I stared down at a photo on the floor—one of them made a snowman in fresh snow—as a ringing buzz filled my ears.
Those late nights when I took my child alone to the doctor, those long days I cried silently in the empty bridal chamber—meanwhile, he was off enjoying himself with someone else.
“Fine, I’ll leave.”
I stood still, forcing myself to calm down, but my voice was barely a whisper, carried away by the wind.
“I’ll stay away from my brother from now on.”
Charles’s voice cut through the air.
I didn’t know when he slipped away from his parents’ side, but suddenly he was standing in front of me, eyes locked on my face like he was trying to see through me.
“What did you just call me?”
Because of our status difference, my mother always tried to curry favor with her stepfather. I grew up watching her do it, and I followed suit, doing everything to please my stepbrother, Charles.
No matter how cold he acted, I believed I was the one who warmed his heart.
Everyone inside and outside Washington’s circle knew this: Charles loved me, his stepsister, the most.
Anyone who dared hurt me would pay a hundred times over.
I looked down at the white scar on my palm, clear and unforgiving.