Chapter 04

Valarie's POV

The key hung uselessly at Gerald's side. Whatever hope had flickered in his eyes just moments ago was gone now, replaced by something closer to disappointment.

"I thought you were in trouble," he said quietly, shaking his head at the girl he no longer recognized as his sister. "Using this low-life crap to get sympathy? It's disgusting."

Gerald, please. Please look again. Look at my chest — it's not moving. Look at my eyes — they're not blinking. I'm not performing. I'm gone.

But he had already turned away, already decided what kind of person I was.

Elle held up her phone and made a face at the live stream camera, exaggerated and dramatic, the kind of expression people make when they know they're being watched and loved for it.

"Guys, you see?" she said, shaking her head in mock sorrow. "My sister is really out here stealing my stuff and playing dead just to set me up."

The comments exploded across her screen. Strangers I had never met, would never meet, cursing my name, calling me pathetic, calling me a liar, calling me things I didn't have the strength left to defend myself against even if I could have spoken.

Caspian let out a cold laugh from the side, stepping closer, looking down at my face through the glass with something like admiration mixed into his mockery.

"You really thought a thick layer of foundation could fool us?" he said. Then, through the glass, he flicked his finger hard right above my open, unseeing eye. I felt nothing, of course — I was already floating somewhere above my own body — but the casual cruelty of the gesture still cut through me like a blade. "Nice colored contacts, by the way. They really nailed that dead fish eye effect. Your acting is so good. Hollywood should hire you to play a corpse."

I don't need Hollywood, Caspian. I already am one.

"Enough. Leave her." Osborne straightened the bottom of his suit jacket, brushing off the wrinkles that had formed when he kicked the coffin, as if that mattered more right now than the sister lying motionless inside it. "No one is opening this for her tonight. Let her stay in there and think about what she did."

Then he turned to Elle, and his entire face softened in an instant, like flipping a switch from stone to sunlight.

"Elle, come on," he said gently. "Let's go back to the living room. We got you Christmas gifts. Let's go open them."

Elle's eyes lit up immediately, the tears from moments ago already forgotten, already dried up like they had never existed at all. She wrapped her arm around Osborne's, practically skipping beside him.

"Really? Thank you, Osborne!"

Before she left the garage, she turned back one more time and glanced at my body through the glass. A small, smug smile curled at the corner of her lips — quick, private, meant for no one but herself and the corpse she believed she had gotten away with mocking.

Then the garage light snapped off. The heavy roll-up door slowly rattled down, sealing my body away in the darkness, alone, forgotten, still dressed in the burial clothes Gerald had made with such care just hours earlier.

My soul silently followed them out. I don't know why. Maybe some part of me still couldn't accept that this was really happening. Maybe some part of me still wanted to believe that somewhere in that house, someone would remember me,come back and realize the terrible mistake they had made.

I drifted into the mansion's living room behind them.

The huge table in the center of the room was covered in beautifully wrapped designer gift boxes, ribbons curling in perfect spirals, paper so glossy it caught the light from the chandelier above. Elle cheered and threw herself onto the couch, bouncing slightly, and began tearing into the gifts one by one like a child on Christmas morning — which, I supposed, was exactly what this was for her.

A limited edition designer bag. A custom diamond necklace that sparkled even in the dim light. A set of keys to a brand-new sports car, still attached to a bright red bow. Every single time she opened one, she leaned over and sweetly kissed one of my brothers on the cheek, giggling, thanking them, glowing with a happiness that felt like it belonged to a completely different family than the one I had just been left to die inside.

The three men looked at her with pure, unguarded love in their eyes. Not one flicker of doubt. Not one moment of hesitation. As if the girl bleeding and broken in a locked glass box in the garage had never existed at all.

I floated quietly near the ceiling, watching this happy little family of four laugh and celebrate together, the warmth I had wanted for so long, the warmth I had worked myself to exhaustion trying to earn, poured so easily and effortlessly onto someone else.

Then Osborne rubbed his brow, as if remembering something, and reached toward the corner of the table where two dark blue velvet boxes sat, smaller and simpler than the rest, tucked slightly out of sight.

Elle's eyes lit up again immediately. She reached out eagerly to grab them.

"Osborne, what are these?"

But Osborne pulled his hand back before she could touch them.

"These are for Valarie."

Elle's hand froze in midair. The bright, easy smile on her face vanished in an instant, like a light switched off.

"A custom white tulle dress and a bracelet," Gerald added from the side, glancing toward the boxes with something almost soft in his expression.

Caspian sighed, leaning back against the couch. "It's been so long since we brought her back home. But she only wears those same two old shirts every single day. She doesn't even have one decent dress to her name." He shook his head slowly. "When she comes out tomorrow, we'll give these to her. Think of it as a small sign that we officially accept her."

I stared at the two small velvet boxes from above, at the quiet, careless kindness buried inside a night that had already cost me everything.

A dress, Caspian? A bracelet, to make up for a coffin with no air?

I wanted to laugh and cry the same time. I wanted to scream until the whole house shook loose from its foundations.

But all I could do was watch, silent and invisible, as my brothers planned tomorrow for a sister who would never open her eyes again.