Chapter Four

My chest feels like it’s being squeezed from all sides, each breath sharp and shallow. I step forward, but my legs feel heavier than ever, as if the polished marble underfoot is pulling me down.

“Anastasia…” my father’s voice begins again, but I cut him off before he can finish.

“Don’t,” I say, my voice firm, though it trembles just slightly. “Just… don’t.”

‘Anastasia, please just sit let’s discuss this as a family’ he pleads

I walk towards the dining table where different dishes have been served like a feast

I take a seat at the far end of the table, opposite my father. He is seated at the head, my stepmother on his right, Sharon at his left and Tristian next to her.

The perfect family.

A maid serves my food and disappears into the house.

We start eating in awkward silence. I don’t eat anything. I just fiddle with my food. Could be poisoned, who knows?

My father clears his throat, to break the silence

“They’ve already informed me of everything.” He starts

“Everything?” I let out a sharp laugh. “So they told you how they were acting like bunnies in my house? In my bed? And you’re okay with it?”

“Anna, relax. You’re overreacting,” my stepmother says calmly. ‘We are a family, we can discuss this rationally’

Overreacting?

I almost laugh.

“Family?” I repeat. “Family doesn’t betray each other like this. But why am I even surprised… like mother, like daughter.”

“Anastasia, watch your mouth,” my father snaps. “You will speak to your stepmother with respect.”

“Sister,” Sharon cuts in softly, “I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just… your marriage was business. But we fell in love.”

“And it’s still a win,” my father adds. “At least he fell in love with your sister. The business deal still stands.”

My stomach drops.

“They’re getting married?”

“Yes,” my father says. “I thought it best you hear it from me.”

I let out a hollow breath.

“Why… why am I even surprised?”

Sharon opens her mouth again. “Anna, we…”

“Don’t,” I interrupt. “I’ve heard enough. You’re telling me it’s okay because it was ‘business’? That my fiancé falling for my stepsister somehow justifies… this?” My hands clench at my sides, knuckles white.

“Look Ana…, I know this isn’t conventional but think about the family business, it’s better her than a random stranger” my father says, calm now.

I look at him. The man I call Father. He looks the same, just older but he acts like a totally different person. He wasn’t always like this. I used to be the apple of his eyes, my mum and I, but then she died and he brought Sandra and Sharon into our lives. The change started subtly but progressively and soon the father who once adored me, barely looked at me.

Memories rise—years of being overlooked, replaced, forgotten. A stranger in my own home.

Nothing changes.

Nothing ever does.

“You know, Dad…” My voice tightens. “I’m also your daughter. In fact, I’m your real daughter. So why is it that you never consider my feelings?”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable,” I repeat quietly.

I say to myself.

I stand sharply, unable to stay any longer. “I’m done,” I say, and walk out before anyone can stop me.

The door slams behind me, the sound echoing through the house.

My white sneakers squeak faintly against the polished floor as I walk. Fast. Determined.

I don’t look back.

Outside, the air hits me—cold, sharp—but it doesn’t touch the fire burning in my chest.

I should be broken.

I should be shattered.

But I’m not.

I’ve been a stranger here for years.

Today just proves it.

I draw in a shaky breath, shoulders squaring.

I should be numb, but I’m not. I’m alive. Furious. And I will not forget this. Not today. Not ever.

The driveway stretches out before me, silent except for the crunch of my sneakers on the gravel. I don’t look back. I can’t.

I need… somewhere quiet. Somewhere that isn’t this house. Somewhere that feels like home.

The cemetery isn’t far. I drive in silence, the city noise fading behind me, leaving only the rhythm of my own thoughts.

I stop in front of my mother’s grave. The small headstone, simple yet elegant, feels like the only constant in my life. I step out of the car and approach slowly, fingers tracing the engraved letters:

“Olivia Kingsley, beloved daughter, wife and mother, always in our hearts.”

I kneel, resting my hands on the cool stone. A bouquet of fresh lilies, her favorite, rests against the base. I had picked them up on the way here, the soft fragrance a small comfort amidst the storm in my chest.

“Mom…” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I know you would’ve wanted me to… to be with him, to try, to forgive. But I can’t. I’m done. He’s caused me too much grief, too much… pain. I can’t anymore. Not for him. Not for anyone who doesn’t see me. Not for a family that… that never really saw me.”

I lay the lilies gently on the grave, the petals brushing the engraved letters. They feel alive against the cold stone, like a small piece of her is here with me.

“I wish things were different. I wish they had loved me the way they were supposed to. But I’m… me, Mom. And I can’t let them define who I am.”

I stay a while, letting the quiet wind carry my words. The grief, the anger, the betrayal—they all sit with me here, but for the first time today, I feel a small measure of peace.

Finally, I straighten, brushing my hands against my jeans. I breathe in deeply, letting the scent of the lilies mingle with the crisp air.

I am angry. I am hurt. But I am alive. And that… that is enough for now.

I take one last look at her grave before turning. The driveway stretches ahead, uncertain, full of shadows—but I walk forward, shoulders squared, ready to face whatever comes next.

Because this is far from over.