Sera's POV
I ignore the strange texts and go home anyway.
Stupid. I know it's stupid even as my taxi pulls up to the Thornton house. But where else can I go? This is the only home I've known for six years. These are the only family I have.
Or so I thought.
The front door flies open before I can even knock. Margaret stands there, her face twisted with anger I've never seen before.
"Get inside," she snaps. "Now."
My stomach drops. Something is very, very wrong.
I step into the house, and Richard is already waiting in the living room. He's holding papers. Official-looking papers that make my hands start shaking.
Vanessa sits on the couch, smiling like she's watching her favorite TV show.
"Sit down, Sera." Richard's voice is cold. Colder than I've ever heard it.
"I'd rather stand." My voice shakes, but I keep my chin up. "What's this about?"
"What's this about?" Margaret's laugh sounds mean. "You embarrassed this family tonight! You made a scene at the restaurant! You slapped Adrian in front of witnesses!"
"He deserved it," I shoot back. "He's marrying Vanessa tomorrow—"
"To fulfill a dying girl's wish!" Margaret's voice rises to a scream. "Your sister is DYING, and all you can think about is yourself!"
"She's not my sister," I say quietly. "She's my stepsister. And I didn't ask to give up my fiancé."
"No one ASKED you," Richard cuts in. "We TOLD you what's happening. What this family needs. And you will support it, or—"
"Or what?" Something wild takes over. Maybe it's the shock. Maybe it's those weird texts burning a hole in my phone. "Or you'll kick me out? Fire me? Pretend I never existed?"
Richard's smile makes ice run down my spine.
"Funny you should mention that." He holds up the papers. "As of tonight, you're removed from Thornton Industries. Security has already cleared out your desk."
The room spins. "You can't— I've worked there for four years—"
"You worked there because we LET you," Margaret says. "Everything you have, we gave you. Your job. Your room. Your credit cards. All of it came from this family's kindness."
"My apartment?" Panic rises in my heart. "You can't touch my room. I pay rent with my own salary—"
"Salary we gave you," Richard interrupts. "And the apartment? Owned by Thornton Industries. Company housing. Which you no longer qualify for." He drops the papers on the coffee table. "Your company credit cards have been frozen. Your bank accounts—the ones we opened for you—have been closed. You have twenty-four hours to leave company property."
I can't breathe. Can't think. This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
"You're taking everything?" My voice comes out small. Broken. "Because I won't smile and pretend I'm happy about losing Adrian?"
"We're teaching you about consequences," Margaret says. "About being selfish and ungrateful."
"Ungrateful?" Anger bursts through the shock. "I've done everything you asked for six years! I worked sixty-hour weeks at your company! I came to every family dinner! I played nice with Vanessa even when she was horrible to me! And this is how you repay me?"
"Repay you?" Margaret's laugh is sharp. "Sweetie, we saved you from a shelter. We gave you a life. A family. Everything. And the first time we ask for something in return, you throw a fit like a spoiled child."
The words hit like physical blows. Is that really how they see me? Ungrateful? Spoiled?
My phone buzzes. I pull it out with shaking hands.
It's a text from Vanessa. A shot.
My wedding dress. The one that cost three months of my salary, the one I spent hours picking. Vanessa is wearing it, standing in front of a mirror, making a kissy face at the camera.
The caption reads: "Fits wonderfully! Thanks for picking such a beautiful dress for MY big day! 💕"
Something inside me shatters.
"You gave her my dress," I say.
Vanessa grins from the couch. "Well, you won't be needing it anymore. And honestly, it looks way better on me. I have a better figure."
I want to scream. Want to throw something. Want to make them hurt the way they're hurting me.
Instead, I turn to Richard. "What about my personal things? My clothes? My laptop?"
"Already packed," he says, pointing toward the front door.
That's when I see it. My bag. One single bag sitting by the door like trash waiting for pickup.
"Everything I own fits in one suitcase?" My voice cracks.
"Everything you own that actually belongs to you," Margaret corrects. "The rest was given by this family. The jewelry. The expensive clothes. The fancy electronics. All ours."
I walk to the bag on numb legs. Open it. Inside are some old pants, a few t-shirts, basic toiletries. Nothing useful. Nothing important.
Six years of my life, and this is all I have to show for it.
"There's one more thing," Richard says behind me.
I turn around, and he's holding a package.
"This came for you today. We opened it—parental rights and all that." His smile is wicked. "Seems you've been accepted to that graduate school in London. The one you applied to last year."
My heart stutters. The program. My dream program. I'd almost forgotten about it after Adrian proposed and we started planning the wedding.
"The acceptance deadline is in three days," Richard continues. "But since you have no money, no job, and no place to live, I guess you won't be able to accept. Such a shame."
He drops the envelope on top of my bag.
Margaret walks to the door and opens it wide. Cold night air rushes in.
"Time to go, Sera. This family has been more than patient with your problems."
"You're really doing this," I say, still not quite believing it. "You're throwing me out with nothing."
"We're giving you exactly what you deserve," Margaret responds. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before putting yourself above family."
I pick up my bag. Heavy. Final. Real.
As I step toward the door, Vanessa calls out: "Oh, and Sera? Adrian and I decided on the Maldives for our honeymoon. You know, the trip you two planned? He says it'll be great for helping me... make memories before I die."
She doesn't look dying. She looks victorious.
I step outside. The door slams behind me so hard it echoes down the empty street.
Then I hear the lock click.
I'm standing on the front steps with one suitcase, seventeen dollars in my pocket, and nowhere to go.
My phone buzzes again. Another text from the unknown number: "Still have that address? 47 Maple Street, Apartment 12B. Your brother has been waiting six years to find you, Sera Ashford. Come home."
My brother?
Before I can process that, another text comes through. This one from a different unknown number. And it includes a shot that makes my blood run cold.
It's a newspaper article from six years ago. The title reads: "Ashford Empire Heirs Die in Tragic Car Accident—Daughter Missing, Presumed Dead."
Below it is a family picture. A man and woman looking at the camera.
And between them, a twenty-year-old girl who looks exactly like me.
The text below says: "They didn't save you from a home, Sera. They took you after murdering your parents. And tomorrow, if you don't disappear forever, they'll finish what they started. Run. NOW."
Thunder rumbles overhead, and the first raindrops begin to fall.