Chapter 2
Left alone in the dining room, I couldn't bring myself to eat another bite.
My hand froze.
My face burned, and I bit down hard on my lip.
To the Ford family, having a disabled family member like me was nothing but a permanent mark of shame.
In their eyes, I was supposed to be grateful just for surviving, and I wasn't even allowed to dream of anything more.
But I had my own things to be proud of.
Since elementary school, I had my teachers help me apply for various art contests.
I taught myself sketching, watercolor, and life drawing.
Last year, my artwork even reached the finals of the Emerging Artists competition.
I didn't take home the top prize, but it still boosted my confidence.
I lowered my gaze, and tears traced the curve of my lashes before dripping onto the plate.
But when I eagerly brought over the portrait I'd drawn of my parents, hoping they'd be proud, they just gave it a quick, uninterested glance.
Dad just chuckled and apologized into the phone, "Sorry about that, my youngest just barged in, waving some doodle around.
"Anyway, as I was saying, I think that new project in the east is perfect for Isabella. She's a rare business genius, you know."
Mom walked in with a cup of coffee, set it down, and without a hint of hesitation, pushed me right out the door.
She barked at me, "Go play somewhere else. You're always getting in the way. Can't you just stay quietly in your room for once?"
The drawing slipped from my hands and drifted to the floor.
My dad's words and my mom's shove stung like two hard slaps right across my face.
Back in my room, I picked up the drawing my dad had called "doodle" and ripped it apart, bit by bit.
All those vibrant colors, the light and shadow, the lines I used to be so proud of now felt like knives twisting in my heart.
Luna, stop fooling yourself.
In this family, even breathing felt like a mistake. Your art didn't mean a thing here.
In that moment, I realized with painful clarity that they weren't just pretending I didn't exist.
They truly wished I would vanish from their lives.
From that day on, I let go of any illusion that there could ever be real warmth or love between us.
All I wanted was a chance to get out of here for good.
The only lifeline I could cling to was my art.
Last year, my piece "Luna" made it all the way to the finals of the Emerging Artists competition.
In the painting, there was an abandoned warehouse, sunlight pouring through shattered windows and cutting sharp beams across the floor.
Beneath those beams, a tiny, ordinary dandelion stubbornly broke through a crack in the concrete, blooming with its soft yellow blossom.
That was me.
After the competition, I got a DM from Visionary Gallery, one of the top galleries in the country.
They wanted to represent my art exclusively and promised to protect my identity, letting me stay completely anonymous.
I didn't hesitate for a second. I signed the contract under the name Echo.
With my first signing bonus, I hired the top rehabilitation specialist in the country for myself.
After months of intensive treatment, my left leg wasn't ever going to be perfect, but the limp that used to be so obvious had faded to the point where hardly anyone would notice.
The ever-growing balance in my bank account was my leverage was the security I needed to finally break free from the Ford family.
Like a spider lurking in the shadows, I was quietly weaving my web, waiting for the perfect moment to catch them all and pull off my escape.
That chance I'd been waiting for finally showed up on my twentieth birthday.
That day, the Ford family was hosting a lavish charity gala to celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of Ford Group.
The highlight of the night was the charity auction.
Lucas, the future heir, was set to deliver the speech.
Isabella was donating her own oil painting, "Swan Lake", as an auction piece to help the Ford family score some good PR as charity champions.