Oliver scoffed loudly, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re spoiling her, Beatrice. She’ll think she deserves this. She doesn’t. She’s done nothing to earn it.”
Jackson rolled his eyes, and even Coreen whined in protest. “Why give her that?”
But Beatrice only smiled sweetly, the perfect act of a perfect sister. “Because she’s family,” she said, her tone honeyed, her eyes shining as though she truly cared.
I wanted to laugh, but the sound stuck in my throat.
As she pressed the black card into my palm, her smile never wavered. But her lips moved closer, her whisper slicing sharper than any knife.
“Just know… you owe me. Because no one else loves you anymore.”
Her breath brushed against my ear, her voice venom wrapped in sugar. And then she pulled back, feigning kindness again, while Oliver and Jackson looked on, blind to the truth.
They left shortly after, their voices echoing with excitement as they piled into the car. But before they did, they made sure to leave the house in chaos—clothes strewn everywhere, dishes piled in the sink, trash scattered across the floor. A battlefield of neglect, as though daring me to drown in it. As though mocking me with the proof of my servitude.