Chapter 2

The following morning, Damien’s vitals fluctuated, prompting the medical team to transfer him to a premier private hospital.

That afternoon, Victor Vance showed up.

Accompanied by Lydia, he walked into the private suite carrying two expensive gift baskets, a practiced smile plastered across his face.

"Nora, sweetheart, your father came to see you."

Damien’s parents happened to be inside the room. Victor immediately switched into his humble persona, bowing slightly as he shook Eleanor's hand.

"We are beyond grateful that the Sterling family welcomed our girl. She grew up sheltered, so please forgive her if she makes any mistakes."

Eleanor offered a polite, distant smile but said nothing.

Victor approached the bed, looked down at Damien, and let out an exaggerated sigh. "He's a strong boy. I just know he's going to wake up soon."

If I didn't know the monster hiding beneath that suit, I might have actually believed him.

Ten minutes later, Victor claimed he needed some fresh air and asked me to walk with him down the hall.

The moment we were alone in the secluded corridor, his warm smile vanished instantly.

"The Sterling Group has a massive commercial development breaking ground on the Westside," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Find an opportunity to bring it up to Arthur. Get the Vance Corporation a piece of that contract."

I looked him dead in the eye. "I was married into this family to ward off misfortune, not to broker business deals."

Victor’s expression darkened.

"Why do you think I sent you here in the first place?" he hissed. "You're sitting on a goldmine of Sterling resources, and you're just going to let it go to waste? The Vance family raised you for over twenty years. It's time you paid us back."

I looked at him calmly. "Raised me? Are you sure that's what you want to call it, Dad?"

His temper flared, and his hand flew up to strike me—only to freeze in midair at the sound of a voice behind him.

"Mr. Vance, is everything all right?"

Eleanor stood at the end of the hallway, her piercing gaze darting between the two of us.

Within two seconds, Victor dropped his hand and transformed back into a doting father.

"Everything is wonderful! I was just reminding Nora to take good care of Damien and not cause any trouble for your family."

He looked at me with an oily, sickening smile. "I just worry about my little girl, being in a new environment and all."

Eleanor walked over, deliberately placing herself between Victor and me.

"Nora is doing wonderfully with us. You have no need to worry, Mr. Vance."

Caught in a tight spot, Victor laughed awkwardly and grabbed Lydia’s arm. Before turning to leave, he shot me a glare.

There was no paternal warmth in that look—only a venomous, unadulterated warning.

The next day, I returned to the Vance estate to collect a few changes of clothes.

When I pushed open the basement door, my heart stopped.

The vintage wooden trunk in the corner was gone.

It was the only heirloom my mother had left me. Inside were her research notes, family photographs, and the personal keepsakes she had cherished before she died.

I stormed up the stairs. Lydia was lounging on the plush living room sofa, admiring a fresh manicure.

"Where is my mother's trunk?" I demanded.

Lydia blew lightly on her nails, not even bothering to look up.

"Burned it."

"You're a married woman now. Keeping that junk around was pointless. Besides, Chloe needed the extra space in the basement for her new designer shoe display."

My whole body shook with rage. "Those were my mother's things!"

Lydia finally looked up, a cruel smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

"What good was any of that garbage anyway?" she sneered. "If you had just handed over her ancestral formula years ago, I wouldn't have had to go through the trouble of turning that junk into ash. It's gone. Don't tell me you're actually crying over it?"

She stared at me, her eyes brimming with malice.

I clenched my fists until my nails drew blood, biting down hard on my lower lip.

The formula was safely hidden on my body. And over my dead body would they ever touch it.

I walked back down to the basement, shoved a few worn sweaters into my bag, and headed for the exit.

The sharp clatter of high heels echoed behind me.

Chloe leaned against the doorway, casually twirling a set of Porsche keys around her finger.

"Poor Nora," she laughed. "Tied down to a brain-dead vegetable. Even my new boyfriend’s trust fund is worth more than a comatose husband."

I ignored her and kept walking toward the door.

She dashed forward, blocking my path.

"Oh, by the way, Dad said since you married into the elite, you don't need an inheritance or a dowry. Every single cent of your trust fund has been transferred to me."

I stopped dead in my tracks and locked eyes with her.

Chloe flinched under the cold intensity of my stare, but quickly recovered with an even nastier sneer.

"What, mad about it? You're just the daughter of a dead nobody. If my mother hadn't been kind enough to keep a roof over your head, you would have starved to death on the street. Taking my place as a caretaker for a vegetable is the only useful thing you've ever done."

I gripped my suitcase, stepped right past her shoulder, and walked toward the gate without looking back.

"Chloe," I said coldly over my shoulder. "You'd better remember every single word you just said."