Chapter 8 - Shattered Illusions
Ethan stood up so fast he knocked the coffee table forward. He stared at me in absolute horror, finally noticing the uneven, jagged chop along the side of my jawline that I had tried so hard to conceal.
"She... she cut your hair?" Ethan breathed, his hands trembling as he reached toward me. "Olivia, God in heaven... what did she do to you?"
"She locked me in the guest room like a prisoner," I said, the tears I had suppressed finally breaking free, though my voice remained fierce. "She told me I didn't belong in your family, that I was a peasant playing dress-up. And when she finished hacking off my braid, she threw an old suitcase at my feet and threw me out onto the street."
Ethan fell back against the couch, burying his face in his hands. The lifetime illusion of his mother’s pristine, noble character shattered into a million irreversible pieces right before his eyes. He realized with sickening clarity how many times his mother had belittled me in the past—and how many times he had blindly excused her behavior with the lazy promise that “she’ll warm up eventually.”
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"I'm going to kill her," Ethan muttered, his voice thick with a dark, unfamiliar rage as he stood up and grabbed his car keys from the counter.
"No, Ethan," I stopped him, grabbing his arm. "We aren't going to play her game. We are going to play ours."
