Chapter 3

After I hung up, I tucked the bracelet box carefully into my bag.

The knock came right on time. Three heavy thuds against the door, hard, demanding.

I didn't open the door.

My father's voice filtered through, muffled but unmistakable. "Sophia. Open the door."

I stayed exactly where I was.

"I know you're in there. Come out. We need to talk."

Talk? About what? How I embarrassed him tonight? How I should get on my knees and beg his precious Emily for forgiveness?

The silence stretched. When he spoke again, his voice carried that familiar weight, the one that always preceded a verdict.

"How long are you going to keep this up? Emily's heart is acting up because of you. She's downstairs on oxygen right now. Can you let her be happy for once?"

There it was. The heart condition.

Emily did have a mild issue, nothing like the dramatic production they made it out to be.

But it was her favorite prop. Her ace in the hole. The perfect excuse for everything.

I laughed under my breath, crossed the room, and yanked the door open.

My father stood there, impatience still stamped across his face like he hadn't expected me to actually comply.

"Dad." I held his gaze, mine flat and unreadable. "If her heart's that bad, she belongs in a hospital. Or at least with a doctor in the room.

"What, you think standing around her will cure her? Add years to her life?"

His mouth opened, then closed. His face darkened. "What kind of attitude is that?"

"What attitude?" I stepped closer. "What attitude should a daughter have when she's humiliated in front of hundreds of people?

"What should I say when I was betrayed by my own fiancé, and blamed by every member of my family? Should I get on my knees and thank you?"

God, that felt good. Three years of swallowing every word, and suddenly they were all pouring out.

"You—!" His hand shot up.

I didn't flinch. Didn't move. I stared at the man who gave me life and nothing else.

His hand hung there, frozen mid-swing.

Maybe it was the empty look in my eyes that made him hesitate for a split second.

"You're impossible." He dropped his hand and jabbed a finger at me instead. "Starting tomorrow, you're grounded. You don't leave this house until you've learned some respect."

He slammed the door as if I were something contagious.

I listened to his footsteps fade down the hall, and slowly, I started smiling.

Grounded. Perfect. Exactly what I needed to plan for my death.

*****

The grounding held. The next morning, when the maid Kelly brought my tray, she couldn't meet my eyes. Like she knew something I didn't. Or maybe like she pitied me.

I could picture exactly what was happening downstairs. Emily began her tear-jerking act. The whole family was hovering around her like she was made of glass, everyone's voices soft and soothing.

I rotted away upstairs like the villain of the piece.

I ate calmly. Then I opened my laptop and started searching.

Tallest unfinished construction sites in the city. How to draft a legally binding will.

Contact information for the CEO of the largest media corporation.

I wasn't going quietly. I wanted the whole city to see what the Carters did to their own blood.

I wanted this truth, this long-overdue truth, to carve itself into them like a scar they'd never outgrow.

Later that afternoon, Bob called. "Sophie, I've examined the piece thoroughly. It's museum quality. Are you certain about selling?"

"I am." My voice came out steadier than I expected. "The price doesn't matter. But I have one condition."

"I'm listening."

"I want the buyer to present it publicly. Seven days from now, next Monday, at a press conference. They'll hand it directly to Miss Emily Carter in front of everyone."

Silence stretched across the line.

Bob sighed. "Sophie, why put yourself through this?"

I smiled, even though he couldn't see it. "Consider it a final favor, Mr. Williams. Please."