Chapter 4

Skylar's POV

Just as I reached the top of the concrete stairs, a hand clamped down hard on my sleeve from behind.

Chloe was gripping my arm with astonishing force.

I turned my head and saw her eyes flick down toward the bottom of the staircase.

Shawn’s sleek town car was parked right at the curb. The door was half-open, and he was stepping out.

In the very next second, Chloe let out a bloodcurdling scream and threw herself backward down the stairs—without letting go of my sleeve.

She dragged me down with her.

More than a dozen stone steps. We both tumbled violently all the way to the pavement.

Chloe's knees scraped harshly against the concrete edges, peeling away a patch of skin. Tears spilled down her cheeks instantly.

Shawn bolted up the walkway, dropping to his knees to gather Chloe into his arms, his fingers carefully avoiding her scraped knee. "Chloe?! Are you okay? Where does it hurt? Let me see!"

Chloe sobbed hysterically, burying her face into his chest. "Don't blame Skylar... I just lost my balance... It wasn't her fault..."

Shawn snapped his head up, glaring murderously at me as I lay crumpled at the bottom of the steps. "Skylar! Is your jealousy so twisted that you’d shove your own flesh and blood down the stairs?! If anything happens to her, I swear to God I'll ruin you!"

My own knees were bruised and bloody. The shock of the fall rendered me paralyzed on the cold concrete.

Margaret came rushing over right behind him. The sight of blood on Chloe’s knee sent her into a feral rage, pointing a finger right in my face. "You wretched girl! Did you do this on purpose? Were you trying to cripple your sister so you could steal Shawn for yourself?! How on earth did I give birth to someone so vile?!"

The stitches across my back tore wide open. Cold sweat dripped down my temples.

Chloe was the one who grabbed me. Chloe was the one who threw herself down. Yet she was the one being cradled and comforted.

For all these years, I had kept the truth bottled up inside me, waiting for the day someone would finally be willing to believe me.

I was done waiting.

I raised my head and locked eyes with Margaret. "Back at the hospital four years ago, the one who stayed by Shawn's side was me."

Margaret's face went completely pale. Her eyes nervously darted toward Shawn.

Robert charged forward, raised his palm, and delivered a blistering slap right across my face.

"Shut your lying mouth!"

The blow whipped my head to the side. Copper-tasting blood welled up in the corner of my mouth.

Robert pointed a trembling finger at me. "Your mother and I raised you! Whatever this family says is the truth, and you accept it! If you ever dare spread these vile lies again, I’ll break your legs!"

I had once dreamed of telling Shawn the truth with my family standing there, hoping that just one of them would have the decency to vouch for me.

Yet here they were: one slapping me across the face, the other turning pale and looking away in cowardice.

I would never mention it again.

Shawn approached, carrying Chloe in his arms. He had only caught the tail end of the commotion and frowned at Margaret. "What were you all talking about?"

Margaret forced an overly bright, flattering smile onto her face. "Oh, nothing! We were just confronting her about pushing Chloe down the stairs, and she still refuses to admit it. Shawn, don't let her ruin your mood."

Shawn glanced coldly at the droplets of blood on the stone steps. "Since you pushed her, you’re going to scrub every single drop of blood off these stairs. When you’re finished, maybe then I’ll ask if you’re ready to apologize."

He flagged down a security guard, who brought over a bucket of dirty water and a rough rag, dumping them carelessly at my feet. Water splashed across my ankles.

Shawn carried Chloe into the hospital building, with Robert and Margaret trailing close behind, throwing one last glare over their shoulders at me.

I pushed myself up from the ground. The blood from my torn stitches had already soaked through the back of my hospital gown.

The bucket was heavy. I had to drag it up the stairs step by step, resting every few feet, before finally reaching the top. Bending over, I began scrubbing the bloodstains away, one step at a time.

Every time I bent my torso, the wounds tore a little deeper. Blood dripped down my back, landing directly on the steps I had just cleaned, forcing me to turn around and wipe them all over again.

Halfway down, I rested my trembling palms against the concrete, struggling to catch my breath.

My mind drifted back to that sterile burn unit.

Shawn had been swathed in thick bandages, stuck in bed all day, yet he loved to sing. He was entirely tone-deaf, singing so terribly out of key that I couldn't help but laugh out loud.

He never got mad. He just chuckled along with me. "Just you wait. Once I'm healed, I'll practice until I can sing it properly for you."

During those six months, I was utterly convinced of one thing: this man would be mine.

And now, here I was on my knees, scrubbing my sister's blood off the pavement, waiting for him to come down and demand an apology.

Those six months were real. But the man waiting upstairs was a stranger.

By the time I wiped down the very last step, the sky had turned completely dark.

I straightened my posture, the agonizing throbbing in my back nearly causing my knees to buckle.

Shawn walked out of the building, supporting Chloe, whose knee was now wrapped in thick, neat layers of white gauze.

Seeing the spotless stone stairs, Shawn hesitated for a brief second. "Do you know what you did wrong?"

I stood at the bottom of the steps, my hair a tangled mess, the red handprint still stark against my cheek. "Yes."

Wherever he went demanding apologies in the future, I wouldn't be there.

Shawn’s brow furrowed. His lips parted as if to say something, but in the end, he just let out a cold grunt and helped Chloe into the waiting car.

Chloe settled into the passenger seat and offered me a triumphant smile through the tinted glass.

The car sped away into the night.

I sat down on the newly cleaned concrete steps, staying there until pitch darkness swallowed the street. Only when the night guard came over to shoo me away did I finally rise.

I returned the empty bucket to the guard and trudged back to my room, every step sending sharp jolts of pain through my torn skin.

Those twenty-two visits—I shouldn't have made a single one.