Chapter 04

Estelle's POV

"Congratulations, Benedict! What a wonderful night for the Silverthorn family."

"Thank you, thank you. It truly is."

The banquet hall glowed with golden light. Crystal glasses clinked. Soft violin music floated through the air. Rich men in black suits and women in shining gowns laughed and sipped champagne under the giant chandelier.

"So where is our special girl tonight?" a woman in a green gown asked my mother.

Pandora smiled proudly. "She'll be down in just a minute."

I stood at the side door and stepped inside.

The music didn't stop. But the talking did.

One by one, heads turned toward me. Toward my faded yellow dress with the little white flowers. Toward my thin arms, my dusty shoes, my hair tied back with a piece of string.

"Who is that girl?" someone whispered.

"Is she one of the maids?"

"Why is she wearing that old thing to a party like this?"

"Wait... isn't that the daughter? The one who poisoned her friend?"

I kept my chin up.

Three years ago, in this very hall, my family let the police drag me out in front of every important person in Crestwood City. Like I was a criminal. Like I was trash.

And now, their idea of welcoming me home was to throw a party and put me on display again. So everyone could stare. So everyone could remember what I "did."

Nobody in this family ever cared about my feelings. Or my dignity.

---

"Estelle."

Cassius was beside me in two long steps. He grabbed my arm and squeezed hard. I flinched as pain shot through the cuts on my back.

"What are you wearing?" he hissed. "I told you to put on something nice."

"I heard you," I said.

"You've had an attitude since the moment I picked you up. And now this?" He pointed at my dress. "You're trying to make everyone feel sorry for you. You're trying to make us look bad. People will think we treat you like a dog!"

You did, I thought. You did treat me like a dog.

My father walked over with a glass of wine in his hand. Benedict Silverthorn. Tall, grey-haired, and cold as ice. His eyes moved down my dress and filled with disgust.

"Estelle Silverthorn," he said, low enough that only we could hear. "Three years, and you haven't changed one bit. You're still selfish. Still proud. Still a spoiled, foolish child."

"Go upstairs and change," Cassius snapped. "Right now. Stop embarrassing us."

"I don't have a dress," I said.

My father frowned. "Then why didn't you buy one?"

"Because I don't have any money!"

My voice came out louder than I meant. A few guests nearby turned to look.

My father's face went red. He put his glass down on a passing tray.

"Don't lie to me, Estelle. The whole year you lived in this house, and every month while you were at that convent, I sent you money. Five thousand dollars, every single month. For four years." He leaned closer. "That is almost a quarter of a million dollars. And you couldn't buy one decent dress with that?"

My mouth fell open.

"Instead you show up looking like a beggar, to shame us in front of our guests," he went on. "Enough is enough. We have done more than enough for you. Don't bite the hand that feeds you."

"Five thousand dollars?" I stared at him. "Dad, I never got five dollars from you. Not once."

His jaw tightened.

"If you're going to shout at me for something I didn't do," I said, "at least make up a lie people can believe."

The people around us had gone completely quiet now. Even the violin player had slowed down.

My father's eyes went hard as stone.

"Fine," he said. "If you want to keep telling lies, don't blame me when I show everyone the truth."

He turned and raised his hand.

"Salome!"

A neat woman in a grey suit hurried over from the corner of the room, holding a tablet. Salome. She had managed the Silverthorn family's money for as long as anyone could remember.

"Yes, Mr. Silverthorn?"

"Check how much money has been sent to Estelle over the past four years. Every transfer. Read it out loud."

Salome blinked. "Estelle? Miss Estelle Silverthorn?"

"Yes. Who else?"

She didn't even look down at her tablet.

"Sir... if it's Miss Estelle, there's no need to check."

My father frowned. "What do you mean?"

Salome swallowed and glanced at my mother. Then at someone behind me. Then back at my father.

"Mr. Silverthorn," she said slowly, "every month, the money for Miss Estelle was sent to a bank account Miss Delilah gave us. It was never in Miss Estelle's name. Not even once."

The whole room went still.

My father stared at her.

"What did you just say?"