Chapter 4: Broken Strings

Seraphina's POV

I clutched my arm, real tears stinging my eyes. "It... it really hurts, Mom."

The panic in her voice was music to my ears. "Call Dr. Jones. Now!"

Within an hour, the family doctor had checked me out and said nothing was broken—just bad bruising and possible muscle strain.

"No strenuous activity for at least a week," he warned. "That includes violin."

Irene's face went pale. "But the competition's tomorrow..."

"I'm afraid Miss Seraphina can't participate."

"Don't worry about me," I said weakly from the couch, playing up the wounded hero. "Brielle should still go. She's worked so hard."

The guilt on Brielle's face nearly made me crack up.

"Sweetie, I'll stay home with you," Irene said, smoothing my hair.

"No." I grabbed her hand with my good arm. "I'll be fine. Brielle needs you there. I... I just want to rest."

The next evening, they came back triumphant. Brielle clutched a gaudy gold trophy, beaming as Irene led her in like a conquering hero.

"We won first place!" she announced to the empty foyer.

Except it wasn't empty.

Silas sat in the living room like a judge ready to drop the hammer. Brielle wilted, ducking behind Irene.

"Oh," Irene said, caught off guard. "Silas, you didn't say you were coming. I would've had the staff—"

"Cut the bullshit, Irene." His voice could freeze hell. "So you took your little fake daughter to her competition while my granddaughter lay sick in bed?"

"She insisted we go," Irene started, but he cut her off with a hand.

"Let me get this straight. The girl injures my granddaughter in a tantrum, Seraphina gets a fever from the stress, calls me in tears for help—and you decide to play supportive mom to the brat who caused it?"

The silence was golden.

"Grandpa?" I called weakly from upstairs, right on cue.

He bounded up those stairs in seconds, finding me "asleep" in bed while Conrad listened to Dr. Jones's latest instructions.

I'd never held a real grudge against Conrad. He was just weak—a sharp businessman and loyal husband who left parenting to his wife because he was too busy or too tired. Not evil, just spineless.

"The fever broke this afternoon," Dr. Jones was saying, "but she should rest another day or two."

"Seraphina?" Irene's voice cracked as she burst in. She looked panicked seeing my flushed face against the pillows.

I blinked slowly, like I was just waking. "Mom?"

She sat on the bed's edge, pressing her hand to my forehead. "Oh, sweetheart, why didn't you tell me you were feeling sick?"

Conrad stepped closer, patting her shoulder. "From now on, Seraphina, you tell us the second you don't feel well. Promise me."

I let my lashes flutter, hesitating. "But... wouldn't that be selfish?"

"What do you mean?" Irene frowned.

"Well..." I made my voice small. "Brielle said it'd worry you if I got sick too often. That I might become a burden. I didn't want to steal attention from important stuff."

Irene went rigid. "She said that?"

"I mean," I pressed on, twisting the knife, "Dad works late, and you've been helping Brielle so much with her music. I know the competition meant everything to her. I've always just... pushed through when I felt bad."

'Because I'm too damn considerate for my own good,' I thought with savage satisfaction.

Irene broke down in tears, while Conrad stared at me with what looked like guilt.

Silas's voice sliced through her sobs. "I told you that little snake's got venom. She's eight and already playing mind games with Seraphina."

"She's just... struggling with the changes," Irene tried weakly.

"Struggling?" Silas barked a harsh laugh. "She's trying to wipe out the competition. Classic move—isolate the target, make 'em feel guilty for breathing."

I had to admire his insight. She was amateur compared to his boardroom battles.

With him, I skipped the games—just straight talk, or close enough.

He tucked my blankets with surprising gentleness. "Listen, kid. Your comfort, your health, your happiness—that's top priority here. Don't let anyone tell you different."

I nodded obediently.

"Good girl." He paused, then something shifted in his expression. "You know, I had the strangest urge today to dig through your grandmother's jewelry collection."

I blinked up at him with perfect innocence. "You did?"

"Mmm. Found something that belongs to you." His eyes glittered with something that might've been amusement. "I'll have it brought over tomorrow."

Irene's sharp intake of breath was audible. "Dad, you can't mean—"

"The Alden heirloom?" He turned that razor-sharp gaze on her. "The necklace that's been worn by every Alden daughter for the past century? The one I mistakenly gave to an imposter because I didn't know better?"

Silence stretched taut between them.

"That necklace belongs to my granddaughter," Silas continued, voice implacable. "My actual granddaughter. Just like everything else she was cheated out of."

I reached out from under the covers, my small hand finding his larger one. His fingers closed around mine with surprising gentleness.

"Thank you, Grandpa," I whispered.

And for the first time in months, I didn't have to fake the emotion in my voice.

The next morning, I woke to find a black velvet box on my nightstand.

Inside lay the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen—a necklace of white gold and diamonds that seemed to capture and reflect every ray of sunlight. The central stone was a perfect emerald, the exact shade of my eyes.

The maid helped me put it on, her usually stoic face softening as she clasped it around my neck.

"Very beautiful, Miss Seraphina. Like it was made for you."

'It was,' I thought, touching the cool metal. 'It's been waiting for me this whole time.'

Two days later, I was back on my feet. Irene hadn't left my side, overcompensating by bringing meals to bed and fluffing pillows hourly.

Brielle kept that stupid trophy hidden in her room, not daring to flaunt it. Smart move.

During one of my fake naps, I overheard the staff whispering in the hall.

"Did you hear about the violin? Mr. Silas told Mrs. Alden the girl can't touch musical instruments anymore. Says she's clearly too unstable." one maid said.

"About time someone put that little diva in her place," another replied.

I smiled into my pillow. Sometimes the best wins are the quiet ones.