Chapter 3

Maya's POV 

The silence that followed my outburst was deafening. I could almost hear the gears turning in their heads, processing what I'd just said. Then, all at once, the room exploded.

"Have you lost your mind?" My mother's shrill voice cut through the air like a knife. Her face, usually carefully composed, was contorted with rage. "After everything we've done for you?" 

My father's response was quieter, but no less cutting. "Ungrateful," he spat, his eyes cold and hard. "We gave you everything. A home, a family, a future. And this is how you repay us?" 

Their words hit me physically, each one chipping away at the resolve I'd built up. I opened my mouth to respond, but my mother wasn't finished. 

"You know what? Maybe we made a mistake bringing you back," she hissed. "Our real daughter wouldn't be this stupid, this selfish." 

I flinched, her words cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. Real daughter. As if I was some cheap imitation, a knockoff they'd accidentally brought home. 

"If it wasn't for us, you'd still be God knows where, probably dead in a ditch somewhere," my father added, his voice dripping with disdain. "We're the only reason you have a family at all." 

I felt something inside me crack, a hairline fracture spreading through my heart. These people, who were supposed to love me unconditionally, who had searched for me for years... how could they say these things? 

Before I could gather my thoughts, Daniel stepped forward, his face a mask of irritation. "Enough of this nonsense," he snapped. "The party starts in twenty minutes. We need to focus on what's important here - the company, the investors. We can't waste any more time on Maya's... delusions." 

He practically spat the last word, looking at me like I was something he'd scraped off the bottom of his shoe. 

Fiona's sobs suddenly quieted, and she looked up with tear-filled eyes. "Oh, please," she whimpered, her voice trembling. "It must be so difficult for her… with everything"

I stared at her, incredulous at her audacity. She turned to my parents, her expression a perfect mask of concern. "I worry about her, you know. She seems so... lost sometimes. Maybe we should consider getting her some help?"

My mother nodded, buying into Fiona's act completely. "You're so thoughtful, dear. Always thinking of others."

Fiona then turned to Daniel, her hand grasping his arm. "Daniel, darling, I'm so sorry. I hope this doesn't ruin the evening. The investor... the company... it's all so important."

Daniel's face softened as he looked at Fiona. "Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll make it work. Are you sure you're up for the party?"

Fiona nodded bravely, then turned to me with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Oh, Maya," she cooed, "I do hope you'll still come. It would mean so much to me if you could be there for my big moment. After all, we're sisters, aren't we?"

Her big moment? I wanted to scream, to tell her exactly where she could shove her fake kindness. Instead, I nodded stiffly, watching as Daniel led her out of the room, his hand lingering possessively on the small of her back. Any lower, he'd be grabbing her ass.

As they left, Fiona glanced over her shoulder, and for a split second, her mask slipped. The look in her eyes was pure, undiluted malice. Then it was gone, replaced by her usual simpering smile.

I didn't have much time to dwell on it. Getting ready was a blur, before I knew it, I was being herded into the car, squeezed between my parents like a child. The ride to the party passed in a blur of tense silence and sidelong glances.

—

The party was in full swing by the time we arrived. The room was a sea of designer dresses and expensive suits, the air thick with the scent of perfume and the sound of forced laughter. I stood in a corner, nursing a glass of champagne I had no intention of drinking, watching as Fiona worked the room. 

She was wearing my necklace, the centerpiece of the new collection. It glittered under the soft lights, drawing every eye in the room. Including mine. I couldn't help but imagine myself up there, explaining the intricate design, the hours of work that went into each piece. In my mind, I saw myself confident, respected, admired. 

The fantasy shattered as Fiona took the stage, tapping a spoon against her glass for attention. The room fell silent, all eyes on her as she began her speech. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began, her voice sickly sweet, "I can't tell you how honored I am to be here tonight..." 

I tuned out her words, focusing instead on the necklace. My necklace. 

As Fiona wrapped up her speech and opened the floor for questions, a voice cut through the polite applause. 

"Excuse me," a man said, his tone curious but slightly challenging. "I couldn't help but notice... the necklace seems a bit... incongruous with your overall style. It's beautiful, certainly, but it doesn't quite fit. I'm curious about the creative process behind it. How did you come up with this design?" 

A smile crept up my lips as the room fell silent. Whoever this person was, they weren't wrong. 

And I could see why. See, Fiona with her bold makeup, flashy dress, and larger-than-life personality, was the epitome of flamboyance. She thrived on attention, her every move calculated to draw eyes and turn heads. High-profile was an understatement when it came to Fiona.

But my necklace? It was the antithesis of everything Fiona represented. Its design was subtle, with clean lines and understated elegance. It spoke of quiet confidence, of maturity and sophistication. Where Fiona was a firework, loud and fleeting, the necklace was a star - constant, enduring, and beautiful in its simplicity.

The contrast was jarring, now that someone had pointed it out. It was like seeing a delicate orchid trying to bloom in the middle of a carnival. The necklace belonged on someone who understood its quiet power, not on someone who saw it as just another accessory to flaunt.

I watched as Fiona's composure slipped, just for a moment. Her eyes widened, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. For the first time all night, she looked truly flustered. 

"Well, I... that is to say..." she stammered, her hands fluttering nervously around the necklace. 

A warm feeling spread through my chest as I watched her squirm. It wasn't quite happiness - I was too broken for that - but it was something. Satisfaction, maybe. Or justice. 

As Fiona continued to flounder on stage, I allowed myself a small, secret smile. For the first time in a long time, I felt a glimmer of hope. 

***