"You need to behave. I can't lose you."
His voice dropped low, threaded with something twisted. "Gracie, I'm no longer the boy scavenging rotten vegetables to survive. I'm Victor Weston of Skyfire Tech. My reach is infinite."
The door clicked shut. The lock engaged with finality.
I sat before the vanity, the diary's contents burning in my mind. He was right. Against his capital and power, my resistance was an ant against a tsunami.
A knock. Then that artificial floral perfume—sickeningly sweet.
Georgia slipped in, placing a glass of milk on the table. "Professor Sullivan, please. For your health."
Bile surged. I lashed out, sweeping the glass off the table. It shattered, a jagged shard slicing the top of her foot. Blood bloomed, turning the spilled milk a grotesque pink.
I seized a handful of her hair, yanking her head back until she met my eyes.
"Georgia Kaufman. After all these years—how exactly did I wrong you?" My voice shook. "I brought you to the city. Helped your mother divorce that monster. And you? You let your father lure you back with candied hawthorns. Your mother went to find you and was beaten to death."
I tightened my grip. "I took you in at sixteen. Raised you. Where is the debt?"
She shoved me away, eyes veined red.
"Who asked you to save me? If you hadn't meddled—if your lawyer friends hadn't pushed for the death penalty—my father would still be alive! I wouldn't be an orphan!"
I froze. The realization struck like a blow. She had hated me from the beginning.
"You hate me because justice was served? You think your mother deserved to die?"
Her silence was answer enough.
The commotion drew Victor in. His gaze flicked from Georgia's bleeding foot to my face. Cold disappointment settled in his eyes.
"Gracie, I've indulged you too much."
I didn't understand those words until the psychiatric hospital's iron gates slammed shut behind me.
He visited a week later. "Apologize to Georgia. I'll take you home."
I looked him in the eye and cursed her name instead.
He left furious. I thought it was a bluff—a power play to break me.
Then reality shattered.
In the garden, a girl who spent her days counting leaves was strangled by another patient mid-episode. I watched the life leave her eyes. Primal fear finally took hold.
I begged the doctors for three days before Victor returned. To buy freedom, I sold my pride.
"I was wrong, Victor." I forced out the lie. "I love you. That's why I was jealous. Please—take me out."
Satisfaction softened his features. He helped me out of the hospital gown, sprinkled pomelo water over me to wash away bad luck.
"Gracie, leave it all behind. From now on, be obedient. Let's go home."
Back at the villa, the yard was ruined earth. The peach trees—once vibrant—had been uprooted, leaving ugly, gaping pits.
A memory surfaced: the year Victor got into No. 1 High School, Grandma Weston died. He'd wept all night by her grave. Terrified he'd abandon everything, I'd asked, "Victor, will you stay?"
He'd gripped my hand. "My home is wherever you and Joel Sullivan are. Silly girl, I'm not going anywhere."
Tears pricked my eyes. My voice rasped. "Victor, with Georgia Kaufman living here now... is this still the home you wanted?"
He looked down at me, Adam's apple bobbing. Before he could speak, Georgia's voice drifted from upstairs.
"Victor! I found the graduation photos! You looked so young!"
She bounded down, but froze when she saw me. The photos disappeared behind her back.
I released Victor's hand and stepped toward her, palm extended.
"Give them to me."
