Chapter 2

"Are you out of your mind?" Emily screamed, her voice slicing through the gloom of the slum evening.

She jabbed her finger at me, trembling with fury.

She snapped, "Do you even know how much this car costs? Can you pay for the damage? You filthy lowlife!"

I ignored her ranting.

I stood up and walked toward her, step by step.

I was filthy, reeking of the sour, rotten smell of the dump.

Emily instinctively backed away until her back hit the cold car.

She demanded, "What do you want? I'm warning you, don't do anything stupid!"

One comment popped up, reading: [Sylvia's going off. She's finally standing up for herself. She is so badass.]

Another read: [Take Emily down! She is a bully, only tough when Sophia is around. She pisses me off.]

A comment read: [Hold back, Sylvia. She's Sophia's lapdog. If you hit her, Nathan will come after you.]

Their concerns weren't wrong.

For eighteen years, I'd been beaten, insulted, and treated like less than nothing.

I remembered when I was seven, burning up with fever and on the verge of dying, while Fiona spent the money for my medicine on her poker night.

I lay on the cold floor, listening to the fireworks outside.

The chat told me it was Sophia's birthday, and Nathan had rented out Disney for her, with fireworks bursting in the sky all night.

I remembered when I was twelve, collapsing at school from years of malnutrition. My adoptive father, Jack White, hauled me back home, cursing me as nothing but a burden and barking at me to go out and collect even more bottles for cash.

The comments told me that while I was suffering, Sophia was skiing at some exclusive resort, her personal coach a world champion.

I remembered when I was fifteen, washing socks for classmates for a whole month just to trade for an old coat to survive the winter.

Fiona saw it, grabbed the coat from me, and handed it to her own son, Peter White. She even broke one of my ribs in the process.

The comments told me that on that very day, Sophia's closet was featured on the cover of some fashion magazine, with the headline: [The Ever-Changing Wardrobe of the City's Favorite It Girl.]

Every single time, I kept my head down and took it, never saying a word.

Because I knew that if I ever fought back, they'd come down on me even harder.

But today was different.

When I found out that everything I'd been through was some cruel "experiment," all so I could be the backdrop to Sophia's spotlight, to prove I was born to be beneath them, something inside me broke for good.

I stopped right in front of Emily, barely a foot away.

We were so close that I could see the terror on her face. No amount of pricey foundation could cover it up.

I reached out my hand.

Emily shut her eyes tight, scared out of her wits.

I didn't hit her.

I slipped my hand into her pocket and pulled out that ridiculously expensive pen.

It was a limited-edition Montblanc.

I'd seen one just like it on the cover of a finance magazine. Nathan had one, too.

"What are you doing with my pen?" Emily blurted out, her voice quivering with panic.

I didn't bother to reply. I gripped the pen and headed for the hood of the car.

On the mirror-shiny hood, I scratched out the words, slow and deliberate: [Murderer. Pay what you owe. Hope you get struck by lightning.]

The screech of metal on paint was sharp enough to make one's teeth ache.

Emily's face went from ghostly pale to a dark, stormy shade, shock and fury battling for control.

She kept stammering, "Y-You..." but couldn't get a single word out.

On the livestream, Sophia clearly saw what was happening. For the first time, her sweet voice was laced with real anger.

She snapped, "Sylvia Lynch! Stop right now! You're ruining the birthday present Dad gave me."

The word "Dad" sounded so natural coming from her lips, and yet it was almost mocking.

I stopped and faced the phone camera.

For the first time in eighteen years, I looked straight into her world.

I said, "Tell Nathan Sherman."

My throat was bone dry, every word rasped out like sandpaper.

I added, "The experiment is over.

"Now, it's my turn."

With that, I tossed the pen, now bent and twisted from my grip, right at Emily.

She screamed like she'd been burned, throwing the pen to the ground in a panic.

I turned and walked away, without even looking back at the battered Bentley or the livid Emily.

One comment read: [That was epic! But I'm so scared right now!]

Another read: [Nathan's gonna flip. After all, Sophia's his favorite girl.]

A comment read: [Sylvia, you must run. Go hide somewhere, quick!]

I didn't run.

The world was huge, but there was nowhere for me to go.

I went back to that so-called "home."

As soon as I walked in, Fiona's hand came swinging at me.

She spat, "You little bitch! Where the hell did you run off to? Getting bold now, huh?"

I swerved out of the way for the first time in my life.

Fiona was left speechless, totally not expecting me to actually dodge her slap.

She snapped, "How dare you defy me!"

She got even more furious, coming at me wild and flailing.

Peter, fifteen years old and already bigger and taller than me, charged in too, trying to grab me from behind.

He called out, "Mom, I grab her. We gotta beat the hell out of this jinx today!"

Back then, they'd pin me to the floor and beat me senseless, kicking and punching until they were too tired to go on.

But today, I wasn't going to take it anymore.