Chapter 3: Green Eyes Don't Lie

Seraphina's POV

"The Millers are locked up," Conrad said. "Child neglect and assault. Brielle had nowhere else to go."

'Convenient,' I thought, watching Irene rush over to hug the little blonde manipulator.

"Oh, sweetie!" Irene cried, pulling her close. "We were so worried!"

Brielle sobbed prettily into her shoulder. "I missed you so much, Mommy! It was scary without you!"

Julian appeared out of nowhere, hurrying to her side. "You okay? Did they hurt you?"

'Look at this family reunion,' I thought, standing there in my birthday dress while they fawned over the girl who'd stolen my life.

Silas's voice cut through like a knife. "She can stay temporarily, but let's be clear." His green eyes—mirror images of mine—swept over them. "Seraphina is the daughter of this family. That girl's a guest. Nothing more."

Brielle's sobs ramped up, pure theater.

Over the next few weeks, things fell into a twisted routine. Irene forced awkward "family activities," trying to make us bond like some bad sitcom. Brielle, ever the actress, clung to Julian while shooting me calculating glances.

"Julian," she'd coo, hanging off his arm, "remember Paris last summer? That little café with the killer chocolate croissants?"

She'd say it staring right at me, rubbing in the trips and memories that should've been mine.

My strategy? Play the fragile victim when it suited me, watching her squirm to avoid looking like a monster.

"I think I need to rest," I'd murmur, hand to my forehead. "I'm still not... quite myself."

Trauma's a hell of a shield—it makes everyone tiptoe. Hard to attack someone fresh off beatings from fake parents.

But Brielle was getting bolder. At breakfast that morning, she draped herself over Julian and declared, "You know, Jules, no matter what, you'll always be MY big brother. We're connected for life!"

The threat was obvious.

When Silas arrived from his villa that afternoon and caught one of her clingy displays, his response was swift and brutal.

"Conrad. Irene. My study. Now."

Brielle vanished to her room after that, suddenly "tired."

But she wasn't done.

That evening, she strolled into my bedroom without knocking. I was cross-legged on the bed, reading, when she invaded.

"Oh," she said with fake surprise, eyeing the room that used to be hers. "It's so different now. I almost didn't recognize it."

The pink princess vibe was gone, replaced by elegant cream and gold—sophisticated, no frills.

"Can I help you?" I asked, not looking up from my book.

She perched on the edge of my bed uninvited, her blue eyes welling up. "I just wanted to apologize for this morning. I didn't realize you weren't feeling well when Jules and I were talking."

'Jules and I.' The emphasis was subtle but deliberate.

Then she touched a delicate diamond necklace at her throat—clearly expensive.

"This was a gift from Grandpa," she said, voice wistful. "For my fourth birthday. He said it was a family heirloom."

"Interesting." I closed my book with a soft snap. "So... you're here to return it to me?"

The color drained from her face. Her hand clutched the necklace protectively. "What?"

"Well," I said calmly, "if it's a family heirloom for the Alden granddaughter, it should go to the actual one. Unless you're saying Grandpa meant to give it to a stranger?"

"I... but... he gave it to me!" she stammered.

"He gave it to who he thought was his granddaughter," I corrected. "Honest mistake. But now we know better, don't we?"

Before she could respond, Julian burst through the door.

"What's going on? Brielle, why are you crying?"

She launched herself into his arms, sobbing. "She's trying to take Grandpa's necklace! She says it's not mine anymore!"

Julian's eyes flashed at me. "Seriously, Seraphina? She's been through enough. It's just a necklace."

"You're right," I said evenly. "It is just a necklace. So she shouldn't mind giving back the one that belongs to our family."

Julian gathered her closer, shooting me a disgusted look. "Jesus, Sera. You've got everything now. Can't you just let her keep this one thing?"

He guided the sobbing Brielle out, murmuring reassurances about how she shouldn't have to give up anything else.

After the door clicked shut, I sat in the silence of my reclaimed room.

'The necklace is mine,' I thought with cold satisfaction. 'Whether I want it or not, whether I'll ever wear it—it's mine. Just like everything else stolen from me.'

Five months after my birthday, I'd mastered the violin.

Every evening, Brielle'd play in the sunroom while Irene clapped like it was Carnegie Hall.

So when I showed interest, they got me my own violin. "Such a lovely hobby for young ladies," Irene gushed, probably thinking it'd help us bond.

What she didn't expect was me surpassing her in under half a year.

"That's... quite good, Seraphina," our instructor, Mrs. Blackwood, said after my latest piece. Her eyes darted between us. "Maybe we should try some duets?"

Brielle's knuckles whitened on her bow. The competition was next week, and we both knew who deserved the solo spot.

But Irene, ever the peacemaker, had other ideas.

"Oh, Brielle sweetie," she said, rushing over as the lesson ended. "That was absolutely beautiful! Your vibrato's improved so much."

I stood there, violin case in hand, watching my mom heap praise on mediocrity while ignoring real talent. Typical.

"Mom," Brielle said, voice shaky, "I'm just worried I'm not good enough for the competition. Seraphina's gotten so good so fast..."

The guilt trip landed. Irene wrapped an arm around her. "Oh honey, don't worry. You've been playing for years—that counts. Plus, you've got that natural stage presence."

'Natural stage presence,' I thought. 'Code for shameless attention-seeking?'

Over the next few days, Irene stuck to Brielle during practice—extra lessons, nonstop encouragement, even a backup instructor just for her.

I practiced alone in my room, fingers flying while I plotted.

The day before the competition, it all blew up.

We were in the music room for one last run-through when Mrs. Blackwood had us play the same piece—Bach's Partita No. 2.

Brielle went first. Competent, but nothing special. A few missed notes, timing off in the third movement. The kind that gets polite claps and fades.

Then my turn.

The melody poured out like liquid gold—crisp notes, seamless transitions. I could feel Mrs. Blackwood's jaw drop, could hear Brielle's world cracking.

When I finished, the silence stretched.

"Well," Mrs. Blackwood said softly, "that was... exceptional."

I turned to see Brielle glaring, her mask slipping to reveal something ugly.

"You know what?" she snapped, voice rising. "I'm fucking sick of this!"

Before anyone could react, she grabbed her violin by the neck and smashed it on the floor. Wood and strings exploded.

"Brielle!" Irene shrieked.

But she wasn't done. She hurled her bow like a spear.

The pointed end nailed my right arm, pain shooting to my shoulder. I gasped, stumbling back.

"Oh my god, Seraphina!" Irene rushed over, forgetting her fake daughter. "Are you hurt? Let me see!"