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Chapter 2

Autor: Seren
"Hey, sis, what are you doing?"

Just as I was staring blankly at the mirror, Ella's face popped up behind me out of nowhere.

I jolted and quickly shoved my phone away.

"Sorry about today—I was so caught up in the performance, I kinda left you out there all alone."

"But hey, good news—Professor Erickson loved my performance. He told me to keep going, that I'll definitely surpass Mom and Dad someday."

"Sis, that grad school dream you never got to finish? Let me do it for you."

She washed her hands, flashed a smile, and walked out.

Leaving me behind, fists clenched, watching her coldly.

A year ago, I'd gotten an interview invite from Harvard Business School—top of my class.

The interviewers were heavy hitters in economics, notorious for being brutal and ruthless. The dropout rate was sky-high.

To prepare, I'd asked my parents—both university professors—to run a mock interview for me, to help me nail the weak spots.

They'd said yes. No hesitation.

That evening, I knocked on the study door, Harvard application in hand.

"Dad, Mom, I need to tell you about—"

"Not now, Seraphina. We're discussing Ella's repertoire for next month's competition." My mother waved me off without looking up.

I tried again the next morning at breakfast.

"About my interview—"

"Is it really that urgent?" My father cut me off, buttering his toast. "We're in the middle of planning Ella's summer program. Whatever it is, write it down and we'll look at it later."

Later never came.

Every time I opened my mouth, there was always something—Ella's practice schedule, Ella's recital, Ella's future. My words died in my throat before they ever reached their ears.

Three days before the interview, I knocked on the study door one last time—and found them scrambling to pack.

"Dad, Mom." I gripped the papers in my hand. "I need five minutes. Please. My interview is in three days and I—"

"Not tonight. Not tomorrow or the day after, either." My father yanked the zipper of his suitcase shut. "Your mother and I are heading to the airport."

I froze.

"But my grad school interview—you promised you'd help me prep—"

"Seraphina, is your head so full of nothing but your petty little future?"

He cut me off, irritation dripping from every word.

"Ella's violin strings are damaged. We're flying to Vienna tonight to have the best luthier fix them. This is critical to her artistic career."

"What about me?" I heard my own voice shaking. "This interview is critical to my career. You promised—"

"That's just you going to argue with a bunch of businessmen."

My mother stepped in, her tone merciless.

"We musicians value musicality above all. Using subpar strings for too long will ruin her artistic instincts. As for you—just practice in front of a mirror a few more times."

"But you don't even know where—"

"Enough!"

My father's face darkened.

"Seraphina, as the older sister, you have zero sense of sacrifice, and all you think about is competing with your sister for attention."

"We're deeply disappointed. Stay home and reflect on yourself."

The door slammed shut.

I stood there, Harvard application still clutched to my chest.

They didn't even ask which school. Didn't care where I was applying, what I was risking, what I'd worked for.

Just practice in front of a mirror. As if that was all I deserved.

I was trembling all over, fighting to hold back tears.

That night, I sat alone in the living room, camera on my laptop.

Recorded myself. Critiqued myself. Made up my own brutal cross-examinations.

4:00 AM, I downed my fourth shot of espresso, stomach cramping hard.

10:00 AM, the interview went ahead as scheduled.

First few questions, I handled fine.

But soon enough, my overworked body caught up. My brain slowed to a crawl. I kept freezing—long, painful silences—on question after question.

Watching the interviewers' smiles fade, I knew. It was over.

When the rejection came through, I sat alone on a bench, and the tears just came.

And right then, my screen lit up.

A new post from my mother.

Ella, holding her brand-new violin, standing in a Vienna plaza. My father's arm around her shoulder, pride beaming.

The caption: "A fine instrument, for a future artist."

I stared at the photo. Didn't reply.

Just opened my notes, found the document called "Escape Plan," and typed the very first line:

"My Harvard dream—worth less than my sister's instrument."

They never even knew what they'd cost me.

And they never bothered to ask.
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  • You Never Heard Me   Chapter 8

    A week later, my assistant delivered an interstate package to my office.I sliced it open with a letter opener.On top: a signed Parental Rights Termination Agreement.Two red thumbprints at the bottom.Their acknowledgment that they'd lost me for good.I set it aside and looked deeper.Second layer: the deed to the New York apartment—already transferred into my name.Beneath it, a bank statement showing the account they'd set up for me. Every monthly repayment I'd sent them, untouched. Plus the proceeds from selling the old house—over three million dollars in total.And at the very bottom—a pile of cheap plastic toys. A doll. A dress. A comic book.Things I'd begged my mother for at seven years old, standing outside a store window.All I got back then was a scolding. She said they were vulgar, beneath my taste. Made me stand in the corner all night.At the bottom of the box: a letter from my father.Scrawled, tear-stained:Seraphina—I'm sorry.I spent my whole life chasing this hollo

  • You Never Heard Me   Chapter 7

    A year later. New York.The sunset bled gold across the skyscrapers. I clicked down the stairs in my heels, surrounded by a cluster of assistants.In that one year, I'd carved through the investment division like a blade—three billion-dollar M&A deals in a row.I'd shot up to become the youngest senior partner in the firm.Here, I didn't need to read sheet music.My performance reviews were my medals."Director, the car's ready. Everyone's waiting for you at the hotel for the celebratory dinner."My assistant held the door open."Mm. Let's go."I was about to step toward the car—when I spotted two figures shivering by the entrance.My father. My mother.Just a year apart, and they looked twenty years older. My father's hair had gone gray, his back hunched. My mother's eyes were lined with exhaustion.They saw me, fidgeted with their hands, and shuffled forward."Seraphina..." My mother's voice was syrupy with appeasement.I stopped. Nothing moved inside me."Can I help you?" My tone wa

  • You Never Heard Me   Chapter 6

    The shattering sound of a wine glass hitting the floor made my mother freeze mid-step as she came downstairs."Have you lost your mind?! You yelled at Ella—over her?!"She rushed over to shield Ella.My father pointed at the cost statement on the coffee table, his voice hoarse."Go read that. Go on. We just drove a genius out of this house."My mother refused to believe it.She was convinced that Seraphina—that calculating little thing—would never give up anything for the family without holding something back. Must have stashed away plenty of private money. Sneaking off to enjoy herself while playing the victim.She turned and walked into my dim little room, determined to find proof of my selfishness.While rummaging through a cardboard box under the bed, she found an old phone.No passcode.She turned it on and opened the photo gallery, then the social apps.Photo after photo of me working my part-time jobs. The latest one was timestamped 4:00 AM.In the files, she found a hidden chat

  • You Never Heard Me   Chapter 5

    A month later.My parents pushed open the front door, lugging bags and boxes of souvenirs."Seraphina! Get out here and carry this luggage upstairs! Careful—don't bump the instruments!"My mother barked orders from the doorway, same as always.The house was silent.Only the grandfather clock in the corner of the living room ticked away."That useless girl—still out working?"My father slipped into his slippers and walked straight into the living room.His gaze froze.He saw a single envelope resting on the piano.He walked over and picked it up. Inside—a bank card.Attached was a handwritten note:This card contains $5,000. I will transfer $5,000 every month until the total reaches $120,000—every cent this family ever spent on me, repaid in full.Do not contact me. Do not look for me.— S.My father's hand trembled as he read the note.He flipped to the next page beneath it—a printout.At the top, in bold: COST SETTLEMENT STATEMENT.[2019: Ella's custom piano bench – $8,000. Seraphina'

  • You Never Heard Me   Chapter 4

    After Ella left, I leaned against the sink, and the memories came flooding back.But there was nothing left in me—no ache, no sting.Because I'd already made up my mind. I was done with them.A moment later, I smoothed down my clothes and walked back to the table."Seraphina, you're back."My mother glanced at me."We've already talked it over. Ella's performance was such a success. Your father and I have decided to take her to Paris for a vacation—about a month.""Oh."I answered flatly, my face blank.My father was fiddling with his phone. He slid a bill across the table toward me."This trip to Paris is going to be expensive. After all, artistic nourishment doesn't come cheap."He looked down at me from his high horse."Now that you've graduated, it's time you stepped up as the older sister. Get a job in the meantime and use the money to help with household expenses.""I already canceled your New York ticket. Money's tight right now, and the cost of living there is too high—it'd onl

  • You Never Heard Me   Chapter 3

    After I lost my shot at Harvard, I still landed a spot at a high-end business forum, thanks to my grades.Big names were attending—Forbes-listed entrepreneurs. If I could just catch their eye, even get one resume out there, I'd have a solid offer.But the school covered none of the costs.Flights, accommodation, plus the deposit—thirty thousand dollars.I'd had that saved up for a while.Four years of college: no new clothes, no makeup, even taped up my glasses when one arm broke. Wore them like that for months.I went to class during the day, worked a convenience store delivery shift at night. Penny by penny, I'd built that fund.Two weeks before the forum.My mother set down her spoon, dabbed her mouth with a napkin, and looked at me."Seraphina, I saw your bank statement today. You have thirty thousand dollars saved?"I stopped mid-chew."Yes. It's from my part-time jobs. I'm going to—""Perfect timing."My father set down his glass and cut me off."Ella's hosting a solo recital at

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