Chapter 2: Slap, Scream, Freedom

Back in the old study, Mariah was kneeling and crying so hard she nearly fainted, hair a mess, face streaked with tears.

"It was my sister who pushed me in! I was the victim!" Her voice cracked, but I wasn’t buying it.

"Dad, you have to believe me!" She clung to Dad’s sleeve, but he shook her off.

His face was red, eyes blazing. My father, still fuming, shouted:

His words echoed off the wood-paneled walls, sharp. Final.

"Stop lying! If your sister hadn’t called for the maid in time to save you, you would have brought shame on our family! And now you’ve got the nerve to slander your sister?"

He glared at her, jaw clenched. The look in his eyes hurt worse than any punishment.

"You’re grounded here for a week, then you’ll spend three months at the old cabin at the edge of town to think about what you did!"

The cabin was a lonely, drafty place—more like exile than a retreat. Mariah’s face crumpled at the thought, but Dad was unmoved.

With that, he ignored Mariah’s pleas and stormed out.

The door slammed behind him. Mariah’s sobs echoed down the hall.

I entered the study and gazed quietly at her huddled figure. She sensed me and sneered.

She wiped her nose on her sleeve, eyes burning with resentment. Even now, she couldn’t help but take a jab at me.

"Sis, don’t think you need to come gloat. If you’d just stayed out of it, Harrison would’ve saved me. I’d be Mrs. Whitmore now!"

Her words were bitter, twisted with jealousy. I felt a flicker of pity, but anger won out.

She was hopeless, so I answered coldly.

My voice was steady, colder than I meant. All my bottled-up pain came out at once.

"Forcing a marriage is bad for everyone." Nobody wins that way.

My words hung in the air. She stared at me, refusing to accept she’d lost.

"What’s so bad about it?" Mariah shot me a mocking look. "If I married Harrison, no other woman could touch me. I’d be honored and wealthy—"

Before I knew it, my hand flew. The slap echoed in the room.

The sound startled even me. Mariah gasped, clutching her cheek, eyes wide, humiliated.

What’s so bad? Everything. She’d never get it.

I wanted to scream it—wanted her to feel the years of shame, the endless gossip, the way people looked at me like I didn’t even exist. The pain of living in a house where love was always second to duty.

The open scorn from the other girls in town. Dirty jokes from the rich boys. The servants’ contempt and indifference. And the fleeting shadows in Harrison’s eyes over the decades—each one made me anxious and ashamed.

Each memory stung—whispers in the school hallway, cruel laughter at the country club, the way the maids turned their backs. Even Harrison, for all his kindness, kept me at arm’s length.

She wanted the nightmare I’d lived.

I shook my head, disbelief mixing with anger. How could she be jealous of what almost broke me?

"Scheming and shameless. With a heart like yours, you don’t deserve him." I whispered it, but it cut deeper than any scream.

The study was solemn and still. My words hung in the air.

Her legs were numb. She collapsed, humiliated.

She glared up at me, pride shattered.

"Emily Miller! Why can you have it and I can’t?..." Her words spilled out, voice cracking with rage.

She was delirious, completely out of control. I ignored her and walked out, shutting the door on her shrill voice.

I paused in the hallway, hand on the doorknob. For the first time, I felt free.

Then it hit me—Mariah had always been infatuated with Harrison. In my past life, she was the one who pushed me toward the man she loved, only to end up marrying a small-town teacher in her late twenties. No wonder she couldn’t let go.

She’d spent her life chasing a dream that was never hers to claim. In the end, she settled for less, and her bitterness just grew.