Chapter 2

Nicholas' dog bed was custom-made. Imported real leather. Worth nearly 30,000 dollars. He had his own private room. It was about 200 square feet. It had air conditioning, a humidifier, and an air purifier.

On the wall there was an oil portrait of him. My mom specially hired a fine arts professor from a prestigious university to paint it.

My room was at the end of the hallway on the third floor. It was about 100 square feet. There was no private bathroom. The window faced north. In the winter, it was freezing.

In the summer, it was boiling. The furniture in my room was the old set my mom had replaced ten years earlier. The nightstand was missing a corner, propped up with a yellow pages directory.

The closet was one of those old three-door kinds. It never stayed shut. It always popped open on its own, like a mouth that couldn't close.

I lived in that room for 23 years. From the day I was born until now. Yes, from birth.

Because when my mom had me, we didn't even have this mansion yet. Back then they lived in a regular apartment on the outskirts of Valenor. Alex and Chloe already had their own rooms.

There was only one room left, the maid's room. That was where I lived.

Then we moved to a bigger house. Then we moved again, to this mansion. Every time we moved, Alex's and Chloe's rooms got upgraded. From a regular room to a suite. From a suite to a luxury suite.

And my room? It went from the maid's room to a small guest room to the end of the hallway.

It was always the smallest room in the house. Always.

Once I joked to my mom, "Mom, now that we're rich, could you get me a bigger room?"

She was reading a script. She didn't even look up. "Why would you need a bigger room just for yourself? That's a waste."

I said, "Alex lives by himself too."

She said, "He needs space for his livestreams and videos."

I said, "Chloe's the same."

She said, "She needs to try on clothes and take outfit photos. She needs a walk-in closet."

I said, "I need that too, you know."

She finally looked up and gave me a look.

I'd never forget that look for the rest of my life.

It wasn't disgust or annoyance. It was confusion, like I had said something that made absolutely no sense.

"What do you need?" she asked.

I opened my mouth. Then suddenly I didn't know what to say.

What did I need?

I needed to be seen.

I needed to be treated as part of this family.

I needed someone to remember I existed.

But if I said those things out loud, wouldn't I just sound dramatic?

My parents were A-list stars. Alex was an A-list pop star. Chloe was an A-list model. Even our dog was an internet celebrity.

I had nothing. Who was I to ask for anything?

"Nothing," I said.

My mom lowered her head and went back to reading her script.

I turned and walked away.

When I got to the door, I heard her say from behind, "Nina, take the trash out."

I said okay.

That night, I carried the trash bag downstairs. On my way past the living room, I saw the family photos hanging on that wall.

A solo shot of my dad. A solo shot of Alex. A solo shot of Chloe. A solo shot of Nicholas.

And one family portrait of my dad, my mom, Alex, Chloe, and Nicholas.

Five faces, all smiling brightly.

I wasn't in it.

There wasn't a single photo of me on that wall.

I stood there and looked at them for a long moment.

Then I took the trash bag, walked outside, threw it away, came back, went upstairs, went to my room, closed the door, turned off the light, and went to sleep.

I didn't say anything.

Because nobody would have cared even if I had.