Chapter 2
Isla's POV
I was a ghost now.
I discovered I couldn't leave this house—trapped in this place full of bitter memories. But I could phase through floors, instantly appearing beside anyone I chose.
Upstairs, deafening pop music was blasting.
Leila's favorite artist.
I drifted up to the first floor. The living room was decorated like a golden palace, filled with balloons, flowers, and champagne everywhere.
Tomorrow was the high school prom.
David and Sarah had invited all the community elites and classmates to throw Leila a grand pre-party celebration.
"Leila, this dress is absolutely perfect on you! You're definitely going to be prom queen tomorrow!"
Sarah was lovingly adjusting Leila's hem. The dress was haute couture, covered in Swarovski crystals, worth a fortune.
I watched the laugh lines around Sarah's eyes, and it hurt.
She had never looked at me like that.
Eighteen years.
All because the day I was born, David's business went bankrupt and creditors came pounding on our door. But when Leila—David's friend's orphan—was adopted, a massive insurance payout mysteriously arrived.
Plus that damned gypsy fortune teller's prophecy—I became the family's "devil's daughter" while Leila was their "angel."
From then on, the foster daughter became the precious princess, and the biological daughter became a sewer rat.
"Thank you, Mom. But..." Leila bit her lip, putting on a worried expression. "Sister is still in the basement. What if she's getting too cold? Maybe we should let her out. I really don't blame her for that recommendation letter anymore."
"Don't bring up that little psycho!" David walked over with his wine glass, snorting coldly. "The basement's cooling system is ancient anyway—at most it's like a regular fridge temperature. Won't kill her! She's just being a stubborn little brat. Let her stay down there for a full twenty-four hours. Maybe then she'll think twice before bullying you!"
I listened silently from the void.
David, you don't know, do you?
Someone had cranked down the temperature. The cold storage was already at twenty below zero, maybe colder.
I was already dead.
Stone dead.
"I'll go down to the wine cellar and grab some good bottles. Tonight we're celebrating properly!"
Sarah smiled and headed toward the basement stairs. I drifted after her.
The wine cellar was right next to the cold storage.
Sarah clicked down the stairs in her heels. She passed right by that iron door.
If she had just stopped for a moment.
If she had just pressed her ear to the door to listen.
Even if she'd just glanced at the abnormally thick layer of frost under the door crack.
She would have noticed something was wrong.
I floated beside Sarah, watching her pull out her keys.
"Mom..." I called out instinctively, even though I knew she couldn't hear me.
Sarah stopped in front of the door. She frowned, seeming to catch a faint whiff of something metallic.
She turned around and stared hard at that iron door.
Hope flared in me.
Sarah reached out and grabbed the door handle.
Just then, Leila's voice suddenly rang out from upstairs: "Mom! Where are you? I can't find that diamond necklace! You said I could wear it tonight—is it in your room?"
"Oh God, I almost forgot!" Sarah smacked her forehead. "It's in my jewelry box, in the little compartment at the bottom!"
Her hand jerked back.
She kicked the iron door in disgust and said coldly: "Dead quiet in there. Probably sulking like always. Isla, you just reflect on what you've done! Playing victim won't work on me!"
With that, she turned toward the wine cellar, grabbed two bottles of Romanée-Conti, and headed upstairs without looking back.
I watched her retreating figure from the void.
Mom, you were only one turn away.
You could have discovered my body. If you had looked for just three more seconds, you would have seen that the puddle under the door crack was actually blood from my fingertips.
Too bad. You gave up.
I followed Sarah back to the living room. Justin was sitting on the couch, head down, staring at his phone.
His brow was furrowed, eyes full of irritation.
I floated behind him and saw his screen clearly. It was his text thread with me.
Isla, quit playing dead. Leila's already begged for you.
Just say you're sorry and we can move on. Why are you always so fucking cruel?
If you don't text back, we're DONE. I'm not going to New York with you either.
One after another.
All accusations.
I watched him type and wanted to laugh.
Justin, have you forgotten?
When we were ten, Leila pushed me into the pool and I nearly drowned. You pulled me out and promised you'd always believe me. But ever since Leila started crying in front of you, you became her hero.
You always say I'm cruel, say I'm unreasonable.
I watched Justin angrily throw his phone on the couch and run his hands through his hair in frustration: "This isn't right... No matter how much she acts out, she never goes silent this long. What's her deal?"
He stood up: "I'm going down there to get answers."
"Justin, wait..." Leila hurried over, eyes red-rimmed. "Isla just texted me... look..."
She held up her phone with shaking hands, showing a newly sent message:
Leila, you bitch, wait till I get out and see how I deal with you.
Justin's face turned steel gray instantly: "She DARED to threaten you?! Leila, I never thought she'd become like this! This is absolutely vicious!"
"It's okay, Justin..." Leila choked out. "Maybe sister has always hated me deep down... Just let her vent her emotions."
"Vent? She's threatening your safety!" Justin took a step toward the basement, jaw clenched.
"Don't go, Justin." Leila quickly grabbed his arm. "I don't want you two fighting again..."
Justin took a deep breath, looking at Leila's worried expression, and finally gave in: "Damn it... Come on, Leila. I'll help you practice the opening dance."
