The visitor

Erin’s POV

“What are you talking about? There’s nothing like that in there,” Willow said, her face deathly pallor as she gazed at the journal intently, “All I-“

“Keep quiet and let your sister talk!” Dad snapped, and her mouth instantly clamped shut, albeit her eyes remained on the journal.

“Here, dad. I want you to see it for yourself.” I said, inwardly gratefully for my impressive ability to cry on command.

Four days ago while I was going through Willow’s wardrobe in the attic, I’d found the journal buried among her pile of worn out clothes.

The content had been boring, basically her daydreaming about getting a perfect job and a nice little apartment in New York, so I’d decided to spice things up a little by tearing those out, and adding some interesting bits to it.

Wordlessly, dad took the journal from me while I pretended to be shaken by the things I’d perused from the journal, ignoring Willow, who now seemed scared.

“I wish I was never born to the Grey family. I hate them all because they keep ruining my life. Especially Erin, the sickly idiot. I wish she could just die.” Dad calmly read, “You wrote this two years ago, Willow.”

“Dad, I swear by my own life that I didn’t write that. All I wrote in there are design ideas for my future apartment,” Willow explained, desperation bleeding into her voice as she shook her head fervently, “I would never write such a heinous thing. Erin wrote it.”

As she said the last statement, she threw me a pointed glare, her eyes teary with what I knew were rageful tears, which only provided me with great amusement.

Too bad for her that our parents held my words to higher regards than they did hers.

“I will attempt to kill myself, so that they can stop focusing on that stupid bitch. I will do it with charcoal briquettes. I know someone will find me.” Dad continued to read, ignoring Willow’s profuse explanation, “This you wrote a week ago.

“Dad, please believe me. I didn’t write any of that.” Willow whispered, clutching her hands together in a pleading gesture, “I could never harbour such thoughts towards anyone.”

“And yesterday, you wrote this: A week from today, I will set this entire house on fire. Then, I will be the sole inheritor of the Grey fortune. I have had enough of them bullying me for Erin. Why can’t she just die?” Dad perused aloud, a conclusive tone to his words, just as I heard two pairs of legs walking into the dining nook from behind.

“What is going on here?” Raphael asked, while mum stood beside dad, spotting an irritated mien upon seeing Willow.

“Honey, what did she do now?” She asked, poking her head into the journal, a gasp escaping her as she looked, “Willow!”

“Erin wrote every single horrible thing in there. I didn’t. I need you to please believe me.” Willow continued to defend herself, tears of frustration rolling down her cheeks, as Raphael got a gaze at the journal.

“There’s no single design idea in here, Willow,” Dad said, a sharp edge to his voice, the calmness from earlier completely gone, “You are not only selfish, but also an evil piece of thing. You disgust me.”

“I d-“

Before she could get the rest of her response in, mum smacked her across the face, the harsh slap echoing through the room.

Willow’s lower lip split open instantly, blood smudging the site—courtesy of the sharp diamond on mum’s wedding ring.

“M-Mum, Erin did it,” She whispered, her gaze straying to Raphael, who fixed her a vitriolic glare, “Raphael, please think ca-“

She received another slap from Raphael this time, and I had to press my lips into a thin line, so as not to burst out laughing with how entertaining the whole situation was.

Mainly because Willow looked like a deer caught in the headlights as she held her hand against the cheek Raphael slapped, her face marred by disbelief.

“You slapped me,” She stated incredulously, “Mum. Dad. My little brother slapped me.”

“He gave you exactly what you deserve for being a heartless swine.” Mum retorted, “How dare you try to accuse Erin falsely?”

“Why does no one believe me?” Willow yelled, her face reddening, with tears increasingly trickling from her eyes, “Why have you chosen to make me the evil one?”

“This is all my fault,” I quipped, feigning a forlorn voice as I looked straight at her, “Had my dad not died, I wouldn’t have gotten adopted, and you wouldn’t loathe us all.”

“My poor baby, don’t say that.” Dad cooed, wrapping me into his arms, while keeping a stern gaze on Willow, “Henceforth, you are no longer a part of this family. You are now a maid. If you ever dare to escape this house, I will make you pay for it dearly.”

I had really demoted the true heiress to a mere maid with my stellar acting, and my impeccable ability to duplicate hand writings.

My life was great.

I didn’t regret calling for help after discovering Willow on the floor beside the burning briquettes in the slightest, even though I’d initially considered letting her die.

Her being alive was much more beneficial to me, because her family thought of me as her faultless and weak savior, who she hated for no reason.

“Y-You wouldn’t do that,” Willow squeaked like a trapped mouse.

Without giving her a response, dad grabbed her arm and began dragging her out of the dining nook.

“Dad please don’t do this to me,” She pleaded, stamping her feet to the ground, to prevent dad from moving her, but her antic failed, as he kept hauling her to my utter satisfaction.

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Hopefully, she would attempt once again and be successful at it.

“She belongs with you all now,” Dad announced to the maids standing outside, when we reached their quarters, then flung Willow to the ground.

“Don’t even think of following us back inside!” Raphael spat, glowering down at her while she bawled her eyes out.

I darted her a hearty smile which went unnoticed by everyone before following my parents and brother back into the house, reveling in Willow’s agonizing screams.

Moments later, I stepped in front of my full length mirror, clad in a black set of mesh lingerie, which left very little to the imagination.

Then, I took a mirror picture and sent it to Nolan Hill, the head hematologist at Heathrow Hospital.

“Your reward, daddy.” I added as a caption, smirking as I recalled how he’d helped my plans come to fruition.

Days ago, I came up with a brilliant idea to heighten Willow’s frustration after recalling that we had the same blood type, and I had a history of anemia.

I had pretended to be sick, so mum and dad would take me to the hospital.

After they did, I’d proceeded to seduce Nolan when they left me alone with him in his office.

I had promised to send him explicit pictures of myself in exchange that he’d lie to my parents that I needed a series of blood transfusions, and my blood type wasn’t available in any blood banks at the moment.

When in actuality, what I needed were a few doses of iron capsules.

Obviously, the old bastard had accepted my offer.

+

“Have Willow bring the tea,” Mum told the head of the maids, Shirley, as she placed a charcuterie board on the dining table.

“Yes, ma’am.” The maid replied before taking her leave.

I smiled to myself, utterly pleased with how everything had turned out.

A week had passed since Willow was disowned.

Today, dad was hosting a highly important investor to dinner, so it was like a festive occasion at home.

“How are you feeling now?” Mum asked, placing a gentle hand on mine.

Earlier today, I’d received three pints of blood from a sullen Willow.

“Better, mum.” I replied, watching dad and the guest converse between each other, while Raphael listened with rapt attention that bemused me.

The blockhead was acting as though he was smart enough to understand a business conversation.

Willow entered the room just then, clad in the maid uniform that reflected her new status, her eyes empty and rooted to the floor as she placed the tray on the table.

I was absolutely floored when the guest suddenly stood up and grabbed Willow’s hand, causing mum and I to share a puzzled look.

“You look just like her.” He said, with shock plastered all over his face.