By the time I got home, the sun had started to sink. The house stood quiet—too quiet. That meant she was either asleep or waiting. The second I stepped in, I knew it was the latter.
"Where have you been?" Her voice floated from the sitting room—calm, but cold.
"I stayed back to study," I replied smoothly, slipping off my shoes like nothing was wrong.
She stood now, walking toward me with that slow grace of hers—like a cat about to strike. Her eyes scanned me, not with worry, but with suspicion.
"You look sheened. Who were you with?"
"No one."
"Don't lie to me, Vanya."
"I'm not."
Her silence was worse than any slap. She leaned in close, her voice now a low whisper laced with poison.
"You're too pretty to be left alone, Vanya. And men are always looking. You think I don't know what that feels like?"
Her fingers brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear—almost gently. My body flinched on instinct.
"Don't disappoint me," she said before walking away, like she hadn't just pressed her fingernail into my shoulder hard enough to sting.
I stood there in the hallway for a long time after that. Not thinking. Not feeling. Just… standing.
Sometimes, surviving meant becoming a ghost before anyone else could kill the person inside you. And I was getting better at that every day.
When I got to my room, I noticed someone sitting very still on my patio. I could tell it was the hairstylist from the large kit box sitting on the coffee table. She hadn't heard me come in—she was definitely asleep.
I dropped my bag and retrieved my tablet from my bedside drawer, along with a box of cookies I always kept in the one beneath it. I walked over to her and stared her down for almost two minutes. Still, she didn't move. She must've been waiting a long time.
Slowly, I placed my hand on her shoulder—still nothing. Then I gave her a gentle shake, and she sprang to her feet in surprise.
"Good day," I said, calmly.
"Yes, yes—good evening, ma'am," she stammered, clearly flustered, as she rushed to her kit and started laying out hair extensions.
I took a seat on the chair she had been napping on, switched on my tablet, and began munching on my cookies.
"Do you have any color preferences?" she asked, finally breaking the silence.
"Black will do," I said curtly.
She laid out the extensions on the rack and took the ribbon out of my hair, beginning to comb through it.
"Your hair is very beautiful," she said, likely smiling in admiration.
"Yes," I replied, uninterested, my eyes still fixed on the day's school notes.
"You have an injury on your scalp," she said softly, her fingers gently brushing the spot Mom had burned last night.
"I burned myself while straightening it for school."
"Oh... Please don't do that again. You're tender-headed—this could get really bad."
"I won't. Thanks," I muttered.
About an hour later, she was done. I now had neat cornrows—more appropriate for school. She packed her things and left, probably heading downstairs to meet Mom.
"Vanya, honey."
I was about to change out of my uniform when I heard Mom calling. I paused and went downstairs. She was already walking toward the balcony, her car parked just outside.
"Yes, Mom?" I asked, standing beside her. She had her little Birkin in one hand and grabbed my wrist with the other—tight enough to dig her well-manicured nails into my skin.
"Your daddy called. I need to meet him in Larkspur City for his ambassadorial inauguration. He said to bring you, but you have school."
Excitement bubbled inside me at the thought of being home alone, but I didn't show it. I never let anything show.
"So don't be bored, okay? I called the Anders manor—Reginald and his chauffeur will pick you up and drop you off every day till I'm back."
I rolled my eyes inwardly. Of course—it had to be him.
"Probably with your dad. And your aunt will come around sometime this week... or not."
At the mention of Aunty Irene, I zoned out. My mind drifted.
"Bye, honey. Don't miss me too much, and be a good girl, okay?" she said with a bright, false smile as she hugged me tightly. Blood was already seeping from the fresh wound on my wrist.
"Bye, Mom," I replied softly as she stepped into the car and drove off.
I stood there for a few moments, zoned out, already planning how good the week might be.
Then I heard the gate click open. Mira walked in, all dolled up, with a bright smile on her face.
"Hi, hun," she said, planting a kiss on my cheek. "Sorry I'm late, but I brought Chinese!" She raised a paper bag with a flourish and pulled me inside.
"So?" I asked as we made our way to the dining room.
"He was sooo hot," she gushed, dropping the food on the table and practically vibrating with excitement. "Let's freshen up, and I'll tell you everything over dinner!"
She reached into her bag—one of Mom's old designer ones—and handed me something.
"Here. Madam's bank card. She said to give it to you in case you need anything while she's gone. The pin is your birth year."
Then she walked into the kitchen, still holding the bag of food.
I went upstairs, showered, and slipped into my pink spaghetti-strap nightgown that ended a few inches above my thighs. When I returned to the dining room, Mira was already setting the table. She wore an identical nightgown—only hers was bright red.
I sat beside her, set my phone on the table, and reached for the chopsticks.
The night dragged on as Mira ranted about her date. We watched a movie, laughed at silly scenes, and finally, I retired to bed at 12:30 AM.