Chapter 9 A Belated Christmas Gift
1158 Words
I couldn't argue with Cyrus' words. He was right—I didn't even have a high school diploma, thanks to all those missed classes and part-time jobs.
"That does make sense," Conrad said with a decisive tone. "Helena, you'll attend the same school as Fiona."
Fiona's sweet smile surfaced as she chimed in, "I'll make sure to help Helena adjust quickly to life at Evercrest High!"
A chill ran down my spine, but I mirrored her smile and replied, "I'm looking forward to it too!"
Back in my room, I vented my frustration by hurling a pillow across the room.
That impostor and her smug, self-satisfied face—it was enough to make anyone sick.
I didn't need to think hard to know what would happen next. She'd rally her clique of sycophants and admirers, setting traps to make my life miserable.
Imagining her face on the pillow, I pounded it with renewed energy, sending feathers flying around the disgustingly pink room.
The stray feathers landed on the grinning Barbies lining the walls, their fake smiles as nauseating as their owner's.
A knock interrupted my tirade.
When I opened the door, I found Sebastian standing there.
Today, he was dressed in a sharp black suit, ditching the tails but still looking impeccably formal.
"What brings you here?" I asked, maintaining a polite demeanor to acknowledge a potential ally.
"Ms. Fiona's room is undergoing some modifications. I thought yours might need some changes as well," he offered smoothly.
"Yes, absolutely," I said, stepping aside to let him in. "The wallpaper—get rid of all this pink. Replace it with green. I hate it."
"Fresh paint and wallpaper could be harmful to your health. You've just recovered, and I doubt you'd want to spend time inhaling fumes," he pointed out, his tone tactful. He had a point. No way was I giving the impostor an excuse to reclaim this room.
"Fine." I conceded with a sigh.
He glanced at the Barbies lining the shelves and added, "I have a friend who runs an orphanage. The children there could really use some toys."
Looking at the wall of Barbies, I realized he was right. If I donated the whole collection, it would definitely sting Fiona.
What a pink revenge.
Hence, I nodded. "Please tell your friend that a kindhearted lady has decided to donate her toys."
With my approval, Sebastian opened the glass cabinet and began taking out the dolls.
As he worked, a dusty, ordinary Barbie fell from a corner of the shelf.
It looked oddly familiar—too familiar that my memory stirred, pulling me back to my childhood. Back when Martin Torren was still alive, before Billy fell into drugs.
I remembered it vividly. A week before Christmas, I had begged Agatha endlessly, only for her to drag me away from the store window with a cold hand.
But on the night before Christmas Eve, I spotted it in a basket of shopping hidden under a cloth in Agatha's room.
I was ecstatic, overwhelmed with gratitude, and in that fleeting moment, I forgot the rough way she'd torn me away from the store.
I couldn't wait for Christmas morning to hold it in my hands, so I secretly took it out. Just then, I heard the door creak open.
Panicked, I fumbled and accidentally smeared a streak of grease onto the doll's perfect golden hair, leaving behind a noticeable flaw.
But on Christmas morning, the doll wasn't under the tree.
The Barbie I'd fallen in love with never made an appearance.
I thought it was some kind of joke and eagerly asked Martin and Agatha, "Where's my Barbie?"
Martin had stroked my face with a strange expression and said, "My dear, you're the most beautiful Barbie of all." Agatha's expression turned sour. She slapped his hand away, her face twisted with fury, and struck me hard across the face.
Years later, after Martin was dead, I finally understood the sickening undertone of his compliment.
I picked up the doll.
Unlike the other lavish, limited-edition Barbies, this one was simple. Its golden hair still bore the faint stain of the oil I'd accidentally spilled on it that night.
Too coincidental.
Could it be that this impostor had ties to her original family all along?
This wall of Barbies might have been designed to conceal just this one.
If so, this Barbie was more than a toy. It was a gift from fate itself.
'Just wait, all of you. Your time will come.'
I placed the doll on my nightstand and turned to Sebastian. "I'll need the locks replaced—on every door in this room."
While the locks were being changed, I skipped lunch, settling for a sandwich in my room.
Conrad had gone to work, Eleanor had a social engagement, and Cyrus and Fiona were busy with their own plans.
Or so I thought—until someone unexpectedly came looking for me.
Kris.
Why?
What did he want?
Remembering how I'd professed my "love at first sight" over breakfast, I masked my suspicion with feigned eagerness, rushing downstairs to meet him.
At the foot of the stairs, I saw him standing in the living room.
He was dressed casually in a white T-shirt and khaki pants, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He looked nothing like the polished heir of Uranus Group. Instead, he could've been mistaken for an ordinary college student.
So this was another side of Kris Howard.
I approached him hesitantly, like a girl torn between excitement and nervousness at seeing her crush. My arms twitched slightly as if I wanted to hug him, but I pulled back at the last moment. "Sorry I'm late," I said softly.
Something flickered in his eyes—a flash of the playful amusement I remembered all too well—but he extended his hand, inviting, "Care for a drive?"
Kris' car was an unassuming Chevrolet, making him blend in even more as an average student.
As we drove out of the estate, I couldn't help but wonder if his classmates had any idea who he really was—the heir to Uranus Group, a man with billions at his fingertips.
The gates of the estate closed behind us.
As soon as we were beyond its prying eyes, our questions seemed to collide in the air. "Why me?" I asked, just as he said, "I thought you wouldn't ask."
His lips quirked upward. "Looks like you're a sharp one. Not the kind to be blinded by a windfall." His voice held the kind of half-compliment, half-insult I'd come to expect from him. Then he got straight to the point. "I don't like Fiona."
"Funny. Neither do I," I replied flatly, meeting his gaze. "But that can't be your only reason. Even you don't believe that."
He tilted his head, studying me. "You don't seem to like me either. Mind telling me why?"
'What a self-absorbed bastard,' I thought.
- Writer
