CHAPTER TWO : The Breaking Point
1112 Words
KAYLA
The night air clung to my skin like cold sweat as I slipped through the front doors of my family estate. The sound of laughter still echoed from the ballroom, muffled but cruel—like the whole house was mocking me.
Elena stirred in my arms, her cheek pressed against my shoulder. I tightened my grip, careful not to wake her.
My heels clicked against the marble in that annoyingly expensive way, like they were trying to remind me this house didn’t belong to me. Not really. It never had. I could navigate it blindfolded, though—tragic muscle memory. The creaky floorboard near the kitchen. The scratch in the hallway where Camilla went full psycho and threw her violin case. The corner by the stairs where I’d sit and daydream about being adopted by literally any other family, including even being a maid.
This place wasn’t home. It was memory. Heavy and cold.
I walked into my old bedroom—the one they’d shoved me into when I got pregnant. The one they stripped of anything that looked like comfort. My prison.
I laid Elena gently onto the small twin bed, tucking her under the worn blanket. She murmured something in her sleep and reached out, even unconscious, for my hand. God. My heart. It split a little more.
“You deserve more,” I whispered, brushing a curl from her forehead. “You deserve so much more.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed, staring into the dark. I felt… empty. Like someone had scooped my insides out and left only the shell of me behind. The tears came, but I blinked them away.
No more crying.
I’d done enough of that at the party. Enough every damn day.
Memories rushed in like they always did when the silence got too loud. Camilla in her custom dress. Camilla getting dance lessons, French tutors, spa days.
Me? I got a second-hand uniform and lectures about how to stay “invisible.”
I remembered asking my father why Camilla got everything. I was eight.
His answer?
“Camilla’s worth the investment.”
I was just… background noise. An afterthought.
Even now, after everything, I've survived. After giving birth alone. After crawling out of heartbreak. No one had asked what I wanted.
Not my mother.
Not my sister
Not Ivan.
And certainly not my father, the self-appointed king of emotional constipation.
God, Ivan…
I shut my eyes.
He used to tell me I was the only thing that felt real. That the world made sense when I was in it.
Then one day—poof. Gone. Cue exit stage left. No goodbye. No, “it’s not you, it’s me.” Just radio silence—and tonight, the grand return… spinning my sister on the dance floor like a discount fairytale prince.
He never even asked if Elena was his. Never looked at her twice. Like she wasn’t even a possibility. Like I had meant nothing.
My throat burned. I stood up and started pacing, fingers trembling.
And now they wanted to marry me off to Kaiden Blackwood.
The name alone sounded like a Bond villain.
Ruthless. Powerful. He likes long walks on the battlefield and emotionally torturing his enemies. Probably uses blood as cologne.
And my dad? Oh, he thought it was a great match.
No warning. No “Hey sweetie, how do you feel about marrying a terrifying billionaire with the emotional range of a brick?” Just a toast and a public announcement like I was being awarded a lifetime supply of trauma.
No conversation.
No warning.
Just… “You should be grateful.”
I spun toward the door at the sound of soft footsteps.
I tensed.
Then—“Kayla?”
I exhaled.
“Ana,” I breathed, voice cracking.
She stepped inside, balancing a small tray. Soup. Bread. A folded napkin. Her apron was stained, her hair wrapped in a scarf, but her eyes—God, her eyes—were warm.
“You didn’t eat at the party.”
I looked away. “I wasn’t hungry.”
She clicked her tongue. “That’s not what your bones are saying.”
She placed the tray down and came over, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear like she used to when I was little.
“You shouldn’t let their cruelty kill your appetite, baby.”
“Too late,” I deadpanned. “Apparently I’m being auctioned off now. Sold to the highest emotionally damaged bidder.”
Ana didn’t blink. “I heard.”
Right. The staff always knew first. They could probably write a bestselling memoir about this family.
“I can’t do it,” I whispered. “I can’t be handed off like I’m an old couch nobody wants but is too guilty to throw away.”
She pulled me into a hug, and I collapsed against her like the dramatic mess I was. Her arms were warm and real. For a second, I remembered what it felt like to be someone’s child.
“They don’t see me,” I choked out. “I’m nothing to them.”
Ana pulled back, eyes fierce. “You’re everything. They just don’t have the eyes to see it.”
I ugly-cried. She let me.
When I finally stopped leaking emotions, she handed me an envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Cash. Enough to disappear for a while. I’ve arranged a ride. We’ll pack your things when Elena wakes up.”
My mouth fell open. “You’ve been planning my escape?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to admit you need one.”
I snorted through my tears. “You’re scary good at this.”
She stood. “Eat. You’ll need the strength. And when you go—don’t look back. Let the past rot without you.”
I nodded and reached for the spoon. The soup smelled like warmth. Like someone still gave a damn whether I lived or disappeared.
“Kayla ?” She called softly as she reached the door.
I paused.
Her brows furrowed slightly. “Has anyone ever told you… your eyes change when you’re upset?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Just now. They were glowing. Like silver, almost.” She shook her head. “Maybe I imagined it.”
A chill slid down my spine. “I… I don’t know.”
She watched me a moment longer, then smiled. Thoughtful. Curious. “We’ll talk later.”
She slipped out the door.
I walked to the mirror. Same brown eyes. No sparkle. No silver.
Still me. Mostly
And now—for the first time in my life I had hope.
- Writer
