Time moved forward, but the shadows in Sara's heart only deepened.
By the time she turned fifteen, she was no longer the little girl crying at windows or begging for her mother. She had grown taller, her features refined into striking beauty that made people whisper when she walked past. Teachers praised her intelligence, relatives admired her grace, and at school, her circle of friends never seemed to leave her side.
But behind the praise was something she could not quite touch — envy, whispers, and the faint smell of lies.
"Your dress is so pretty, Sara," one of her classmates said with a sweet smile. "It must be nice to have so much money."
Sara laughed lightly, brushing it off, not noticing the bitterness hiding in the girl's tone.
Her friends clung to her, showered her with compliments, and invited her everywhere. Yet when they borrowed money or asked her for favors, they always spoke as if it were only natural. After all, Sara was rich. Sara had everything.
She never refused. She wanted to keep them close. She wanted to believe she wasn't as alone as she sometimes felt at home.
Meanwhile, within the Chen mansion, changes continued to creep in like ivy wrapping around old walls. Mrs. Chen's presence grew heavier. She smiled when visitors were around, but Sara often caught her giving orders to the servants in clipped, merciless tones.
The paintings her real mother once chose were replaced with modern art. The furniture shifted. Even the way the maids addressed Sara seemed different — no longer with the same warmth, but with a guarded formality, as if they answered to someone else.
One afternoon, Sara found her father in the study, documents piled high on his desk. His once-strong frame looked thinner, his hair more silver than before. He glanced at her with tired eyes but smiled faintly.
"Papa," Sara said softly, "don't you think… things feel different?"
He paused, pen in hand. "Different?"
"Since… since she came." The words tumbled out before she could stop herself. "Sometimes I feel like she's taking everything away. The house, the servants, even—"
"Enough, Sara." His tone was gentle, but his eyes hardened. "You are imagining things. She has done nothing but care for us. Don't let childish jealousy blind you."
Jealousy. The word burned like fire in her chest. She wanted to protest, but his gaze silenced her.
Sara left the study with her heart heavy. For the first time, she wondered if her father truly saw her — or if he only saw the woman standing beside him.
At night, when the house was quiet and only the sound of distant traffic reached her window, Sara lay in bed staring at the shadows on the ceiling.
The mansion was beautiful, but it no longer felt like home. The laughter of friends at school rang in her ears, but it no longer felt real.
And in the growing silence between herself, her father, and her stepmother, Sara felt the faint stirrings of fear.
Fear that one day, she would lose everything — even herself.