Chapter 8

The room was spinning, my cheek throbbing in time with my racing heart. I touched my face, my fingers coming away warm.

"You hit me," I said, my voice trembling not with fear, but with a cold, shaking rage.

"You deserved it!" Thomas bellowed, his chest heaving. "And more! You insolent brat! After everything we did for you? We took you in! We fed you! And this is how you repay us?"

"That's enough!" Mom stood up, smoothing her skirt as if someone had just spilled a drink rather than assaulted her daughter. She looked at me with cold, annoyed eyes, obviously trying not to let their secret spill out in front of Skylar.

"Seraphina, apologize to your father right now."

I stared at her, dumbfounded. "Apologize? He just assaulted me."

"Because you provoked him!" she snapped. "Stop acting like a child. Pick up those keys and go to work."

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. It scraped my throat. "You really don't care, do you? As long as I'm useful. As long as I'm making money for you."

"We treat you like family!" Mom cried, clutching her necklace, feigning shock.

"No, you don't!" I screamed back, the dam finally breaking. "You treat me like an employee! Like a burden you regret picking up!"

Here we go again, I thought. They were using that word like a weapon, an emotional leveler to keep me beneath them.

I stepped closer, fueled by years of silence. "I saw the papers, Mom. I found them in the attic years ago. I know I was just a 'charity case' to make the Vales look good to the community. You didn't want a daughter. You wanted a prop."

The color drained from her face. She looked at Thomas, panic flickering in her eyes. "Seraphina, that... that is a lie. Who told you that?"

"No one had to tell me," I spat. "I lived it. Why else is Tyler the 'Golden Boy' no matter what he does? Why does he get a pass for everything, while I get punished for breathing wrong?"

"Because he is our son!" Thomas shouted, not even trying to hide it anymore.

"And I was supposed to be your daughter!" I countered. "But I never was, was I? Is it because I'm different? Is it because of my skin? Is it because I don't look like you?"

All the things I asked myself growing up... Was I an affair child? A mistake? But it turns out, I was just a transaction.

"Oh my god," Tyler groaned, rolling his eyes. He was leaning back in his chair, looking bored, as if this entire family implosion was just an inconvenience to his breakfast. "Are you implying Mom and Dad are racist now? Seraphina, you always play the victim card. It’s pathetic."

I turned my gaze to him. The Golden Boy. The monster in the expensive suit.

"I play the victim because I am the victim, Tyler," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Or did you forget?"

Tyler’s smirk faltered. "Forget what?"

"Why I really won't bake your cake."

The room went dead silent. Even Skylar, who had been watching the exchange with wide, terrified eyes, leaned forward.

"Don't start with your lies," Thomas warned, stepping forward with a raised hand.

"No," I said, holding my ground. "I'm done lying for you. I'm done protecting him."

I looked directly at Skylar.

"I won't bake the cake," I said clearly, "because seven years ago, when I was fifteen, your fiancé tried to force himself on me in the laundry room."

Skylar gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"He cornered me," I continued, the words pouring out like acid. "He had scissors. He cut my wrist when I fought back. And when my parents walked in..."

I looked at Mom, whose face was a mask of stone.

"...They didn't call the police. They didn't yell at him. They bandaged me up and told me to stop being so clumsy. They blamed me."

"Liar!" Tyler jumped up, his chair crashing backward. "She's lying, Skylar! She's crazy! She's just jealous because I'm successful and she's a nobody!"

"Am I?" I asked, holding up my left wrist. The thin, jagged white scar was faint, but it was there. "Is this a lie too?"

"You did that to yourself for attention!" Mom shrieked, her voice shrill. "You have always been sick in the head, Seraphina! Trying to ruin this family!"

"Since we are such terrible people," Thomas growled, his face twisted into a snarl, "then get out. Get out of my house right now."

"Gladly," I said.

"And don't think you're taking anything we paid for!" Mom yelled. "Leave the clothes! Leave the phone! You leave with nothing, do you hear me? Nothing!"

I looked at them. The hate on their faces was ugly, naked, and undeniable.

"Don't worry," I said, turning toward the stairs. "I wouldn't want to keep anything that reminds me of you people anyway."