Chapter 2

After I hit send, my hand dropped onto the blood-soaked floor.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a storage closet.

No one had touched my wound. Blood was still seeping out, warm and steady, crusting over my left eye.

I tried to stand, to find a Healer, but the door was locked from the outside.

I pounded on the wood. Screamed until my throat was raw.

I don't know how long it took. An Omega servant finally heard me and couldn't bear to walk away. She unlocked the door.

That was how I learned what happened.

My parents had come home that afternoon and found me collapsed in a pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs.

My mother didn't even look up. She told the servants to deal with it.

"After what she did to Vivienne. She's no daughter of ours. Put her somewhere out of the way — just don't let her die in the living room where people can see."

I pressed a hand to the gash on my forehead and pulled myself to my feet.

I checked my phone. A new message glowed on the screen.

"On the way. Three days."

The tension drained out of me.

Three days. I just had to survive three more days.

I gritted my teeth against the tearing pain and stumbled out of the storage closet.

I limped down the hallway to the medical room and pushed open the door.

Vivienne was propped comfortably on the bed, her arm wrapped in absurdly thick bandages.

Damien sat at her bedside, holding her hand, murmuring something low and gentle.

My father stood by the window, murmuring instructions to the Healer.

My mother sat on the other side of the bed, lovingly brushing Vivienne's hair.

I knew the truth. Vivienne's arm was barely scratched — a scrape from the stairs. It was probably almost healed already.

I stood in the doorway, watching this little scene of domestic warmth.

Four people. Filling the entire room.

Not one of them turned to look at me. As if I didn't exist.

I slowly released the door handle.

I turned and limped back to the storage closet to scrounge for some expired herbs.

I crouched on the cold floor and treated my own wounds as best I could.

I was biting through a strip of bandage when the door swung open.

Vivienne walked in.

She leaned against the doorframe and watched me for a moment, completely at ease.

"Damien was holding my hand just now. He's building me a garden at the Blackwood estate. My own private one. After the ceremony."

Her tone was light and cheerful, dripping with satisfaction.

She paused deliberately, her eyes mocking.

"You spent all that time in that cabin taking care of him like a servant. What did he ever give you?"

I didn't look up. I kept wrapping the bandage around my wrist.

Vivienne seemed annoyed by my lack of reaction.

She stepped closer and crouched right in front of my face.

"I'm warning you — back off. Stop doing all these pathetic, pointless things. Save your energy. No one is ever going to take your side —"

She stopped mid-sentence. A vicious smile spread across her face.

She reached down and ripped the scab clean off her own arm — the wound that had already healed.

Before I could react, she threw herself at me, smearing her fresh blood all over my hands.

Then she scrambled back, screaming.

"Get off me! Somebody help! She's lost her mind!"

I froze, staring at my blood-covered fingers.

I didn't have time to say a single word.

My parents and Damien burst into the storage closet almost simultaneously.

Vivienne was pressed into the corner, sobbing hysterically.

Blood was still dripping steadily from her arm.

She choked out her accusation between sobs. "I just came to check if she was okay..."

"She just — she grabbed me and — my arm — she tore it open —"

My mother let out a scream and rushed to hold Vivienne.

The sight of all that blood made her shake so hard she nearly fainted.

My father lunged forward and grabbed me by the collar.

He hauled me off the floor with brute force.

"Are you trying to kill your sister? Is that what this is?"

"You think if she's gone, you can worm your way in with Damien?"

"You swore an oath. Or have you already forgotten?"

He was gripping me so hard my feet barely touched the ground. I could hardly breathe.

I looked at my father's face, contorted with rage.

I looked at my mother, clutching Vivienne, wailing over her precious baby.

I was done.

I grabbed my father's wrist with both hands.

I looked him dead in the eye. Every word came out through clenched teeth.

"Damien was mine."

"You locked me in a silver cage for three days."

"You helped her steal my identity."

"Tell me — if he ever finds out the truth, do you really think he'll let you walk away?"

Silence crashed through the room.

And then, from the doorway, Damien's voice — cold as a blade.

"What truth?"

The color drained from all three of their faces at once.