Chapter 2

My mother stepped in, looking younger, firmer, and just as cold as I remembered. She’d always treated me like a chore she had to manage. She looked at me, waiting for the usual reaction, the eager smile, the desperate need for her approval.

I didn't give it to her. I just looked at her, not with the fire of hate, but with the flat, dead-eyed awareness of someone who already knew every card in her hand.

She frowned, clearly bothered by the silence. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Nothing," I said. My voice was a child's, soft and high, but the thought behind it was ancient.

"Get ready," she snapped, looking annoyed. "Your Grandparents are coming today."

There it was. The day my life officially went to shit, the day they’d drive me out to my grandparents’ estate and leave me to rot in silence. Back then, I thought they had no choice. I thought they were sad to see me go. I looked at my mother, watching the way she wouldn't meet my eyes. 

I caught the tiny, nervous flick of her gaze toward the door. Everything was a tell. I hadn't noticed any of it before because I’d been too busy hoping they loved me. I didn't have that luxury anymore.

"Okay," I said.

She stared at me, looking confused by my compliance, and then left. When the door clicked shut, I went to the closet. Looking at my small, frail hands, I realized that for the first time in my life, I had the advantage. I had the knowledge of the past life, I wasn't going to be the girl who cried when they handed me my bags.

I heard the car pull into the driveway. My pulse didn't even flicker. A few minutes later, the house filled with the sound of voices I hadn't heard in years. My father, my mother, and Nysa. Even at eighteen years old, her voice was the loudest, the most confident, the one that naturally pulled everyone’s focus toward her.

I walked down the stairs, my feet hitting each step with purpose. The room went quiet when I entered. My father’s face lit up, and he opened his arms, that same fake, warm smile plastered on his face. "Nyxara."

The old me would have sprinted into his arms, starving for that display of affection but I didn't move. I stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching him. He looked confused, his arms still hanging in the air.

"Come here, sweetheart," he coaxed.

"I missed you," I said. The words were a habit, a script I’d been trained to recite. He smiled, but it was hollow. I studied him, looking for the man who was supposed to be my protector. In the other life, I would’ve bought the act. Now, I saw the detachment in his eyes. He didn't love me; he was just doing his duty until he could conveniently offload me.

Then, I looked at Nysa.

She was standing next to my mother, looking like a the Vexari princess.  When our eyes met, she gave me a sweet, practiced smile. The same smile she’d wear when she was plotting to take my company, my reputation, and my life.

"Nyxara, do you remember me?" she asked.

I held her gaze, feeling nothing but a chilling curiosity. She was just already an adult, but the rot was already there.

"Yes," I said calmly.

She tilted her head, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second. "You don't look happy to see me." she said and the room went dead silent. Everyone was waiting for the little girl to laugh or reach out. I just tilted my head and gave her a small, tight smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"I'm just tired," I replied.

It was such a simple thing, but the shift in the air was instant. Nysa looked rattled, only for a second, but I saw it. I’d broken her rhythm. I wasn't the toy she expected to play with.

That night, they gave me the speech. The for your own good  talk about living with my grandparents. In the other life, I’d cried until I threw up, I’d begged them to keep me. This time, I just sat there, my hands folded in my lap, watching them scramble to make the lie sound convincing.

When they finished, I just nodded. "Okay."

They looked at each other, genuinely startled. "That's it?" my father asked, looking actually bothered that I wasn't putting up a fight. "You're not upset?"

"I understand," I said and I did. I understood exactly who they were.

As I sat by my window later that night, I made my choice. I’d go to my grandparents'. I’d let them think I was the same broken, forgotten child they could ignore. I’d let them believe they were in control. Because the best way to destroy an enemy isn't to fight them from the outside , it's to watch from the shadows while they underestimate you, and then pull the rug out when they aren't looking.

The old Nyxara wanted a place in their world. The new Nyxara was going to build her own, and I was going to make sure that by the time they realized what I’d become, it would be far too late for them to do anything about it. They wanted me out of the way? Fine. I’d go and I’d spend every day getting ready to take everything they had.

The morning I left the Vexari house, the air felt thick, like everything was standing still. The same black suitcase was standing by the door, the same cold, the same polite people standing  around, and the same script was being played out like a shitty, low-budget movie I’d already seen a dozen times.

Years ago, I’d played my part perfectly. I’d sobbed, I’d clung to my mother’s skirt like a lifeline, and I’d begged my father for a reason, any reason, why I had to be the one thrown into exile. I wanted to be chosen, I wanted to be the daughter they couldn't live without.

But I didn't get that. They didn't choose me.

Back then, I thought it was because I was broken. Now? I knew it was just because they didn't care enough to try. People don't accidentally abandon their own blood; they make a choice. And their choice had told me everything I needed to know about my value in their eyes.

I stood by the entrance, my hand on the handle of my suitcase. My younger self’s heart should’ve been shattering, but I felt nothing but a freezing, beautiful calm. This wasn't the end, it was the absolute, clean-slate beginning.

My mother drifted toward me, her hands hovering for a second before she adjusted my collar. "You have everything?"

"Yes," I said.

She looked at me, that same inscrutable mask on her face. I remembered searching that expression for years, looking for a shred of hidden affection, some sign that she’d miss me. I finally realized it wasn't hidden at all; it just wasn't there.

"Your grandparents house will be different," she said, her voice dropping.

"I know," I replied.

She blinked, clearly thrown by the lack of emotion. The old me would’ve been a wreck, begging for a promise that they’d visit, dying for a crumb of reassurance. Not today, I didn't need their permission to be okay.

My mother stood a few feet away, looking like a painting gorgeous, detached, and utterly fake. "Nyxara," she said, her smile soft and practiced. "Be good, okay?"

Be good. I felt a surge of cold irony. Those two words had been the leash I’d worn for twenty years. Be good. Be quiet. Don't cause a scene. Don't ask for too much. Nobody ever told me to be happy, or ambitious, or to put myself first. They just wanted a doll that didn't talk back.

"I will," I said, my voice steady.

She leaned in and kissed my forehead. I remembered that kiss,  I used to hold onto it like a holy relic, a sign that she loved me deep down. Now, I just felt the dry pressure of her lips and the complete lack of warmth behind it. One kiss didn't make up for a decade of being invisible.

My father walked over, looking as uncomfortable as he always did. He wasn't a monster, he was just a coward who couldn't be bothered to notice his own daughter was drowning.

"I’ll come visit when I can," he promised.