Chapter 2
Noelle’s POV
“What exactly are you trying to get me to sign, Noelle?”
Christopher’s voice sliced through the quiet like a blade.
My fingers froze around the phone, still warm from the just–ended call. I hung up quickly.
“I asked you a question,” he repeated, stepping forward, menace in his tone.
Gripping the phone tighter, I countered, “Why are you back so soon? I thought the meeting would take longer.”
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“You’re deflecting” he said, eyes narrowing. “Who were you talking to?”
“The hospital,” I replied evenly. “The doctor needed signatures on some paperwork.”
He reached out and grabbed my phone, attempting to unlock it. I forced myself to stay calm.
“What’s your password?”
“My birthdate.”
He punched it in. Nothing. He frowned, tried again.
“Why won’t it open? Isn’t your birthday June third?”
I gave him a cold, rueful smile. “That’s
Jocelyn’s birthday.”
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He hesitated.
Three years of marriage–and he never knew.
A sheepish look crept onto his face. “Oh, I must get those mixed up.”
“You’ve had three years to learn the
difference,” I said quietly.
“I’ve never been good with dates,” he muttered.
“Except hers,” I whispered. “Even after she abandoned you, you never forgot hers.”
“That’s enough,” he snapped, irritation overtaking guilt. “Jocelyn apologized. You’re the one who can’t let go.”
I didn’t argue. I walked past him and climbed
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the stairs.
The bedroom–once ours–became mine alone the day Jocelyn moved in.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I reached into the jewelry box and pulled out a velvet pouch.
My mother’s brooch. A silver filigree piece, one stone missing.
It held no monetary value–but it was the last remnant of her I had. The only thing no one had yet stolen.
I placed it gently inside a satin–lined case.
Downstairs, the front door swung open.
“I’m home!” Jocelyn called, her voice honeyed and insincere. “Papa and I stopped
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at the new boutique–you wouldn’t believe the designs.”
My father’s voice followed. “Jocelyn has an eye for luxury. Unlike Noelle.”
I clenched my jaw.
Footsteps ascended. Jocelyn appeared in the doorway, shopping bags dangling from her wrists like prizes.
“Packing already?” she asked sweetly.
I said nothing.
She waltzed in uninvited and yanked open a drawer. “Still keeping James’s things? You really need to move on, Noelle. He’s dead.”
I slammed the drawer shut. “Don’t touch that.”
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Her expression sharpened into a smirk. “Why not? It’s not like you’ve got anything else.”
“I’ll be leaving soon,” I said flatly. “Then you can have everything you’ve ever schemed for.”
She stepped closer. “Oh, but I don’t have it all. Not yet.”
Suddenly, she let out a piercing scream and collapsed, clutching her wrist.
“I’m sorry, Noelle! Please–I didn’t mean to ask! Don’t hurt me!”
Heavy footsteps pounded upstairs.
My father and Christopher burst into the
room.
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“What the hell is going on?” my father roared.
“She hit me!” Jocelyn whimpered, sniffling. “I only asked if I could keep her mother’s brooch to help with my nightmares. I thought… we’re sisters…”
“You selfish monster,” Christopher barked, rounding on me. “Just give it to her! Why make a scene over everything?”
“That brooch is all I have left of my mother,” I murmured.
My father’s voice struck like a whip. “Your mother was a selfish whore. And you’re no different.”
Tears welled up. My fingers shook as I opened the box.
I heard my mother’s voice again, soft and
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warm:
“Protect it with your life, sweetheart. It’s our family’s crest. It’ll watch over you when I can’t.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and handed it to Jocelyn.
She smiled, victorious. Then-
“Oops.”
The brooch slipped from her hand and hit the floor. It snapped.
“You broke it,” I whispered. “You… broke it.”
“I’m sorry” she said with mock remorse. “You passed it on with bad energy. See? I’m bleeding.”
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Christopher rushed to inspect her palm. “You’re injured. I knew she was spiteful.”
They hovered over her like porcelain.
I clenched my fists. “It was an accident. You saw-”
“Enough out of you!” my father barked. “Jealous and pathetic, like always.”
Jocelyn turned back toward me. “I’m really sorry, Noelle. Let me help.”
She crouched beside me. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Want to know why the transplant got “rerouted‘?”
My stomach turned cold.
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She leaned closer. “Christopher bribed them. Told the hospital to give the donor heart meant for your brother… to me.”
“You weren’t sick,” I said, barely breathing.
She smiled. “They didn’t know that. I just wanted to kill the only person who ever loved you.”
She rose. “Oops again.”
Her elbow nudged the shelf.
The urn fell.
James’s ashes spilled across the hardwood.
Something inside me fractured.
I slapped her.
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The crack of it echoed.
“She hit me!” Jocelyn shrieked.
Christopher’s hand flew before I saw it.
Pain detonated through my cheek.
My father’s cane followed, striking my ribs with brutal force.
I collapsed.
“You ungrateful wench,” he spat. “Making a scene over some damn ashes.”
I gasped. The air wouldn’t come. My chest screamed.
No one knelt to help me.
No one even looked my way.
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They were too busy comforting Jocelyn, their fragile porcelain doll.
I closed my eyes.
Three more days.
And they’d never see me again.
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