought you back because it was the right thing to do," Julian said, his voice dropping into a harsh register. "But you will not disrupt the peace of this household. Clara is the light of this family. You will treat her with respect."

I let out a short, harsh laugh.

Eleanor flinched. "What is so funny?"

"You guys," I said, pointing a callused finger at the three of them. "You act like I begged to come here. Your goons dragged me out of my shift at the diner, shoved me in a black car, and brought me to this museum. I don't want your money. I don't want your perfect little doll of a daughter. Just point me to the door."

I turned around, heading for the heavy oak entrance.

"Stop right there," Julian barked.

I kept walking.

"If you walk out that door, I will buy the diner you work at and bulldoze it by morning. I will ensure you never find employment in this city again."

I froze. My hands curled into fists at my sides.

"You wouldn't," I challenged, turning my head slightly.

"Try me," Julian replied. "You carry my blood. You will not drag the Veyra name through the gutters of the Narrows. You will stay here. You will be refined."

Clara stepped away from Eleanor and walked toward me. "Please, Elara. Give us a chance. Give me a chance. We can share the east wing. We can even go to school together."

"School?" I faced them fully now. "I dropped out two years ago to pay rent. I don't do high school."

"You do now," Julian said. "You will attend Crestview Academy starting tomorrow. You will be in Clara’s senior class. She will guide you. You will follow her lead, and you will not embarrass us."

"I don't need a babysitter," I snapped.

"You need a miracle," Eleanor muttered, turning her back on me. "Get her out of my sight. Have the maids scrub her down. She smells like grease and cheap soap."

Eleanor and Julian walked away, disappearing into the drawing room. The heavy double doors clicked shut, leaving me alone in the foyer.

Alone, except for Clara.

The sweet, tearful expression melted off Clara’s face the second her parents were out of earshot. Her posture straightened. The innocent doe eyes turned flat and cold.

"You are going to hate it here," Clara said, her voice dropping the sugary pitch.

"I already do," I replied.

"Good." Clara tilted her head, studying my cheap clothes. "They only brought you back out of guilt. But they love me. They will always take my side. Remember that."

"Keep your rich parents. I just want to survive until I figure a way out of here."

Clara smiled. It was a terrifying, hollow expression. "We are going to be such good friends."

She stepped closer to me.

I held my ground, refusing to back away from a spoiled teenager.

But as the distance between us closed to a mere two feet, a sudden, violent wave of nausea slammed into my stomach.

My chest seized.

Invisible iron bands wrapped around my ribs, crushing inward. Oxygen vanished from the room.

"What's wrong, sister?" Clara whispered.

She took another step.

My heart hammered against my sternum like a trapped animal. My vision blurred at the edges, static filling my ears. A cold sweat broke out across the back of my neck.

I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the thick Persian rug.

"Stay away from me," I choked out.

My throat refused to open. It felt like I was drowning on dry land. The biological panic was entirely involuntary. Every cell in my body screamed at me to run, warning me that the girl standing in front of me was a lethal threat.

Clara reached out and grabbed my wrist.

Her fingers were ice cold.

A sharp, physical pain shot up my arm, shooting straight into my chest. My knees buckled.

"You look pale," Clara murmured, leaning in close. Her grip tightened like a vice. "Are you feeling sick?"

I yanked my arm free and collapsed onto the marble floor, gasping desperately for air. The moment physical contact broke, my lungs expanded slightly, letting in a ragged stream of oxygen.

I stared up at her, my chest heaving.

Clara looked down at me, her perfect smile returning.

"See you at school tomorrow, Elara."