Chapter 2

The hallway noise died the moment I passed through.

The shuffling feet of students walking in groups vanished, replaced by whispers and the glow of phone screens. Everyone was staring at me, their eyes filled with shock and fear.

The video had clearly spread. Good.

I walked through the crowd expressionless, fingers adjusting my uniform collar. Adrenaline still surged through my veins, but my mind had never been clearer.

Those pathetic days of being a doormat, compromising, doubting myself—that version of me from my past life was dead and buried.

Just as I was about to reach the stairwell, urgent, heavy footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as two tall figures stormed toward me.

One was my brother Spencer, student body president of St. Jude's Academy, forever dressed in his impeccable tailored suits, wearing that fake expression of elite compassion.

The other was my boyfriend Landon, still sporting that eye-catching red-and-white varsity baseball jacket.

"Blythe!"

Spencer strode forward, face ashen, eyes filled with disgust. "What the hell is wrong with you? Lacey is still in the nurse's office crying her eyes out! You actually shoved her head into a sink? You've dragged the Kendrick name through the mud!"

Landon frowned too, studying me like I was a stranger. "Blythe, you've changed. You used to be a bit spoiled, sure, but you'd never do something this vicious. Lacey is your sister—how could you?"

Listening to these two hypocrites made my stomach churn.

In my past life, these were the two men who claimed they were "looking out for me" and accused me of being "cruel"—the same men who personally locked me in a sub-zero freezer.

"Sister?" I let out a cold laugh, my gaze sharp as a blade toward Spencer. "A homewrecker's daughter whose mother slept her way into the Kendrick family tree—you want to lecture me about propriety?"

"Shut up!" Spencer looked like I'd stepped on a nerve. He raised his hand to slap me.

I narrowed my eyes but didn't flinch. Instead, I stepped forward, staring directly into his eyes.

"Go ahead." I pointed at my left cheek, voice dripping with contempt. "Spencer Kendrick, if you lay one finger on me today, I guarantee tomorrow's Wall Street Journal gossip section will feature the headline: 'Kendrick Heir Publicly Strikes Sister to Please His Bastard Half-Sibling.'"

"Think those dinosaurs who worship reputation above all will still let you keep your student body president throne?"

Spencer's hand froze mid-air. He stared at me as if seeing me for the first time.

The old Blythe would've apologized tearfully the moment he showed anger, desperately proving she was a good, obedient sister. But he didn't know that doormat Blythe had died in the bitter cold.

"You're... you're absolutely impossible!" Spencer lowered his hand through gritted teeth and pulled out his phone. "Just wait. I'm calling Dad right now to deal with you personally."

He dialed right in front of me.

"Dad, yeah, about what happened in the locker room... I saw the video. She shoved Lacey's head into the sink!... What? I know, but... Yes, I understand."

Spencer's expression grew darker by the second. After hanging up, he looked at me with a mixture of authority and pure disgust.

"Dad wants you home immediately. He says if you don't apologize sincerely to Lacey, he'll cancel all your credit cards and kick you out of the Kendrick household."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "Reginald finally managed to crawl out of that woman's bed to fulfill his fatherly duties?"

"Shut up! How dare you address Dad by his first name!" Spencer's face flushed crimson.

I pulled the black card from my uniform pocket, held it between two fingers, and tossed it at Spencer's feet like discarded trash.

"Take it back. Pass it along to him for me." I watched the card fall, my expression blank. "And tell him and that scheming bitch that the Kendrick mansion reeks of desperation and discount perfume now. I've been dying to leave anyway."

"As for apologizing? If Reginald really wants me to bow to that homewrecker's brat, he can broadcast his affair confession on every screen in Times Square first. Sound fair?"

"Blythe!" Landon finally stepped forward, trying to grab my wrist. "What's gotten into you? Stop using these extreme tactics to get our attention. If you just apologize, we can all—"

"Crack!"

The sharp sound of a slap echoed through the silent corridor.

Landon's face whipped to the side, five bright red fingerprints blooming across his pale cheek. He clutched his face in shock, staring at me in disbelief.

I pulled a tissue from my pocket and wiped my fingertips with visible disgust, as if I'd touched toxic waste.

"Landon," my voice was ice-cold, "the only real thing about you right now is the slap I just gave you. What makes you think I'm trying to get your attention?"

"You hit me?" His voice trembled.

"Did you think I didn't know about those flirty texts you've been sending Lacey behind my back?" I looked down at his panicked eyes. "Treating someone else's trash like treasure—your taste in downgrading yourself is truly impressive. Listen carefully, Landon. We're done. From now on, you're not even in my league anymore."

Leaving Landon's stunned face and Spencer's furious shouting behind, I pushed through the main doors.

The cool autumn wind filled my lungs. I'd never felt so fucking free.

In the Uber back to the Kendrick estate, I'd already made my list. Thirty minutes—plenty of time to pack and leave.

Mother's belongings, a few basic clothes, all fitting into one black suitcase. As for the expensive junk Reginald bought me for show, I didn't touch a single piece.

As I dragged my suitcase downstairs, my stepmother Chloe was waiting in the foyer.

She clutched a handkerchief, forcing out a few tears while failing to hide the smugness tugging at her lips.

"Blythe, why throw a tantrum over family matters?" Chloe sighed theatrically. "Your father said this incident was too serious. But if you transfer your five percent stake in the family trust to Lacey as compensation, he'll overlook your little outburst."

I stopped dead in my tracks and suddenly smiled.

So this was their endgame. Using a school incident as an excuse to bite off the last piece of flesh my mother left behind.

"Save the tears. There's no man here to watch your performance." I wheeled my suitcase right up to her, staring coldly at that greedy face.

"Tell Reginald I'm not giving up a single penny of those shares. Not only that—I'll make sure they become a bloody bone lodged in your throats that you can't pull out."

I leaned closer, savoring the way her smugness shattered into genuine panic, and lowered my voice to a whisper.

"One more thing—watch your daughter. At school, every time I see her, I'll make her regret it. Every. Single. Time."