Chapter 2

2

My name is Nora Sterling.

In the Sterling family, names meant everything. My grandfather said my name represented the family’s legacy.

He wanted me to remember the business, the reputation, and his precious face.

He didn't know that my mother had wanted to name me Nadia. Nadia meant hope. It meant waiting for someone to look back at you.

After she died, no one called me Nadia anymore.

It took me two years to make everyone believe I had forgotten her. I made them think I’d forgotten the blood on that white dress.

When I was eight, my grandfather was practicing calligraphy in his study. I knocked on the door with a bowl of warm soup.

“Grandpa, it’s raining. Does your knee hurt?”

“It does. It’s an old ache.”

“Let me help.” I put the bowl down and knelt at his feet.

I pressed my small hands against his knees. My pressure was perfect.

Martha had taught me. My mother had taught me. She used to do this for him every rainy day.

Silas’s expression softened.

“Nora is growing up.”

“I want to learn more,” I said, looking up with bright eyes. “Teach me how to write like you, Grandpa.”

Silas’s handwriting was the pride of the Hawthorne Estate. His scrolls hung everywhere.

They spoke of “Kindness” and “Integrity.” It was the ultimate irony.

He held my hand and taught me for the whole afternoon.

“Your hand feels like your mother’s,” he said suddenly.

My pen slipped. I ruined the last stroke.

“Mom was good, but I’ll be better,” I said, looking down. I carefully corrected the crooked line.

The room went silent for a long time.

“Good girl.”

When those words came out of his mouth, I didn't know if I had won or lost. I only knew one thing.

His grip on my wrist finally loosened.

When I was ten, my father and Cynthia got married.

The wedding was ten times more lavish than my mother’s funeral. The estate was decked out in gold and red.

Cynthia wore a designer gown shimmering with gold threads. she clung to my father’s arm as they walked down the aisle.

I stood among the guests, watching this woman transform from “Step-mom” to “Mrs. Sterling.”

“Congratulations, Mom,” I said, raising my glass higher than anyone else during the toast.

“Good girl,” Cynthia whispered. She was wearing my mother’s emerald ring.

It was a vivid green stone the size of a pigeon egg. My father had given it to my mother on their wedding day.

“Thank you, Mom,” I said without a hint of hesitation.

Everyone at the party praised me. They said the Sterling girl was so well-behaved and mature.

That night, I locked myself in my room. I cried in front of the mirror for an hour.

Then I washed my face and opened the window. I let the cold wind dry the redness in my eyes.

The next day, I asked my father for money.

“I want to study medicine.”

“Why would a girl want to be a doctor?” My father didn't even look up from his paperwork.

“Grandpa is getting older. His heart and knees are failing. I want to take care of him,” I said calmly. “Besides, if you want me to help with the company later, I need to understand the science.”

His pen stopped for a second.

“How much?”

“Fifty thousand for the prep courses.”

“Go see the accountant.”

As I turned to leave, I heard him pick up the phone.

“Cynthia, what’s for dinner? That salmon you made last time was excellent.”

He had never told my mother her cooking was excellent.

No matter what she did, his only response was always, “It’s fine.”