Chapter 3

Grace’s POV

I straightened my dress, walking toward my husband’s hospital room. Before I opened the door, I took out my eye drops, putting in a little more than usual so it would look like I was crying.

I was used to this. I had done this for twenty years. It was a little too easy now.

I stepped in, sniffing, getting into character. The police officers were there for statements. The doctors were there as well.

“Mrs. Grace…” one of the police officers called.

“She… she ran away,” I whispered, tears falling.

My eyes went to Daniel on the hospital bed. His legs were numb, but he was awake, and he heard me.

That was what I planned.

His round eyes widened even more as the heart monitor started beeping faster.

The police rushed off to look for her, but I had already taken care of that. She would be far gone now after I sold her as property for five hundred dollars. I didn’t care where she would end up or if she would be dead. She was gone and that was what mattered.

I went to Daniel’s side dramatically. “Honey, please… take it easy,” I said, the fake tears still falling.

“Rei… Reina,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and body still weak from the accident.

“I know… I know. But maybe this is for her own good. She needs time and space to think about what happened in the last few hours, honey. I’m sure she’ll come back when she’s over it,” I said and kissed his fingers.

“Trust me, Daniel… I just want you to be fine for us… okay?”

He gave a slight nod.

“I’ll be back. Let me go get you some food from home.” I kissed him on the forehead and left. I needed a break from all the acting.

I was home soon enough. I closed the door behind me and set my bag down on the hallway table. My eyes were hurting from the fake crying and wailing.

For the first time in a long while, I felt lighter.

Twenty years of tension. Twenty years of trying to mold her. Twenty years of feeling like I had to fight against a shadow in my own house.

And now?

She was gone.

I walked to the mirror in the hallway and studied my face. My hair fell perfectly. My eyes showed nothing. It was how it always used to be, even when she was here. Calm and controlled. Enough to hide what I had just done. Enough to hide the storm I felt inside.

Jealousy doesn’t scream. It whispers. And I had listened to it carefully for twenty years.

Her presence had grown too loud. Too confident. Too questioning. Too… herself. I had seen it in the way she held her head, in the way she looked at me. Like she was measuring me. Like she had started to suspect.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I wouldn’t.

My daughter walked into the kitchen. She had always been competitive. Everything she did was a test. Everything she said was calculated. But beneath that, I could still see a small softness she kept hidden. The part of her that still cared about fairness, even if she didn’t show it.

Stupid girl. She was supposed to be just like me.

“Is… she going to be okay?” Her voice was calm, casual even, but there was curiosity in it.

I didn’t need to hide anything from her. Not really. Not yet.

I set my glass down on the counter and turned to face her, keeping my expression neutral.

“She won’t be coming back.”

Her eyes widened slightly. She froze for a second, then tilted her head.

“She won’t… at all?”

“No.” My voice was soft. No anger. Just a fact. “Focus on yourself. This is your opportunity now.”

She blinked, her lips pressing together. I could see it. The faint reaction of something tender. The part of her that didn’t want her sister erased. But it was buried under ambition. Under the need to succeed. She wanted to win, and now she could.

I had removed the threat.

Her gaze stayed on me a little longer.

“Did… something happen?” she asked carefully. She didn’t accuse me. She didn’t cry. She just asked lightly.

I shook my head slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Everything is fine. This is how it’s supposed to be.”

She didn’t say another word.

I turned back to the mirror. I remembered the drip. The hospital room. The pleading eyes of that girl who had been my responsibility.

Good.

I had controlled her for twenty years. Even in her absence, I had won.

I straightened my posture, smoothing my dress. My daughter lingered at the doorway, watching me, trying to read my mood. The soft part of her wanted reassurance, but the competitive part wanted power. Wanted to see where she fit now that her sister was gone.

I walked past the living room and stopped at the staircase, glancing down one last time.

I murmured to myself, almost out of habit, “Everything will be fine.”

My daughter shifted, stepping a little closer.

“It… it’s all for me now?” Her voice was small. Not challenging. Just uncertain.

“Yes. Be happy. Celebrate.” My tone stayed calm, but firm.

I exhaled slowly, letting the tension leave my shoulders.

Twenty years of careful planning, subtle manipulation, and quiet control had led to this moment.

And it felt satisfying.

For now, everything was as it should be.

My family. My home. My control.

All intact.