Chapter 2

At dinner, the maid set out five place settings.

Richard, Grace, Emily, Emily's fiancé Nathan Shaw, and—

"The cupboard's ready," Grace said. "You'll stay there for now. Once a room opens up on the second floor, we'll move you."

I looked at the stairs. At least five rooms on the second floor. All dark.

"Which room opens up?" I asked.

"Emily's room. It faces the sun. She's used to it, so we won't move her for now." Grace's voice was flat. "You'll take the east room. The light isn't as good, but it's quiet."

I didn't say anything. I picked up my fork and knife and grabbed some food.

Beef stew. Really tender. I grabbed a piece, but before it got to my mouth, Grace spoke.

"Emily loves that. Eat the greens instead," she said.

I looked at the greens. They were boiled in water. No oil, no salt.

I put the meat in my mouth, chewed three times, and swallowed.

"I love it too," I said. Then I grabbed another piece.

Grace's face changed. Emily quickly tried to smooth things over. "It's okay, Mom. She can have it. I'm not hungry."

"You have a sensitive stomach. The doctor said you need nutrients." Grace glared at me. "Sophie, your sister is being nice to you. Don't push it."

Sophie. That was my name.

Before I was taken, I was Sophie Carter. I was kidnapped on the night of my one-month celebration. They never changed my name. Probably too lazy to think of one.

"I didn't ask her to be nice," I said. "If she wants to eat, she can eat. There are still six pieces left. I counted."

"You—" Grace started, her voice sharp.

"Richard." Grace turned to my father. "Look at her!"

Richard put down his fork. "First day. No fighting."

He looked at me. His eyes had no warmth.

"Sophie, this family has rules. Emily is the daughter we raised for eighteen years. You can't compete with that bond. You just got here. You need to adapt to us, not the other way around," he said.

I nodded. "Got it."

He thought I was backing down. His voice softened a little. "The cupboard has a bed and blankets. If you need anything, tell the maid.

"Tomorrow I'll have someone buy you some clothes. Don't go out dressed like that. You'll embarrass the Carter name."

"Okay," I said.

After dinner, the maid took me to the cupboard.

It really was a cupboard. In the corner, some old tools were stacked. The air smelled like mold. The bed was made of wooden planks with a thin blanket on top.

"The bathroom is outside. Shared," the maid said. "For showers, go to the second floor. But Mrs. Carter said no going upstairs after 9 PM. It might disturb your sister's rest."

I checked my phone. 8:40.

"Can I go now?" I asked.

The maid curled her lip. "Mrs. Carter didn't say you could."

I nodded, pushed her out, and locked the door.

Then I pulled a kitchen knife from behind my back.

I'd grabbed it from the kitchen. The one for cutting meat. Really sharp. I'd tested it on chicken bones.

I sat on the plank bed and ran my thumb along the blade.

Footsteps outside. They were light. They stopped at the door.

"Sophie?" Emily's voice. "Are you asleep?"

I didn't answer.

"I know you're in there." She laughed. "Comfortable in the cupboard? I told the maid to set it up special. I even put out bug spray. You once worked in the fields. Bugs don't scare you, right?"

Still no answer.

"Stop pretending." Her voice went cold. "I know you can hear me. Sophie, you think coming back means you can take everything from me? Dream on.

"For eighteen years, I've been the Carters' daughter. You? You're just some wild kid with Carter blood."

I got up and walked to the door.

Through the crack, I could see the edge of her white dress.

"Wild kid?" I said, my voice soft.

She seemed to have flinched and stepped back half a step. But she recovered fast. "What? Am I wrong? You grew up in the fields. Who knows what you've done? You've probably already been—"

I opened the door.

She didn't finish her sentence. Because she saw the knife in my hand.

"You—" Emily started, her voice sharp.

I pressed the blade against her neck.

The steel was cold. She shivered. Little bumps rose on her skin.

"Go on," I said. "I've been what?"

She didn't move. Her eyes darted down, trying to see where the knife was. I pressed harder. She froze.

"Sophie..." Emily stammered.

"Don't call me that," I said. "That's not what you called me before."

"I... I'm sorry." Her voice shook. "I was just running my mouth. I didn't mean it. Please don't—"

"I'm not impulsive," I said. "I'm careful. I sharpened this knife for ten minutes. It's really sharp. One cut and your windpipe is gone. You won't even have a chance to scream."

Tears rolled down her face and hit my hand.

"Please..." Emily whimpered.

"Shh," I said. "Let me finish."

I leaned close to her ear. My voice was soft as a whisper. "I know what you want. You want the Carter family. You want Nathan. You want everyone to worship you. I don't care about any of that."

She froze. Even her tears stopped.

"But I hate when people mess with me," I said. "The cupboard is fine. I'm used to bugs. But you coming here tonight? That made me really unhappy."

The blade pressed a millimeter deeper into her skin. A drop of blood appeared.

"This is a warning," I said. "Next time you come after me, I won't use a knife."

"Then... then what will you use?"

"You." I smiled. "Guess what Mom and Dad would think if they found out their precious daughter, the one they raised for eighteen years, is actually a monster trying to kill her sister?"

Her face went white.

"I'm not," Emily blurted, panic creeping into her voice.

"You are," I said. "I recorded everything you just said."

I waved my phone.

Her expression shifted from terror to pure hatred. But then it shifted back to pitiful.

"What do you want?" Emily asked.

"Simple." I put the knife away. "Stay away from me. I'll stay in the cupboard. I'll eat leftovers. But don't bother me. We mind our own business. When I'm ready to leave, the whole Carter family is yours."

"Really?"

"Really," I said. "But if you try anything again, I'll show you what 'trying anything' really looks like."

She clutched her neck, backed up, and ran.

I watched her go and tucked the knife back behind my waist.

The cupboard light was dim. I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

What I'd said was half-truth.

The recording was real. But I wasn't leaving.

The Carters owed me more than a sunny room.