Chapter 2

I coughed violently, feeling like my lungs were tearing apart inside my chest.

I had no medicine, no cancer treatment, or even painkillers. Just getting diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer had already drained every penny I had managed to save over the past 18 years.

I scooped up some dirt and covered the bloodstains on the floor. Otherwise, when my foster parents came home, they would lay hands on me again.

My lips were pale, and cold sweat soaked my body from the pain. All I could do was grit my teeth and push through it. Somewhere along the way, I fell asleep.

When I jerked awake again and saw the sun sinking toward the horizon, my body was jolted with fear. I stumbled into the kitchen in a hurry to start dinner.

If they came home without a hot meal waiting for them, I would be…

Before I could finish chopping the ingredients, the old wooden door creaked open with a groan. Then came the drunken voice of my foster father, Jack Lawson.

"Ella!" he growled. "Get your ass over here and serve me dinner!"

My breathing shook. Fear drained the color from my face, leaving it ghostly pale. My eyes were empty, numb from years of terror.

"I'm sorry, but… It's not done yet."

No sooner had those words left my mouth than a slap reeking of alcohol crashed across my face. "You useless piece of shit! You can't even cook up a meal!"

He looked at me with pure malice. My foster mother, Ingrid Cooper, stood aside, watching with a cold sneer.

I used to not understand why they treated me like I was less than human. Today, I finally realized the truth. I was never their child, to begin with.

I stumbled backward from the force of the hit. My already fragile body, weakened by late-stage lung cancer, couldn't take it. One slap alone sent me crashing to the ground, knocking over the cutting board and the ingredients on it.

Jack saw it and only grew more furious. He kicked me hard. "I didn't earn all that money for you to waste food like that!"

The more he spoke, the more worked up he was. He grabbed an empty liquor bottle, clearly intending to smash it down on me like he always did.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the pain to come. Before the bottle hit me, Ingrid held it in place, stopping Jack. "Enough. Mrs. Robinson said she's coming to pick her up tomorrow. Don't leave any new injuries. It'll be hard to explain."

She then turned to me with a warning. "Once you're there, remember your place! You were raised here as a maid, so don't even think about competing with Freya!"

I lay on the floor, a metallic taste rising in my throat, and I nodded. It was only then that they left in satisfaction.

…

The next morning, Audrey came as promised.

This time, she didn't give me a chance to refuse. She simply pulled me straight into the car. A faint scent of incense lingered inside. It was light, pleasant, and almost calming.

The seat beneath me was soft and comfortable. It was a gazillion times better than my wooden plank bed.

"Patrick, turn on the air circulation," Audrey instructed the chauffeur halfway through the drive. She suddenly covered her mouth and frowned, glancing at me almost absentmindedly.

My body stiffened with embarrassment. My face burned red as I panicked, not knowing what to do.

I could only try to shrink away as much as possible, keeping my distance so the sour, trash-like smell clinging to me wouldn't spread inside the car.

"Ella," Audrey called out, tilting her head toward me. "When you get home, you'll be next in line after Freya. Don't compete with her over anything, okay? Be the bigger person."

She sighed. "You can tell how pitiful she is, given her biological parents. So, don't fight her for anything."

I couldn't help but meet Audrey's gaze. "Pitiful?"

A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. My eyes even glistened with tears.

Freya had lived 18 years like a pampered princess. What exactly was there to feel pitiful about?

On the other hand, I had a scarred body, a limping right leg, a childhood spent being trampled underfoot and bullied for over a decade, and a life in constant fear of domestic abuse.

Did I not deserve pity, then?

I didn't argue with Audrey. Instead, I smiled and nodded along. "Yeah, she's pitiful. I'll be the bigger person. I won't compete."

She nodded in satisfaction. "Good. That's my girl. I'm glad all my effort wasn't in vain."

I turned my head and looked out the window. Rows upon rows of towering buildings passed by, a sight I had never seen before in my life.

After a long while, an imposing estate came into view. The car drove straight through the gates and circled for a long time before finally stopping.

"Get out," Audrey said. "From now on, this is your home, Ella."