Chapter 2

Maya's POV 

"Maya, what did you do?" Daniel's voice cut through the room, sharp and accusatory.

"Daniel, please, let me explain—" The words tumbled from my mouth, desperate and clumsy.

But Daniel's eyes were fixed on Fiona, his hands roaming over her arms, her back, checking for injuries. "Are you hurt? Did she harm you?"

Fiona pressed herself against him a little too much, her breasts heaving and bouncing with exaggerated sobs. The torn dress gaped open, leaving view of a soft tantalizing mound of flesh. I watched as Daniel's gaze flickered downward for a moment before he pulled her closer, enveloping her in his arms.

"It's okay, you're safe now," he murmured into her hair, his tone sickeningly gentle.

I stood there, frozen, as Daniel comforted Fiona. The familiar ache of betrayal settled in my chest, heavy and cold.

Finally, Daniel turned to me, his eyes hard. "Well? Are you going to explain yourself?"

I swallowed hard. "I didn't do anything. Fiona, tell him—"

"Oh, Daniel," Fiona interrupted, her voice quivering. "It's not entirely Maya's fault. I... I might have provoked her. I just wanted to wear the dress, and..."

Daniel's face softened as he looked at Fiona. "Shh, it's alright. You don't have to defend her."

He turned back to me, his expression hardening again. "Maya, I can't believe you'd stoop this low. What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't—" I started, but Daniel cut me off.

"Save it. I've heard enough of your excuses." He paused, his gaze raking over me with disgust. "You know, sometimes I wonder why I even bothered marrying you."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I felt my breath catch in my throat, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

Fiona gasped softly. "Daniel, don't be so harsh. I'm sure Maya didn't mean—"

"No, Fiona. It's time someone told her the truth," Daniel said, his voice cold. "Maya, you need to understand your place in this family. In this marriage."

I stood there, my heart pounding in my ears. Was this really happening? How had everything spiraled so out of control?

My throat tightened. I wanted to scream, to cry, to disappear. Instead, I stood there, powerless.

"Maya," Daniel's voice was icy, enough to make the room feel disturbingly cold. "Apologize. Now." 

Before I could respond, the door burst open. My parents rushed in, their faces masks of concern but obviously it was not for me, we were way past that already. 

"Mom, Dad," I started, my voice small and tired. It had been weeks since I'd seen them, but I knew better than to expect anything. The familiar ache of disappointment settled in my chest, a better companion these days.

They brushed past me like I was nothing more than a piece of furniture, making a beeline for Fiona. 

"What's going on?" my father demanded, his eyes immediately going to Fiona. "We heard shouting."

"Oh, sweetheart," my mother cooed, her hands fluttering around Fiona's face. "What happened? Are you alright?" 

My father's eyes locked onto the angry red marks marring Fiona's neck. I frowned, a sickening realization dawning. Those weren't from the dress. They were fresh, raw—self-inflicted. How far would this bitch go? 

"What have you done?" My father's voice was low, dangerous. His eyes, so similar to my own, bore into me with a fury I'd never seen before. "Do you have any idea how important tonight is? The investor who's coming could change everything for the company. And Fiona—" he gestured to her dramatically cowering form, "—is crucial. How could you jeopardize this?" 

"But I didn't—" I tried to explain, to defend myself. 

The crack of skin on skin echoed through the room. My cheek burned, my father's handprint blooming red across my face. I staggered back, shock coursing through me. In all my life, he had never struck me. 

"Don't you dare lie," he hissed. 

Daniel pulled Fiona closer, if that was even possible. His eyes, once filled with love for me, now held nothing but tenderness and concern for her. "It's okay, baby," he murmured. "I've got you." 

My heart shattered into a million pieces. 

"Please," Fiona's voice was small, fragile. A perfect performance. "Don't be too hard on Maya. She's... she's still adjusting." 

Her false kindness was the final straw. My parents rounded on me, their faces twisted with disappointment and anger.

"Apologize," my mother demanded. "Now." 

I looked at them—my husband, my parents, the sister who had stolen everything from me. A lifetime of pain and resentment bubbled up inside me, threatening to spill over. 

"Why?" The word came out as a broken whisper. "Why did you bring me back?" They stared at me, confusion replacing anger for a moment. 

"Was it because you wanted your daughter?" My voice grew stronger with each word. "Or did you just need a puppet? Someone to control, to use?" 

The silence that followed was deafening. I plowed on, years of suppressed emotions finally breaking free. 

"What did I do wrong? Why do you treat me like this? I'm your daughter, your own flesh and blood. But ever since I came back, I've been nothing but a disappointment to you. Why?" 

My mother's face hardened. "How dare you—" 

But I wasn't finished. "You searched for me for years. You cried for me, mourned for me. And now that I'm here, alive and well, you can't even look at me. What changed? What did I do to deserve this?" 

The room fell silent, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. For a moment, I saw something flicker in my father's eyes But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the cold indifference I'd grown accustomed to. 

As I stood there, I realized something. The daughter they had searched for, the one they had loved and missed, died the day they brought me home. And in her place, they had created something else entirely— a puppet on strings. 

***