The car ride home was a prison of silence.
No one spoke.
The air was heavy with tension—raw, coiled, and volatile.
Zian's jaw twitched with each breath, and Meilin wiped her tears like a desperate actress trying to salvage her final scene. Their mother sat in front, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as they clutched her pearl necklace, but her face remained hard as stone.
And Elara?
She sat in the back, eyes fixed on the scenery passing outside.
Familiar streets. Familiar buildings.
The same path that had always led her back to the same prison.
Home.
Or rather, the place where she was raised like a stray they couldn't throw away.
Not yet.
---
The Lin family estate stood tall behind its gilded gates. Grand. Polished. Cold.
The staff stood by the door, their eyes quickly averting as the family walked in—everyone had heard. Rumors in this house traveled faster than sound.
Inside, her father waited. As always.
The man who saw her as nothing more than a stain on the family name.
"Elara," he said slowly, voice like steel wrapped in ice. "Explain."
Meilin opened her mouth, but he raised a hand. "I said Elara."
Elara stepped forward. Calm. Spine straight.
"The truth was shown on the school's cameras. I had no part in the incident. Meilin acted alone, and Zian publicly accused me without proof."
Her father narrowed his eyes. "And why would they accuse you?"
Elara met his gaze.
Now. Here. She would say it.
"Because no matter what I do, this family has always decided that I'm the easiest to blame."
His expression didn't change.
But Meilin laughed bitterly. "Don't act like a victim. You were never supposed to be born."
Silence.
Complete silence.
Even the staff stopped moving.
"Meilin!" their mother hissed.
But Meilin shook her head, tears now replaced by fury. "Why are we even pretending? She was an accident. A mistake. Father had already had three children with Mother, but then she shows up—illegitimate, inconvenient, and impossible to ignore."
Elara didn't flinch.
She already knew.
She had always known.
But this time… they said it aloud.
"That's enough," her father said, but his voice was low. Not angry. Just tired.
Like the truth was too ugly even for him to bother hiding.
Zian added with a cruel smile, "We've been covering for her for years, and the moment we make one mistake, she turns it into a public scandal."
"You lied," Elara said calmly. "You tried to frame me. Again."
"And you humiliated your family," their mother snapped. "Don't act righteous. You were born outside this family's rules, and yet we gave you our name. Our home. Our food."
Elara stared at her mother.
A woman who never once kissed her forehead.
Never once held her hand when she cried.
Never once called her my daughter without bitterness curling around the words.
"I never asked to be born," Elara said quietly. "And I certainly never begged to stay."
That silence returned.
Uncomfortable. Heavy.
Her father looked away.
That was all she needed to see.
---
Later, alone in her room, Elara sat on the windowsill and stared at the night sky.
Her heart wasn't broken.
Not anymore.
It had broken long ago—shattered into pieces so small that not even time could glue them back together. Now, she simply carried the sharpest shards with her.
As reminders.
As weapons.
She wasn't shocked that they hated her. She had grown up in that hate. Slept with it. Woke with it. Ate under its gaze.
But hearing it spoken out loud?
It burned less than she expected.
Maybe because now, she had control.
They still saw her as weak.
Still saw her as the mistake.
And that… would be their downfall.
She looked toward her desk, where her schoolbooks were already stacked. The pendulum of routine was already swinging again.
But tomorrow?
Tomorrow, she wouldn't just survive.
She would start watching. Listening. Collecting.
And the next time they tried to strike?
She wouldn't defend herself.
She would strike back first.