Chapter 2

Grace's POV

Two weeks later, morning sunlight streamed through the window of my cramped dorm room as I sat on the edge of my secondhand bed, holding a cup of instant coffee that had long gone cold.

This was the cheapest student housing Harvard offered, with thin walls and terrible soundproofing. The sounds of my neighbor preparing for an early class drifted through, reminding me that a new day had begun.

I pulled out my phone and habitually opened Gabrielle's social media accounts. She was still basking in comments congratulating her on her "perfect SAT score," responding with obvious delight.

And me, the actual owner of that score? I could only hide in this corner, silently enduring the pain of having my achievement stolen.

"Knock! Knock! Knock!"

The urgent pounding interrupted my thoughts. I opened the door to find Gabrielle standing there, dressed in an expensive Chanel outfit, carrying the latest Hermès bag. She surveyed my room, disgust flashing across her face.

"Oh my God, Grace, are you sure this place is habitable?" She covered her nose. "It smells like mold in here."

I didn't respond to her jab; I was used to being belittled. "What do you want?"

"I have important news!" She walked in, carefully avoiding the books on the floor as if afraid of dirtying her designer heels. "My Yale prince is coming to see me today!"

My heart skipped a beat. "Yale prince?"

"Damien Blackwood, duh!" Gabrielle touched up her makeup, checking herself in her phone's front camera. "Grandson of an oil tycoon, family worth billions. And he's super gentle, never raises his voice to girls."

Damien. The name nearly froze my blood.

"How do you know him?" I struggled to keep my voice steady.

Gabrielle smiled smugly: "Met him online. In the elite social circles between Yale and Harvard, of course." She paused, deliberately adding in a superior tone: "Not the kind of circles you'd have access to. After all, not everyone can afford to donate a building to secure admission."

Her words stung like a slap. I knew Gabrielle got into Harvard not through academics, but through the Williams family's generous donation.

Her actual SAT score was only 1200, and our parents didn't say anything when they found out she had stolen my score to post on TikTok. They just paved the way for her by making a $10 million donation.

Meanwhile, my perfect score that earned me a legitimate acceptance letter had its glory stolen by her.

"So you're meeting him today?"

"Obviously!" Gabrielle reapplied her lipstick. "Don't worry, I won't stay in this dump for long. Seeing where you live, I'm embarrassed for you."

She turned to leave, then suddenly looked back: "Oh, and if anyone asks about my SAT score, you'd better keep quiet. We both know you have... a tendency to make up stories."

After the door closed, I collapsed onto my bed. Gabrielle's threat was clear: if I dared expose the truth, she had a thousand ways to make my life at this school unbearable.

But now I had a bigger concern. If Damien was really looking for Gabrielle, this couldn't be a coincidence.

Two hours later, I walked into the campus Starbucks with an uneasy heart. The autumn afternoon sunlight was pleasantly warm, but I felt chills running through me.

While waiting in line for coffee, I heard a familiar shrill laugh. Turning, I saw Gabrielle sitting at a corner table, with a man across from her.

My world seemed to stop.

The man had golden-brown hair, with sunlight from the window outlining his perfect profile. He was looking down at a book, his left hand gently caressing the edge of the pages, his right hand holding a coffee cup.

That gesture. Ten years ago, when he taught me to read Braille, he would always touch the pages like that, as if feeling the life in the words.

It was Damien. Really him.

I forgot to breathe, forgot I was still in line until the student behind me gently nudged me forward. Only then did I realize it was my turn to order.

"Black coffee, please." My voice sounded strange even to me.

After getting my coffee, I found a corner spot where I could observe them without being easily noticed. Gabrielle was excitedly telling Damien something, using exaggerated hand gestures. Damien smiled gently, listening, occasionally nodding.

He still smelled his coffee before drinking it, just like ten years ago. When Gabrielle spoke, he looked at her attentively, but I could sense his focus wasn't entirely on her.

Suddenly, his gaze shifted toward me.

Those once-blind eyes were now clear and bright, as gentle as they were ten years ago. When his gaze fell on me, I saw a flash of recognition.

I immediately lowered my head, pretending to be absorbed in my phone. My heart was beating so fast I worried others could hear it.

Ten minutes later, I sneaked a glance and found Damien gone. Gabrielle still sat there, taking selfies with a satisfied smile. I sighed with relief and prepared to leave.

"Grace?"

I froze. Slowly turning, I saw Damien standing beside my table, smiling gently.

"You must be Grace, the stepsister Gabrielle mentions so often?" His voice was as gentle as it had been ten years ago, but now sounded more mature. "You two don't look much alike."

My throat was too dry to speak. After all these years, his voice still reminded me of those dark days, of the moments he would softly comfort me in that basement.

"Yes," I finally found my voice. "We're stepsisters."

"Interesting." He sat down across from me without asking permission. "Your eyes are special, like they've seen many stories."

This was a test. He wanted to confirm if I remembered our past, if I would acknowledge our history.

"I don't know what you're talking about." My voice trembled.

Damien's smile didn't change, but I saw something flash in his eyes. Satisfaction? Disappointment?

"Of course," he said casually. "I just thought you looked familiar. Perhaps we've met somewhere before? Say... a long time ago?"

My hands started shaking. He knew I remembered. He was toying with me, like a cat with a mouse.

"Impossible." I stood up, ready to leave. "I'm certain we've never met."

"Hmm." He stood too, but didn't try to stop me. "Then I must be mistaken. After all, some memories can be... selectively forgotten."

I turned to leave, but his voice behind me made my blood freeze instantly.

"Be careful, Grace. This world is dangerous. Especially for those with secrets."

That tone. That gentle warning wrapped in softness. Exactly like ten years ago in the basement.

I didn't look back, just quickened my pace out of the coffee shop. But I knew he was still standing there, quietly watching me leave.

That night, sitting on my worn-out bed, I realized I had fallen into a carefully designed trap.

Damien was back, not for revenge, at least not yet. He was waiting, observing, slowly weaving a web. He was using Gabrielle to get close to me, exploiting her vanity and ignorance.

And I could only helplessly watch it all unfold.

Two years ago, I thought I had escaped hell. Now I realized I had merely jumped from one cage to another. And this time, the key to the cage was in the hands of someone I had deeply hurt.

What was even more terrifying was that he was no longer the blind boy who needed my companionship.