CHAPTER 2

Days later, Carmilla sat by the window of a plane, staring blankly at the clouds as they drifted past. Los Angeles sprawled below her. This is a city of dreams and disappointments. Her hometown. Her past.

Her heart was heavy, tangled in grief, guilt, and the uncertainty of what awaited her. Her brother Julian was gone, and no one had told her how or why. Her father’s vague call had only deepened the ache.

As the plane touched down and she stepped into the terminal, a familiar face greeted her—James, the family’s long-time chauffeur, standing stiffly in his black suit. He gave her a respectful nod and quietly took her bags.

The drive home was silent. The city’s rush and roar blurred against the window as they drove through winding roads, slowly climbing toward the family estate nestled in the Hollywood Hills. The estate appeared, just as she remembered, it was grand, cold, and distant.

At the gates stood her father, Charles Hunt, poised and expressionless. Years of tension passed between them in that one glance. But today, there was something else in his eyes, weariness, maybe even sorrow.

He opened the car door himself.

“Carmilla, how have you been?he asked, staring at how fully grown and mature she has become as she steps out of the vehicle. He was speechless, be hadn't watch her grow this much.

“I know we’ve… not seen eye to eye. But right now, I need us to stay strong for each other.”

Carmilla swallowed hard, caught off guard by the tenderness in his tone. She had never heard him sound so… human.

“Your mother,” he continued, “she’s not herself. Julian’s death… it’s shattered her. Just… try to understand if she says things that hurt.”

Carmilla nodded slowly. “I’ll try.”

They walked toward the front door in silence, their steps echoing off the stone driveway. As they stepped inside, the servants greeted her politely, though their eyes betrayed their curiosity and unease. She didn’t miss the way they glanced between her and her father.

Her gaze drifted across the grand hall. Ornate portraits of ancestors stared back at her, hollow-eyed and regal. She had never felt connected to them, except for one who everyone knows, her grandfather, whose portrait hung solemnly in the center.

But something else caught her attention.The family photo wall.

Julian. Her parents. Smiling cousins. Formal gatherings. But she—she was missing. Not a single picture of her.

Her breath caught.

Of course.

She had left. She had chosen to leave. But still…

As her father stepped up beside her, he spoke in a hushed tone. “I had your photo framed and moved to your room. I didn’t want your mother to throw it away.”

Carmilla turned to him, her expression neutral. “So she still hates me.”

His face tightened. “No… She’s angry, hurt. But she’s still your mother. People say things when they’re grieving”.

“She’s said things long before Julian died,” Carmilla replied, her voice trembling. “All I ever wanted was to breathe. To live outside of this… suffocating house. Did that make me unworthy of being her daughter?”

Before he could answer, a voice pierced the moment.

“Well, well. Still playing the role of the concerned father, Hunt?” came a cold voice from behind them.

Carmilla froze.

Her mother.

Claudia Hunt stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, her sharp gaze locked onto Carmilla like a hawk spotting prey. There was no warmth in her eyes—only disdain, and something deeper… resentment.

“You decided to leave this family,” her mom said, descending the stairs with slow, deliberate steps. “So I removed your face from it. Seems only fair.”

“Honey—” Charles began, his tone gentle.

“No,” she snapped, cutting him off. “No one asked her to come back. She didn’t show up for birthdays,events, holidays, or anything. So why now? To laugh in our faces? To gloat?”

Carmilla didn’t flinch. The pain was familiar, almost expected. But it still stung.

“I came back because Julian died,” she said quietly. “He is still my brother.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I didn’t leave to hurt anyone. I left because I couldn’t survive in a house where love came with conditions.”

The room went still. Her mom's stare lingered, hard and unreadable.

Her dad stepped between them. “Enough. No one is going anywhere. We’re going to bury Julian—together. That’s all that matters now.”

He turned to Carmilla. “Go rest. If you need anything, ask the staff.”

With that, he gently took his wife's hand surprisingly, she didn’t pull away and led her upstairs, leaving Carmilla alone in the quiet hallway.

She made her way to her old bedroom.

It looked exactly the same, except for one addition. Her framed photo sat neatly on her nightstand. Her younger self, smiling in a rare candid shot. She picked it up, holding it close to her chest.

Days Later

The estate buzzed with funeral preparations, but instead of unity, grief had driven the family further apart.

Her dad and mom barely spoke, and Carmilla moved like a shadow through the house. Each step reminded her of the loneliness she had once fled and the emptiness that had only grown in her absence.

During a planning dinner, they gathered around the large dining table. Servants moved in and out with plates of food no one had the appetite for.

“I want the funeral to reflect Julian’s legacy,” her mom said suddenly, slicing into her steak with careful precision. “It should be lavish. Grand. Something the city will remember.”

Her husband frowned. “That’s not what he would’ve wanted. It should be small. Intimate. For those who loved him, not for show.”

“Oh please,” she muttered. “You never understood Julian’s place in this family.”

Carmilla, seated between them, felt the tension suffocate her.

She finally spoke. “Excuse me both of you.”

Both parents turned toward her, caught off guard by her voice.

“I don’t think this is what Julian would have wanted. He didn’t care about appearances or wealth. He cared about people. About moments. If we truly want to honor him… then let the ceremony be about him, not about us.”

Silence settled. Her mom stared at her daughter, unreadable. Her dad slowly nodded in agreement.

“She’s right,” he said. “We should stop fighting. This is about Julian, not status.”

Her mom continued eating, her expression guarded. “Fine. Plan whatever you want. As his mother, I’ll do what I know is right for my son.”

She stood, placing her napkin down.

“We’ll see how the ceremony turns out.” she said loosing appetite. With that, she left the room.

Carmilla watched her go, the weight of their fractured family pressing down on her chest.

For the first time in years, she was home.

But was she really wanted?