Chapter 2

I woke to the sound of soft footsteps in our bedroom. Sunlight filtered through the curtains as I blinked away sleep, momentarily disoriented. Jason's side of the bed was empty—he must have left early for work again.

The house felt unusually quiet as I padded to the bathroom. My burn from yesterday still throbbed beneath its bandage, a constant reminder of Maisie's "accident."

I decided to take a shower, hoping the hot water would ease some of the tension that had settled deep in my bones. As I reached for my robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, I noticed something white peeking out from beneath it.

A small piece of silk.

My heart stuttered as I recognized the distinctive pattern. Carefully, I pulled the robe aside and gasped.

My father's scarf—the last gift he gave me before he died—lay in tatters across my pillow. The delicate silk had been methodically cut into thin ribbons, the intricate embroidery deliberately destroyed. Each cut seemed precise, calculated to inflict maximum damage.

"Oh no," I whispered, gathering the ruined pieces in trembling hands. "No, no, no."

A small white note had been placed among the shreds of silk.

*Dear Isabella,*

*I'm so sorry about your scarf. I found these pieces in the hallway this morning. You must have been sleepwalking again and accidentally caught it on something. I've tried to gather all the pieces for you.*

*—Maisie*

Rage surged through me, hot and sudden. This was no accident. This was deliberate cruelty.

I clutched the ruined scarf to my chest and marched downstairs, my bare feet silent against the plush carpet. I found Maisie in the kitchen, humming softly as she prepared tea.

"Did you do this?" I demanded, holding up the shredded remains of my father's gift.

Maisie turned, her eyes widening with practiced innocence. "Isabella! I left you a note explaining—"

"Don't lie to me!" My voice cracked with emotion. "This was deliberate. You went into my closet and destroyed something precious to me."

Maisie's face crumpled, tears welling in her eyes. "How can you accuse me of such a thing? After everything I've lost?"

"You're not grieving," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "You're enjoying this. Enjoying hurting me."

"You're just jealous," she whispered, tears streaming down her face now. "Jealous that Jason cares about me too. Jealous that I have a connection to Anastasia that you'll never have."

"I don't want your connection to Anastasia," I spat. "I want my husband back. I want my life back."

The front door opened and closed. Jason's footsteps echoed through the foyer.

"What's going on?" he asked, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen.

Maisie turned to him, her body shaking with sobs. "Isabella hates me," she choked out. "She thinks I deliberately ruined her scarf."

Jason's gaze hardened as he looked at me. "Is that true?"

"She cut it up," I said, holding out the evidence. "She's been systematically destroying everything I care about."

"Isabella," Jason sighed, stepping toward Maisie and putting his arm around her shoulders. "This has to stop. Maisie is grieving her sister."

Before I could respond, Maisie wailed louder, burying her face against Jason's chest.

Later that afternoon, I went to my jewelry box for my mother's pearl earrings. As I lifted the velvet tray, something white caught my eye.

Anastasia's ashes.

They sat in a small silver urn, nestled among my most precious possessions.

My blood ran cold as I realized what had happened. Maisie hadn't just destroyed my scarf—she'd planted evidence.

"Isabella?" Jason's voice came from behind me. "What are you doing?"

I turned slowly, the urn in my hands. "She put them here," I whispered. "She's trying to frame me."

Jason's face darkened with fury. "Put those down. Now."

"They weren't in here this morning," I insisted, desperation clawing at my throat. "Jason, you have to believe me. Maisie is playing us against each other."

"First you accuse her of destroying your scarf," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Now you're hiding Anastasia's ashes? What kind of sick game are you playing?"

"It's not a game!" I cried. "She's manipulating you. She's been manipulating both of us from the beginning."

Jason snatched the urn from my hands, cradling it protectively against his chest. "You know what? Maybe you're the one who needs help. Not Maisie."

As he stormed out with the ashes, I sank to the floor, the pieces of my shattered life surrounding me like the tatters of my father's scarf.

And in that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that I couldn't stay in this house any longer.