Chapter 2
My dad looked at Sophie's undisguised happiness in the photos. His whole body swayed.
In the pictures, Sophie's eyes still had no focus. But her face was aimed exactly at the lens every single time.
She and Michael cuddled together, beaming.
Nothing like someone being forced.
"What... what's going on here?" my dad stammered, his voice trembling.
My mom came over to look. When she finished, she pointed at Sophie, too angry to speak.
"Why would you do that?" My mom finally managed to spit out.
Sophie collapsed on the floor. She knew she couldn't pretend anymore.
Her crying stopped. The fear on her face slowly faded.
Then she laughed coldly. "Yeah. I was faking."
She stood up. Those eyes she'd kept "blind" for over ten years locked onto me.
Sharp. Focused. No more emptiness.
"My eyes got better five years ago," Sophie said, her voice suddenly calm and almost smug. "The same year I met Michael. He found me the best doctor overseas."
My mom clutched her chest. "Why? We've been good to you. Why would you do this to Emily?"
"Good to me?" Sophie shot back.
She let out a sarcastic laugh. "You were throwing me scraps.
"Ever since I was little, everything good went to Emily. She was the great Miss Summers. What was I? Just the blind girl.
"Why? What makes her better than me?"
Sophie pointed at me, her voice turning shrill. "Now I have Michael. And two sons. I'm the real Mrs. Landon.
"And you, Emily? You've got nothing.
"You're only trash that nobody wants!"
Smack! My dad hauled off and slapped Sophie so hard across the face.
"Shut your mouth!" he barked.
Sophie's head snapped to the side. A bright red handprint bloomed on her cheek.
She held her face. The hatred in her eyes only grew.
"Hit me again. Go ahead!" Sophie screamed. "You never treated me like a daughter anyway.
"Michael's coming to get me any minute. He's dumping Emily and marrying me."
Right as she finished, the doorbell rang.
Sophie's face lit up with a smug smile.
"See? There he is," she said, her voice full of triumph.
Sophie ran to open the door.
Sure enough, Michael stood there. Two bodyguards stood behind him.
He didn't even look at us. He walked straight to Sophie and put his arm around her waist.
"Sorry you had to go through that, Sophie," Michael said.
"Michael!" Sophie called out, her voice sweet and clingy.
She threw herself into his arms.
"They hit me, and Emily kept shoving pictures in my face," Sophie sobbed, her voice breaking.
Michael's face darkened.
He looked at me, eyes cold.
"Delete the photos, Emily," he said, his voice flat. "Or I won't be nice about it."
"What are you gonna do?" I shot back, refusing to flinch.
Michael tilted his head.
His bodyguards stepped forward.
"Mr. and Mrs. Summers, I came to tell you something," Michael said. "The engagement between me and Emily is over.
"I'll compensate the Summers family four hundred million. And I'll fix Summers Corporation's problems.
"In exchange, you announce that Emily has health issues and called off the wedding herself. And you agree to let me marry Sophie."
My dad laughed out of pure anger. "Michael, you're dreaming. I'd rather die than let an animal like you marry my daughter again."
Michael pulled out his phone and pressed speaker.
"Sell all Summers shares. Cut off their last funding line," he said coldly.
He hung up.
"You don't want to be reasonable? Fine. Expect bankruptcy papers tomorrow morning. You brought this on yourselves," Michael sneered.
My dad was shaking with rage. His face was ghostly white.
Michael put his arm around Sophie and turned to leave.
"Wait," I called after him.
Michael looked back, a smirk on his face.
"Change your mind?" he taunted.
I walked up to him.
"Michael. You think you've already won?" I asked.
He raised an eyebrow and didn't say anything.
I smiled.
Then I reached up and yanked off my heavy veil.
A bunch of my hair came with it.
No. Not hair. A wig.
The wig hit the floor. My bald head was exposed to the cold air.
My scalp was pale white and bloodless.
Dark blue veins stood out against it.
I pulled up my sleeve.
My arms—once smooth and pale—were covered in dense needle marks.
Bruises, purple and black, twisted together.
The smug look on Michael's face froze.
My mom clamped her hand over her mouth.
Her legs gave out. She hit her knees hard.
"Emily, you've been scared of needles since you were little. What have you been hiding from us?" she sobbed.
My dad—that tough businessman—was crying like an old man.
He slapped himself across the face. "This is my fault! I brought a wolf into our house and pushed you toward your death."