Chapter 6

Nysa looked like she was about to have a stroke. She stepped forward, her hands were shaking and  her eyes were wild. "You…you were supposed to be there!" she shrieked.

"I... I'm sorry," I whispered, I filled my voice with that thick fake, practiced vulnerability. "I…I didn't mean to dodge, I just got so scared when you threw it. I'm sorry I made you miss."

The confusion on their faces was better than any revenge I could have planned. They were trying to reconcile the memory of the forgotten daughter, with the girl sitting in front of them, a girl who had managed to stay completely unharmed without drawing any attention to the fact that she’d done it on purpose.

My father cleared his throat, his posture shifting from aggressive to guarded. He didn't know what to do with me. He didn't know how to categorize the woman who had just walked through his front door.

Nysa looked at me, her eyes darting between my timid expression and the shattered glass on the floor. She looked terrified, though she’d never admit it. She’d always relied on the fact that I would take the hit, and I would apologize for nothing . I should soak up her rage so she didn't have to face the consequences of her own temper.

"You're late," my father finally said, trying to regain some semblance of authority. I leaned back in the chair, my posture was small and submissive, there was a flicker of nervous energy in my eyes. "The traffic was terrible, Father. I'm so sorry, I know I'm a disappointment." i whispered.

I kept that weak, wavering smile on my face, letting them wonder if I was the same girl as before. They were so busy being confused and trying to process why I wasn't bleeding on their floor that they didn't see the trap. They didn't see that I wasn't here to be part of their family.

My father sank into the leather wingback chair opposite me, his face was still flushed from the earlier screaming match. He looked at me, really looked at me, as if he was trying to gauge how much of a liability I was going to be now that I was back under his roof. He smoothed his tie as his expression settled into that familiar, condescending mask of the concerned patriarch.

"You're back, and that’s settled," he said, his voice flat. "But things are different now. We need to integrate you into the society. You’ll be attending the university in the city this coming term. I expect you to maintain a respectable GPA. I won't have you slacking off."

I kept my head bowed and my hands resting in my lap like a good, obedient doll. "Of course, Father. Whatever you think is best."

He gestured impatiently. "Very well, show me your transcripts. Let me see exactly what you’ve been doing for the last six years." he said.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a heavy manilla envelope. I slid it across the mahogany coffee table toward him. My heart rate didn't even spike. I had been waiting for this moment for years the moment the Vexari name was finally forced to acknowledge that their ghost  was anything but a ghost, the little girl they sent away was not what they expected.

He opened it, his movements were stiff and dismissive. He pulled out the documents. I suppose he was expecting to see a series of mediocre grades from some backwater tutors. As his eyes tracked down the first page, his grip on the paper tightened. I watched with a quiet internal satisfaction as the color drained from his face.

He flipped the page, then another and his hands, which was usually so steady when he was signing away assets, began to tremble.

I’d earned my degree at eighteen. Not just any degree, but a triple major in Applied Mathematics, Computer Science, and International Finance. My scores weren't just passing, they were perfect. I hadn't just finished; I had outpaced every expectation, acing advanced courses that most adults couldn't even begin comprehend.

"This..." he stammered, his eyes darting back to the top of the page. 

"This is... these are university credits? Advanced accreditation?" he asked in disbelief.

Nysa, who had been standing by the window, her knuckles white as she gripped the curtains, she walked over and snatched the envelope out of his hands. Her eyes scanned the pages, and for a split second, I saw her mask slip and pure, unadulterated rage flooded her features, it was a dark, twisted look that reminded me exactly who she was.

But then, the act clicked into place. The familiar, poisonous sweetness returned to her face. She smoothed her dress and turned toward me, her eyes glittering with a malice, I could feel from across the room.

"Dad," she said, her voice dripping with that sweet, fake affection. She turned towards me, offering a smile that felt like a blade. "It seems my little sister is a genius."

She didn't mean it. Every word was coated in contempt, a desperate, clawing jealousy that she was trying to hide under a layer of performative pride. 

She hated that I was no longer an empty vessel she could fill with her own insecurity, I was something else entirely, something she couldn't label. Before my father could respond, the heavy front doors swung open and the butler stepped into the room, his voice echoing with practiced formality.

 "Mr. Dario Valteri, sir."

The atmosphere shifted instantly. The tension in the room went from domestic chaos to cold, high-stakes maneuvering as Dario Valteri walked in.

 He was exactly as I had profiled him, he was sharp and imposing, radiating an effortless, terrifying power. He was more handsome in person. He stopped in the center of the room, his presence making the furniture seem small, but the moment he moved, his eyes landed right on me.

He held my gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary. There was no recognition in his eyes, but there was interest, a sudden, sharp focus that cut through the polite air of the room like a laser. He was trying to figure out who I was, and why he hadn't seen me before.

I didn't give him the satisfaction of a lingering look. I stood up, my posture perfectly timid, and smoothed my skirt.

"I’m sorry to interrupt," I said, my voice soft and barely audible. I kept my gaze fixed on the floor, doing my best to look like a girl who was intimidated by the sheer weight of the man in the room.

 "I’m sure you have important business to discuss. I’ll just... head to my room. Please, continue."

I didn't wait for permission. I turned and headed for the grand staircase, my every step was measured and light. I could feel eyes on my back,  a heavy, burning sensation that followed me all the way to the first landing. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to turn around, to meet his gaze and see if he was as smart as my information suggested, but I didn't.

I kept my shoulders hunched, my head down, and my pace consistent. I was a mouse fleeing a predator, or at least, that was the part I was playing.

As the butler led me up toward my old room, I didn't look back because I didn't need to. I knew exactly what was happening downstairs. Nysa was likely already throwing herself at Dario, trying to regain his focus, completely unaware that she had just lost the room the moment he walked in.

The game had finally started, and I was exactly where I needed to be.

Two hours of silence had been exactly what I needed to refocus my internal systems.  I was sitting in the dark room, staring at the wall, calculating my next moves when the sharp, impatient rap at the door broke through the quiet.