I thought he wouldn't return for a long time, the way it always was.
But the very next day, when Mom picked me up from school, Dad was already home.
The woman from yesterday—Bella—stood in the living room, directing bodyguards as they hauled our furniture out piece by piece. In its place, pink furnishings—colors that Mom hated—were carried in.
When Dad saw us, he stubbed out his cigarette and walked over. His voice carried exhaustion.
"Gianna, Bella wants to stay here for postpartum recovery. She doesn't like the old furniture, so we're replacing it. We've used this set long enough anyway—it's time for new ones. I know you don't like her, so I've bought tickets for you and Justin. Spend the month traveling abroad."
But this was our home! Why should Mom and I leave just because of an outsider?
Bella noticed us too. She walked straight up to me and pinched my cheek hard.
"You little brat. So the sickly weakling knows how to tattle, huh? I was planning to make you serve your baby brother once he was born, but instead you ran to your mother first. You really have a big mouth."