Chapter 2

I was sound asleep in the guest room when Fiona knocked on my door again, her eyes red.

“Nina, the primary bedroom on the second floor was always supposed to be yours. I’ve been using it for eighteen years, but it’s time I gave it back.”

She lowered her head, her voice soft.

“You should move in. I’ll sleep in the storage room.”

I glanced past her into the hallway.

The bedroom door stood half open. Inside were floor-to-ceiling windows and a walk-in closet. The vanity alone was bigger than the bed I used to sleep in.

“Sure. Thanks!”

The corner of Fiona’s mouth curled up almost imperceptibly.

Then she bit her lip and walked away.

I went back to bed.

Early the next morning, the sound of someone crying woke me up.

When I went downstairs, I found more than a dozen suitcases piled by the front door.

Fiona was crouched beside them, clutching a pillow and sobbing so hard she could barely breathe.

“I’m fine. Nina’s your biological daughter. If she wants my room, then she can have it.”

Mom wrapped her arms around Fiona, her own eyes red.

“Don’t say that, Fiona. You’ll always be the little princess of this family!”

Ethan crouched beside her, trying to comfort her. The moment he saw me, his eyes turned murderous.

“Nina Bennett, you’ve been back for two days, and you’re already trying to throw Fiona out?”

Dad looked at me too.

“She’s lived in that room since she was a child. Do you really have to take it from her?”

I opened my mouth, but Fiona spoke first, tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Please don’t blame Nina. She just came home. It’s only natural that she wants a space of her own.”

That only made Ethan angrier.

“She already has the guest room! What gives her the right to take yours?”

Mom sighed.

“Nina, I’m very disappointed in you.”

I pointed upstairs.

“Why don’t you go take a look?”

Ethan sneered.

“You think that’ll somehow prove you’re innocent?”

He marched upstairs.

A moment later, he stopped outside the guest room and fell silent.

My suitcase was still sitting untouched in the corner.

The door to the primary bedroom was closed, and there was no sign anyone had moved into it.

The butler spoke up.

“Miss Nina slept soundly in the guest room all night. In fact, she snored until morning.”

Silence fell downstairs.

Fiona’s face went pale.

Then she shot to her feet and glared at me, her voice turning shrill.

“If you weren’t going to move, why did you agree to it?”

The moment the words left her mouth, she froze.

Slowly, she covered her lips.

As I looked at her, a memory from childhood suddenly came back to me.

In my adoptive family, saying no earned me a slap.

But if I agreed and failed to do what I’d promised, I got beaten anyway.

Once, my adoptive father stole money from the house and told my adoptive mother I’d taken it.

I said I hadn’t.

No one believed me.

As he beat me, he kept asking if I had proof.

I didn’t.

That beating left me unable to get out of bed for two days.

After that, I learned.

I didn’t dare refuse anyone, so I always said yes.

I was terrified of making mistakes, so I did as little as possible.

And whenever anyone told me something, asked me to do something, or gave me anything, I wrote it all down.

The more clearly I remembered everything, the less often I got beaten.

That night, Mom came to see me in the guest room.

She sat on the edge of the bed and, for once, spoke gently.

“Nina, you’ve suffered a lot all these years.”

She paused for a long time.

“Things will get better. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

I nodded.

“But Fiona has been part of this family for eighteen years, and she’s had that room since she was a child. You can stay in the guest room for now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Mom visibly relaxed before leaving and closing the door behind her.

I sat on the bed and looked around.

The guest room was nice too.

The bed was soft, and there was even a window.

It was better than anywhere I’d ever lived before.

I took out my phone and slowly walked around the room.

The painting on the wall. The vase on the table. The porcelain figurines in the cabinet.

I photographed each item, numbered the pictures, and saved them in a separate album.

There was no deeper meaning behind it.

It was just a habit.

Document everything.

That was how I survived.

At the end of the second-floor hallway, Fiona’s bedroom door was tightly shut.

A moment later, another series of crashes and bangs came from inside.