Chapter 5

“Isabella…” Victoria immediately released my hand and rushed to help her up, frantically checking her for injuries.

Isabella’s chin had hit Blake, and it was bright red.

Leaning on Victoria, she whined pitifully, “Mom, it hurts… I think my mouth is bleeding.”

Blake scrambled to his feet and immediately apologized to his sister.

Daniel, who hadn't spoken until now, looked at me, a frown creasing his brow. “You went too far.”

The Miller family was in chaos, and I watched the scene unfold.

Victoria anxiously told Isabella to open her mouth so she could check. Blake was fumbling around, apologizing profusely. Daniel had run off to another room, phone to his ear, calling for a doctor.

A strange discomfort stirred within me.

Maybe it was Victoria’s excessive care for me in the hospital, and I was somehow swayed by it.

Kindness can be a powerful, insidious weapon. It cuts deep.

The ancients were truly wise.

Richard suddenly spoke, “Hazel, I know you’ve suffered. But Blake’s right, Isabella is innocent. You can’t let your resentment…”

I knew Richard had been investigating my past life while I was hospitalized, and I had shown him exactly what I wanted him to see.

The Dawsons, my foster family, were incredibly old-fashioned, always favoring boys. My life had been tough from a young age.

My foster father, Frank, was an alcoholic and abusive, and my foster mother, Brenda, had been cruel to me since I was a child. I was constantly mocked and ostracized at school.

Richard had uncovered all of this, and he had kept it from Victoria.

I cut him off before he could finish, formally calling him, “Mr. Miller.”

“Give me two hundred thousand, and I’ll cut ties with you. I leave. Or, Isabella leaves within twenty-four hours, and I stay.”

Victoria stopped her movements, her eyes wide with surprise as she looked at me. She quickly said,

“How can you say that?! Hazel, you and Isabella are both my daughters!”

I ignored her, continuing my negotiation with Richard.

“I’m still underage, so you have a responsibility to support me. You never raised me for the past seventeen years. Two hundred thousand for a clean break is pocket change for the Millers. It’s a very good deal for you.”

After all, Isabella’s monthly allowance was more than two hundred thousand.

Richard’s gaze was fixed on me, and he asked seriously,

“In your eyes, is this just a transaction between us? Do you think we’ll always favor Isabella?”

I shrugged. Some people always think they’re the epitome of fairness.

5 (Continued)

I walked out of the Miller’s villa. Richard and Victoria didn’t want me to leave, but I stated clearly: if Isabella was in, I was out.

Blake wanted to explode, but he crumbled the moment his eyes met mine, a flicker of guilt crossing his eyes.

I gave Richard the address of my small apartment, telling him to let me know his decision.

Seeing my insistence, Richard told Daniel to make sure I got home safely. Daniel agreed, but by the time he opened the car door, I had already walked far away.

He quickly chased after me, but I shook him off in no time.

After all, I’d walked alone at night plenty of times. A girl always had to be careful, especially then.

I was pretty good at losing people.

Of course, except for Liam.

But he used to say I was brilliant, that my safety awareness was too good, making me hard to catch.

The night wind was cool as I walked along, guided by the streetlights.

Thinking of Isabella’s smile, I impulsively plucked a flower from a roadside planter.

I tore at it as I walked, grinding the petals between my fingers until the sap stained my hands and it was nothing but a mangled mess.

I hated Isabella.

When she smiled, it was like something out of a fairy tale: sunshine, sweet candy, a beacon of light.

She wore pristine dresses, vibrant and lively, and would sweetly flirt with her brothers, father, and mother. Every beautiful word in the world could describe her.

I was different. I was rotten to the core, my very bones steeped in bitterness.

The perfect villainess from a story — that was me.

The moment I saw her eyes, I thought of my foster mother, Brenda Dawson.

I thought of her smiling as she snatched my favorite doll and threw it into the furnace, holding me back so I couldn’t save it.

I thought of her pushing me into the living room after my foster father got drunk, hiding in her room, listening to my cries as he beat me, punch after punch.

I thought of her grabbing my backpack, searching for the scholarship money I’d just received from school, and then stepping on my textbooks on her way out.

I thought of her slapping me across the face when she saw the medicine I bought for my foster sister, telling me I was wasting money.

I thought of her casually saying, “If she dies, she dies…”

They say love extends to everything associated with it, but so does hatred. It can implicate others.