Chapter 2

Elisa Francis POV:

A searing pain pulsed through my left hand. Each beat of my heart sent a fresh wave of agony up my arm. I struggled to breathe through it. Blood seeped through my torn sleeve, staining the white fabric red.

I ignored it. My priority was the scattered pages of my portfolio. My life's work. I knelt, my right hand clumsily gathering the torn fragments. Each piece represented years of meticulous effort, countless late nights, and the quiet dedication I poured into my art. This portfolio was not just a collection of drawings; it was my ticket, my only path to the New York design school, the dream they had promised me. Without it, I was nothing. Without it, I was trapped.

Kai stood over me, watching. A flicker of something crossed his face-a brief, unsettling hesitation. It was gone in an instant, replaced by the familiar hostility.

"This is what you get," he sneered, his voice cold and hard. "You deserve it. You always tried to take her place. You always tried to steal her life."

He blamed me for Evelyn's death, for the void she left. His accusations were a familiar refrain, drilled into him by our parents. "Evelyn wouldn't have died if you hadn't been born," he often whispered, a distorted echo of Dian's own drunken lamentations. "You brought bad luck."

"Kai," I said, my voice strained with pain. I looked at him, trying to appeal to the last shred of connection we once shared. "We are family. You are my brother."

He recoiled as if stung. His face contorted in a mask of disgust. "No! You are not my sister! You are not family! She was my sister! Evelyn!" He shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "You're just a stranger with her face!"

His eyes were wild, consumed by a fierce, possessive grief. "Everything changed when you came here! We were happy! You destroyed it all!" He snatched a heavy, ornate vase from a nearby pedestal. His arm swung. The vase sailed through the air, aimed directly at me.

I ducked, but the vase grazed my already injured hand. A fresh agony erupted. The impact jarred my entire body. My vision swam. The wound tore open wider. Warm blood ran down my arm in a steady stream. I bit down hard on my lip, drawing blood, to keep from screaming.

Kai froze. His face went pale—a flash of genuine fear breaking through the hatred. Then his expression hardened again. He turned and ran, his footsteps echoing through the ballroom. He wasn't fleeing from remorse. He was fleeing from consequences.

I clenched my jaw, pushing down the burning pain. I found a silk scarf on the floor. With my right hand, clumsy and shaking, I wrapped it tightly around my ruined left hand, trying to staunch the bleeding. It wasn't enough.

"Elisa."

The voice was cold, sharp, and familiar. My father, Edward Francis, stood at the entrance of the ballroom. His eyes, dark and calculating, swept over the scattered papers, the broken vase, and finally, my bleeding hand. There was no concern in his gaze, only a flicker of annoyance. He looked at me as if I were a stain on his immaculate floor.

"What happened here?" he demanded, his voice devoid of warmth. He did not bother to help me. He did not offer any comfort.

"Kai..." I started, my voice barely a whisper.

He cut me off, his tone dismissive. "I'm sure Kai had his reasons. You must have provoked him. You always upset him." He knelt, not to help me, but to examine the shattered vase. "This was a valuable antique. Do you know how much it costs?"

He stood up, turning to face me fully. His face was a mask of disappointment, directed solely at me. "You always cause trouble, Elisa. You stir up emotions. You remind him of his loss." He pointed towards the pile of torn sketches. "And what are these? More of your... eccentricities? I told you to focus on your social graces, on becoming Evelyn. Not on these childish drawings."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "You need to learn your place, Elisa. You are here to fill a void. You are not Evelyn, but you must act like her. You must be perfect. You must not provoke Kai. He is grieving."

He looked at my bleeding hand, his gaze cold and analytical. "You will apologize to Kai. You will apologize for upsetting him. You will apologize for breaking this vase. And then, we can forget this ever happened." His offer was a transaction, not an act of forgiveness. His tone was distant, as if discussing a business deal.

From the hallway, I heard Kai's muffled voice, still refusing to calm down. "I won't apologize! She hurt Evelyn! She's not my sister!"

Edward sighed, a theatrical display of paternal exasperation. "See, Elisa? He is still upset. He is still blaming you. You are the cause of his distress." He turned back to me, his voice firm. "He will not forgive you. You must accept that."

Kai's voice pierced the air again, a childish wail. "She's not Evelyn! She's nothing like Evelyn! She'll never be Evelyn!" His words, distorted by grief and manipulation, stabbed at me. He had my face, but he refused to see me.

Edward's eyes darted, briefly meeting mine. A flicker of something unreadable passed through them. Guilt? Shame? I couldn't tell. I quickly lowered my gaze, pretending I hadn't seen it. It was easier to pretend I didn't exist than to confront their version of reality.

"My hand," I said, my voice flat, almost emotionless. The pain was so intense it had numbed me. I had already lost the piano once, five years ago, when they sabotaged my scholarship—snatched it before I ever set foot on that stage. Now I was losing it forever, in a different, more final way. "The nerve is badly damaged. I won't be able to play the piano again." The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of shattered dreams.

Edward's composure cracked. His face hardened, not with sadness, but with anger. "What? You fool! That was part of the plan! Evelyn played the piano beautifully! You were supposed to continue her legacy! How could you be so careless?"

He gestured wildly at my injured hand. "This is your fault, Elisa! Your foolishness! You brought this upon yourself! You are useless now! How can you be Evelyn if you cannot play her music?" His words were a cruel dismissal, a final condemnation. "This is your own doing. You always ruin everything."

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me alone on the cold floor, surrounded by the wreckage of my dreams and the echoing silence of their indifference. My world collapsed around me.