Chapter 2: Bargaining for a Life

The staff glided through the halls like ghosts, always busy, always quiet. Someone drew her bath, someone picked her shoes, someone else arranged her breakfast tray just so. But none of them would ever meet my eyes. It was like I was invisible—a shadow drifting through the halls, always on the outside looking in. I could almost feel the chill every time I passed by.

Mom's jewelry collection could probably buy half of Manhattan.

Diamonds, pearls, sapphires—her vanity sparkled with them. Sometimes I'd sneak into her dressing room just to stare at the necklaces, wondering what it felt like to be worth that much, to be treasured like that. But I knew the truth: all that glitter was just another kind of cage. I could almost taste the bitterness in the air.

Everyone thinks Mom's the luckiest woman alive.

People whispered about her beauty, her wardrobe, her perfect life. They envied her, envied us, but they never saw what happened behind closed doors. They didn't hear the shouting that rattled the windows, or see the bruises carefully hidden beneath silk sleeves.

But no one loves me. Not even a housekeeper will look me in the eye.

Sometimes I wondered if I was a ghost, too. The staff would step around me, never speaking unless absolutely necessary. Even when I scraped my knee or cried out in the night, no one came. I learned to patch myself up, to swallow my tears, to pretend I didn't care. I told myself it didn't hurt.

The dads always said it was to protect her, but I knew better. They never wanted Mom to have kids.

They claimed it was for her own good, that pregnancy would ruin her figure, make her weak. But the truth was simpler—they didn't want to share her love with anyone, not even their own child. I was never supposed to exist.

But somehow, someone went too far, and Mom ended up pregnant with me.

No one ever told me the details, but I could guess. Maybe it was an accident, maybe it was something darker. All I know is, the moment they found out, everything changed. The air in the house felt different, tense and dangerous.

Dad Carter lost his mind and immediately wanted Mom to have surgery to get rid of me—talking nonstop about "fixing the problem."

He shouted, pacing the marble floors, throwing anything within reach. His face was red, his hands trembling. He ranted about doctors and clinics and "fixing the problem" before it was too late. The words echoed, sharp and cold.

Mom refused, clutching a kitchen knife to her chest.

She stood in the middle of the kitchen, her nightgown soaked with tears, the knife shaking in her grip. She looked so small, so determined. For the first time, she seemed willing to fight for something, even if it meant losing everything. I held my breath, afraid to move.

"If you don't let me keep this baby, then I'll go too."

Her voice was soft but steady. The dads froze, not expecting her to push back. For a second, I think they were actually scared—scared that their perfect doll might shatter.

The dads panicked, but it was Whitaker who stepped forward, his smile just as smooth as always.

He always played the peacemaker, the charmer. He walked up, his smile all sugar and venom, and spoke in that gentle tone that made people forget he was dangerous. I watched his every move, my skin crawling.

"If we keep this child, our baby will be even more obedient, right? The things she didn't want before, now she'll have to go along with."

His words hung in the air, twisting it into a bargain. He made it sound like a gift, but everyone in the room knew it was a threat. My stomach dropped.

Their eyes lit up like wolves. They didn't even need to speak.

It was like watching a pack agree on the fate of their prey. They didn't care about the consequences—they only cared about winning. The room felt colder.