Chapter 5: Let the Games Begin

Celine’s POV

My bedroom was exactly how I remembered it. Small. Plain.

I stood in the doorway and stared at the miserable little space. It had a single bed pushed right against the far wall. The thin gray sheets were washed so many times they felt like rough, cheap paper. A basic wooden desk with one wobbly leg sat in the dark corner. The ugly paint on the walls was peeling near the small window. The floorboards squeaked loudly every single time I took a step. It felt like a dirty prison cell.

I walked over and opened the tiny closet door. Six boring outfits hung inside. Every single one of them was bought on clearance from a cheap mall store.

Meanwhile, just down the hall, my brother Marco's room was a completely different world. He had a massive king-sized bed with thick silk pillows. A huge seventy-inch flat-screen television covered his entire wall. He had a custom gaming setup that cost more money than most people's cars. His giant walk-in closet was stuffed full of expensive designer clothes, limited-edition shoes, and gold watches.

In my first life, I accepted this terrible treatment. I told myself my parents were just teaching me good discipline. I thought they wanted me to learn real humility. I thought they wanted me to learn the real value of hard work.

What a pathetic, stupid lie. They just didn't want to spend their precious money on someone else's kid. They hated me.

I sat down heavily on my creaky mattress. The metal springs groaned loudly under my weight. I pulled out my phone and quickly opened an exclusive luxury shopping app.

My fingers moved incredibly fast across the bright screen. I didn't even look at the crazy prices. I just tapped the screen again and again. Enzo had linked my card to the main family bank account years ago just for extreme emergencies. He never put a hard limit on it because he trusted me to be a good, obedient little girl who never asked for anything.

Well, the good girl was dead.

One pink Hermès bag. Two pairs of red-bottom Louboutin heels. A thick gold Cartier bracelet. Three black Chanel dresses. A full La Mer skincare set. A sparkling Bvlgari diamond necklace. A heavy set of pure silk bedding from a French brand I couldn't even pronounce.

Total: just under two hundred thousand dollars. Shipped express to the Blackwood estate.

The customer service agent called me within five minutes. An unknown number flashed on the screen.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Good evening, Miss Blackwood. We just want to confirm this large order."

"Is there a problem with it?" I asked.

"The delivery address is the Blackwood residence in Greenwich, Connecticut. Is that correct?"

"That's correct."

"Ma'am, we have your family on file as preferring a more," she paused carefully, searching for the polite word, "understated purchasing profile. This order is quite significant."

"Are you telling me I can't buy it?"

"Oh, no, Miss Blackwood. I am just doing my job to verify the purchase."

"Is there a spending limit on my account?"

"No, ma'am, but."

"Then process it."

I hung up and immediately dialed another private number. A man picked up on the second ring. He ran a very popular, highly-read gossip blog that covered the dirty private lives of wealthy families on the East Coast.

"Tommy," I said, letting my voice drop low and slow. "I have something really good for you tonight."

"Celine Blackwood," he said smoothly. He sounded highly surprised and very interested at the exact same time. "You never call me. What kind of something are we talking about? Is it dirty? Is it hot?"

"The kind that's going to make the rich Blackwood family trend online for a whole week."

"You have my full attention, beautiful. Tell me more."

"I will send you everything right now. High-quality photos, banking receipts, all of it. But we play by my rules."

"You know I like it when a bad girl takes charge, Celine. Are you wearing anything right now?"

"Keep it professional, Tommy, or I will give this massive scoop to someone else."

"Okay, okay, don't get mad. What do you want?"

"You release the story exactly when I tell you, and exactly how I tell you to do it. You don't change a single word."

"And what do I get in return for being such a good boy?"

"You get the hottest story of the year, Tommy. And I will owe you a big favor. And a favor from a Blackwood is worth a lot more than you think."

"Oh, I know exactly what you are worth, Celine. I can't wait to collect that personal favor. When do I get the dirty files?"

"Tonight. Be ready."

I hung up the phone, plugged it into the wall charger, and went straight to sleep. I slept better than I had in seven long years.

The next morning, a massive crash woke me up.

Lucia kicked my bedroom door open at exactly seven AM. The heavy wood hit the wall like a gunshot.

She was still wearing her silk bathrobe. Her hair was a total mess, sticking up everywhere. And she was holding her phone tight in one hand like she wanted to throw it straight through my glass window.

"What did you do?" she screamed loudly.

I sat up slowly in bed and stretched my arms high. I let out a long, fake yawn.

"Good morning to you too, Lucia. Did you sleep well?"

"DON'T play games with me, you little brat!"

She marched to the bed and shoved the bright phone screen right into my face.

The gossip blog had posted the big story right at midnight. Tommy worked very fast. The bold headline took up the entire screen. It read: BLACKWOOD FAMILY SPENDS $200K ON LUXURY WHILE ADOPTED DAUGHTER LIVES IN SERVANT'S QUARTERS.

"There are photos of your tiny room compared to Marco's room!" Lucia yelled, spit flying from her lips. "There are shopping receipts! The comments are calling us huge hypocrites and child abusers!"

"Hmm," I said, looking at the screen calmly. "That's unfortunate."

She swung at me. It was a full, hard, open-handed slap aimed right at the side of my face.

In my first life, it would have landed perfectly. I would have stood there and taken the painful hit. I would have cried hard and probably apologized to her right afterward.

But that weak girl was dead. She died on a dirty street in a bloody wedding dress.

I raised my arm lightning fast. I caught Lucia's thin wrist midair in a hard grip and held it tight. I squeezed her bones hard.

Her dark eyes went completely wide in total shock.

"Self-defense," I said coldly.

I let go of her hand and pushed it away. I stood up from the bed, forcing her to take a quick step back.

"Wouldn't want any ugly red bruises showing up on my face in the next news article, would we?"

"You are trying to destroy this family!" she screamed, holding her wrist tight. She was shaking violently with pure rage. Her lips were completely white. "Enzo called me this morning, screaming on the phone! There are thousands of angry comments online calling us dirty frauds and saying we play favorites with our kids. Do you have any idea what you have done to us?"

"I bought some nice things for myself. Is that a crime?"

"You bought them to humiliate us on purpose! You set us up!"

I shrugged my shoulders easily.

"Excess always invites public backlash, Lucia. Maybe if you hadn't spent eighteen long years treating me exactly like the hired help, there wouldn't be anything for the news to report."

Lucia's nose flared. Her chest heaved up and down.

"Ingratitude. That is exactly what this is. You are a disgusting, ungrateful brat."

"Am I?"

"It doesn't matter how well you raise a dirty stray dog, the wildness never leaves its blood."

Something shifted deep inside me. The light, teasing playfulness completely drained out of my body. What replaced it was incredibly cold and completely still, exactly like the frozen surface of a dark winter lake.

I stepped toward her. I moved close enough that she could see every single angry detail of my face. I looked down into her scared eyes.

"Tell me something, Lucia." My voice was very quiet and totally dead. "When exactly did you ever raise me?"

She didn't answer me. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She couldn't answer me. Because we both knew the ugly truth.

She never raised me. She used me. She worked me exactly like a free servant and she starved me of every single scrap of love a child is supposed to have. And she did it all with a warm smile on her face and a holy Bible verse on her lying lips.

Lucia's mouth trembled badly. She took another step backward, away from me. She looked actually terrified of me.

She turned around fast and walked out of my small room without saying another word.

I watched her go and felt absolutely nothing. No guilt. No sadness. Nothing at all.

The old Celine would have chased after her down the hall and begged for her forgiveness.

But the old Celine was gone. And the woman standing in her place had seven years of rage and a very, very long memory.