The Weight Of Revenge

ELENA'S POV

When Jenny arrived, her expression was exactly what I expected—a mixture of shock and barely concealed pity. Her wide eyes flickered over me, searching for traces of the girl she once knew, and when they settled on mine, they softened with sympathy.

It brought back a flood of memories, sharp and bittersweet. Back then, when my world was reduced to the cold confines of that hospital, Jenny was my only lifeline. She risked everything, sneaking in food, notes, and small tokens of kindness, all behind my stepmother’s back.

"Elena," she whispered her voice tight with emotion. "I can’t believe it’s really you."

I forced a small smile, though it barely touched the ache in my chest. "It’s me. Thanks for coming."

She hesitated, as though unsure how to approach me now, but I pressed forward. There wasn’t time for sentimentality—not yet. "I need your help, Jenny. Just for now. I made a list."

I handed her a piece of paper with my shaky scrawl, detailing the essentials: a phone, new clothes, and a few other necessities.

Jenny’s gaze lingered on me for a moment before she took the list. "Of course. I’ll get you everything you need." Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled slightly as she folded the paper and tucked it into her bag.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

She nodded, but her eyes stayed on me, searching again. I could tell she wanted to ask more, to say something about the years we’d lost, but she held back. Maybe she knew that some wounds were too raw to touch yet.

After changing into the gown I’d urgently asked her to get, I stood before the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, a ghost of who I once was. I tied my hair into a tight ponytail, applied a touch of makeup, and glanced at the clock. Time was slipping away. I couldn’t let the wedding party end before I made my appearance.

The garden was alive with music and laughter, the kind of idyllic setting that mocked my absence from such moments over the years. It didn’t take long to spot her. Sophia.

She stood amidst a group of women, her laughter carefree, her presence radiant. She had grown to resemble her mother—poised, polished, perfect. And she was wearing my dress. The wedding gown that should have been mine.

A waitress passed, and I snatched a glass of wine from her tray. My heels crunched against the gravel as I approached, the sound masked by the lively chatter.

I stopped directly behind Sophia, letting her bask in her false sense of perfection for just a moment longer. Then I spoke, my voice slicing through the air.

"Happy married life, sister."

She froze. The glass in her hand slipped, and she choked on her drink. Slowly, she turned, her wide eyes locking onto mine.

Her voice trembled. "Wha... what are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, Sophia?" I replied with a sarcastic smile. "How could I miss my little sister's wedding?"

A murmur spread through the crowd like wildfire.

"The Williams had an elder daughter?"

"I thought she went crazy years ago!"

"She doesn’t look crazy to me—she’s stunning."

I revelled in their whispers, smiling while Sophia’s composure crumbled.

"Hello, ladies," I greeted the women she’d been entertaining.

Their smiles were forced, wary. "Hi..."

"I think it’s only fair to introduce myself properly." I paused, letting the tension thicken. "I’m Elena Williams, the eldest daughter of the Williams family. And yes, I did go crazy years ago. In fact, I just walked out of a psychiatric hospital today."

I laughed—a deliberate, unsettling sound. The women exchanged horrified glances, stepping back as though I carried something contagious.

Sophia’s face burned red with anger. "What the hell are you doing?" she hissed under her breath.

"Introducing myself," I said coolly.

She plastered on a fake smile for the onlookers. "Excuse us," she said to the woman, then grabbed my arm and dragged me away. Her grip was weak, but I let her take me. I wanted her to.

She shoved me into a small room and locked the door behind her.

"Don’t you dare leave," she snapped before storming out.

I chuckled bitterly, lying down on the bed and staring at the ceiling. The horror on Sophia’s face replayed in my mind, bringing a fleeting smile. But it was quickly replaced by a scowl.

Five years. They had lived comfortably while I rotted away. They had stolen my life, my son, my future. And now they would pay.

The door burst open, the sound of heavy footsteps filling the room. I didn’t look up.

"So it’s true," came a voice I would recognize anywhere. My stepmother.

I sat up, meeting her cold gaze. "Yes, mummy," I said mockingly.

"Have you lost your mind, Elena? Coming back here?" she spat.

"Where else would I go? This is my home too."

"Not anymore," she snapped. "This stopped being your home the day you were sent away. You have no right to be here!"

Her words were venom, but I refused to flinch. "Where’s Father?"

She stiffened. "He doesn’t need to know you’re here. Leave now, Elena, while I’m still giving you the chance."

Her threat was clear. I knew her too well—she eliminated threats without hesitation. I wasn’t ready to face her yet, not without power or leverage. So I left.

Jenny waited for me where we’d agreed, handing over the items I’d requested. Her eyes glistened with emotion. "Are you sure you don’t want to see your father?"

I shook my head, walking away without another word.

Lost in thought, I wandered to a familiar, quiet path. The old bench from my school days was still there, a place where I used to escape the world.

As I walked through the quiet, familiar path, the soft sound of someone sobbing pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced to the right and spotted a woman sitting on the old bench, her shoulders trembling, her head bent low.

It took me a moment to recognize her—she was the maid from earlier, the one who had been fired. Something in her anguish struck a chord with me. I could have walked away, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

"Here," I said, stepping closer and handing her a handkerchief.

She looked up, startled, before taking it with trembling hands. "Thank you," she whispered, dabbing at her tear-streaked face. I sat beside her on the bench, the silence between us heavy.

"This is so unfair," she finally said, her voice breaking.

She paused to steady herself, but fresh tears spilt over. "I tried my best, but Noah... he’s so stubborn. Always running off, always causing trouble. And now I’ve lost my job." She buried her face in the handkerchief. "I needed that pay. My mother is sick, and I don’t know what I’m going to do."

Her words tugged at something deep inside me. I’d been gone from the world for five years, but I still understood the suffocating weight of desperation.

"Your master must be cruel," I said gently. "He should have listened to your side of the story. It’s not fair to blame you for everything—especially when it’s his child running off. Parenting isn’t just the responsibility of a maid."

She turned to me, her tear-streaked face a mixture of confusion and disbelief. "Are you... serious? Have you been living under a rock?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "Why would you say that?"

"Wait," she said, her voice sharp with realization. "You don’t know who Justin Hunt is?"

I shook my head. Her eyes widened as though I’d just confessed to being from another planet.

"You don’t know?" she repeated, incredulous. "He’s one of the richest men in the world! And his son, Noah, is the reason maids can’t last more than two months in that house."

I stayed quiet, absorbing her words as she continued, her frustration pouring out.

"Justin Hunt is a business tycoon, practically untouchable. His wife, Ariana Hunt, is a world-famous model. They’re too busy to even glance at their staff, let alone listen to excuses. And you think he’d give me a second chance?" She scoffed bitterly.

"So he just fires people without question?"

"Without hesitation," she said with a sharp laugh. "You’re lucky if you make it two months. He’s ruthless. And Noah..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "That kid is impossible. His father barely has time for him, and his mother is hardly ever home. Yet they expect perfection from anyone who works for them."

I lowered my head, her words hitting harder than I expected. Parents are too busy to notice their child. A father buried in work. A mother absent entirely. It was a life of luxury, yet they neglected the one thing that truly mattered.

"I’d give my child everything," I muttered under my breath. "Every moment, every bit of love. If only I had the chance..."

The maid didn’t hear me. She scoffed again, staring at her phone. "Look at this. They’ve already put up a job listing for my position."

Her voice was bitter, but my mind began to race. If Justin Hunt was as powerful as she claimed, then working in his house could be my chance. Power. Money. Influence. If I wanted to take down my stepmother, I needed all three.

"How can I apply?" I asked abruptly.

She froze, then turned to me like I’d just announced I wanted to jump off a cliff. "You can’t be serious."

"I am."

She frowned, shaking her head. "The pay is tempting, sure, but trust me—it’s not worth it. That house is a nightmare. Justin Hunt will fire you over the smallest mistake, and Noah..." She groaned. "That boy is impossible to handle. You’d regret it in less than a week."

"Let me worry about that," I said firmly.

She stared at me, then sighed. "Look, I’m telling you as someone who’s been there. Don’t do it. It’s not worth the stress, the humiliation, the—"

Her words faded into the background. I’d already made up my mind. If working for Justin Hunt could help me amass the power I needed to destroy my stepmother, then no challenge was too great.

I would do whatever it takes.