Chapter 3
My adoptive parents—Alina's real family—were the scum of the earth.
The man was a worthless gambler who'd beat me half to death whenever he got drunk.
I still carry the scars on my back from the night he used a hot poker.
The woman was vicious and stingy, working me like a beast of burden.
For 15 years, I had no dignity. I was always hungry. I never knew a single day of kindness.
Just torment and despair, day after day.
All that pain and anger I'd bottled up for 15 years just spilled over, and I couldn't stop the tears from falling.
"Fifteen years. I lived like an animal. No one ever pitied me, not once. I made it through all that. And now, because she might have to go back to her rightful place, you all weep as if she's made of glass?" I shouted, my voice shaking with rage and heartbreak.
Honestly, I'd known from the very start they'd never actually send Alina away.
But a foolish, desperate hope had clung to me.
Maybe, just to quiet me, they would hide her in some distant country house.
Maybe they would at least pretend, for my sake.
But they didn't even bother to give me that pretense.
My mother flinched from the hatred in my eyes.
She let go of Alina, reaching out to me, but stopped short—too scared to actually touch me.
"Serena... I failed you," she said, her voice trembling with guilt.
"Those 15 years... I thought about you every single day. I searched, but I couldn't find you," she sobbed, barely able to get the words out.
Tears poured down her face, her pain and regret so real that it hurt to watch.
But then, she lifted her gaze to meet mine.
"But you're home now. The past is behind us. Why must you tear us all apart? After everything, how can you be so cruel?" she said, her voice shaking with frustration and disbelief.
So that was it. My pain had never mattered to them.
Suddenly, it felt like every ounce of strength in me just vanished.
Maybe coming back here was the real mistake.
My mother looked shocked by her own words, panic and regret flashing across her face.
"Serena, that's not what I meant..." she said softly, her voice shaky.
"No one ever wanted this to happen to you. No one wanted you to suffer like this. Alina is innocent too. Now she's lost her home. What more could you possibly need?" she said, her voice breaking as she looked at me.
As she spoke, her eyes grew red with tears once more.
She looked like the true victim there.
What more could I need?
I looked at her, and all I felt was a deep, weary sorrow.
"How am I supposed to move on? By watching you secure her future in secret, then turning to me and saying I should be content with the scraps?" I said, my voice shaking with anger and hurt.
I pointed at the luxurious, warm home behind those doors.
"There are limits. We're both your daughters. She's had everything. Even now, you're making sure her future is safe—polished, perfect!" I shouted, my voice trembling with anger.
"And me? Whenever I speak up, I'm called immature, inconsiderate, or even cruel. My pain doesn't count. Not next to one of her sighs," I cried, my voice raw and trembling.
Every word felt like it was tearing me apart inside.
Before I realized it, people had started to gather, pointing and whispering from afar.
My father's face grew even darker.
The Evans name stood for dignity. This—a scene in the street—was a stain.
"Enough! Haven't you shamed us enough?" he barked.
His voice was authoritative and laced with annoyance.
Without even looking at me, he addressed the guards behind him.
"Take her back to the house. She is not to leave the grounds until I permit it," he ordered, his voice brooking no argument.
The guards immediately stepped forward and seized me by the arms.
And just like that, I was marched back to the Evans Estate, past a crowd of onlookers, each with their own expression—judgment, curiosity, pity.
When I returned, the old matron assigned to look after me watched me closely, her gaze full of mixed emotions.
She finally let out a sigh.
"Ms. Evans, why must you always take the hardest path?" she said softly.
I just sat there, holding my cup with a blank expression.
She looked around, her voice carrying the weight of someone who'd seen it all.
"Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but Ms. Alina Evans was raised by Lord and Lady Evans themselves for 15 years. That's not a bond you can erase in a day," she said gently.
She paused, measuring her words.
"A scene like today's... it only makes them see a child throwing a tantrum. If you want what is rightfully yours, you won't get it by burning every bridge. You must learn to be clever," she said, her words calm but firm.
Her words hit me like a bucket of cold water, snapping me out of the heat of my own anger.
Some things really can't be forced.