The Devil Met His Match: Blackwood Contract

The slap landed so hard that Chloe lost her balance. She staggered backward and crashed into the wall beside the television, sending one of the framed photographs rattling against the paint. A sharp sting spread across her cheek, followed by the metallic taste of blood at the corner of her mouth. For several seconds, nobody spoke. Linda Parker pointed toward the front door. “Get out of my house,” she said coldly. Chloe slowly raised a trembling hand to her face. “Mom… please,” she whispered. “Don’t call me that.” Linda’s voice was sharp. “You lost that right a long time ago.” The words hung in the room. Three weeks since her father’s funeral, and the house was already empty again. And somehow, after twenty-four years of calling this place home, Chloe was the one being thrown out. All because she had asked one question. “Where are my father’s documents?” Chloe looked at her stepmother and barely recognized the woman staring back at her. “I only asked about the papers he left behind.” “And who told you he left anything for you?” Linda snapped. Chloe blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean by that?” “It means exactly what it sounds like.” “No.” Chloe shook her head. “He said there were papers. That everything was settled.” A bitter laugh escaped Linda’s lips. “Oh, please.” “What is that supposed to mean?” Chloe said quietly. “You know exactly what it means.” “I really don't.” “Of course you don’t.” Linda folded her arms tightly across her chest and gave her a cold stare. “You think because your father spent his entire life putting you first, everybody else should do the same.” Confusion flickered across Chloe’s face. “What are you talking about?” Linda’s eyes flashed with anger. “What was the last thing your father talked about before he died?” Chloe hesitated, her throat suddenly tight. “What?” “You heard me,” her stepmother said sharply. Chloe swallowed hard. “He… he asked for me.” “Exactly.” The single word made Linda even angrier. “Even on his hospital bed, it was still Chloe this, Chloe that,” Linda continued, her voice cracking. “The man could barely breathe, but he still used his last strength to ask for you.” She laughed again, but there was no joy in it only deep, buried pain that had been festering for years. “Do you know what that feels like?” she asked, her eyes glistening. “Do you know what it feels like to spend years competing with your own husband’s daughter… and losing every single time?” The question hit Chloe like a punch to the chest. “The day I married your father, I thought we were building a family together.” Linda’s voice shook. “It didn’t take long for me to realize his world already revolved around you.” For a moment, nobody spoke. Then she laughed softly, shaking her head. “Everything was always Chloe. Your school fees. Your future. Your dreams. Sometimes I wondered whether I was his wife or just another person living in his house.” She wiped her eyes angrily. “And what about my daughter? What about Emily?” For the first time since the argument started, Chloe realized this wasn’t really about documents. The documents had only given the resentment a voice. The hurt had been there long before today. “This house may have belonged to your father,” Linda said, gesturing around the room, “but I lived in it too. Yet there were days when I felt like a visitor in my own marriage.” Chloe swallowed hard, her chest tight. She had never heard her stepmother speak this openly before. Or maybe she had never wanted to listen. “I never asked him to choose,” she said. Linda’s eyes flashed with pain. “But he did,” she shot back, her voice breaking. “He chose you every single time.” The room fell into a heavy silence — the kind that comes when a painful truth finally steps into the light. Then another voice cut through the tension. “Honestly, Mom, I don’t even know why you’re still explaining yourself.” Chloe turned quickly toward the staircase. Emily was standing there, leaning casually against the railing, watching everything like it was just another evening drama. For a split second, hope flickered in Chloe's chest. Maybe her stepsister would intervene. Maybe she would say something. But Emily only shook her head slowly. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, almost amused. Chloe's voice came out small. “Emily…” “You keep looking at me like you expect me to fight for you.” Emily let out a short, dry laugh. “Did you really think I was going to stand against my own mom for you?” The words hit Chloe like a second slap. “Wow,” Chloe said, her voice low but steady. “After everything… this is how you see me? Like I’m nothing to you?” Emily didn’t even blink. “Daddy loved you more,” she said flatly. “We all know it.” “That’s not true,” Chloe shot back, her voice rising. “He was our father too, Emily. Or have you conveniently forgotten that?” “Was he?” Emily’s lips curved into a cold, humorless smile. “When I got admission into university, he said, ‘Well done.’ When you got yours, he threw a whole party. When I finished secondary school, he shook my hand. When you graduated, half the community was invited.” Chloe opened her mouth—but nothing came out. Because deep down, she remembered every single moment Emily had just listed. “I defended you,” Chloe said finally, her voice tighter now, more controlled. “I stood up for you more times than I can count.” “And I never asked you to,” Emily replied with a small shrug. “I never asked you to play sister. So stop acting surprised now.” Emily folded her arms, her expression cooling completely. “Did you really think we were family?” That was when something inside Chloe finally cracked, slipping away from her quietly. Before she could respond, Linda’s voice cut through the room. “Bring her suitcase.” One of the staff quickly disappeared and returned dragging Chloe’s old suitcase behind him. Before he could even set it down, Linda snatched it from his hands and hurled it across the room with surprising force. The suitcase slammed into the center table. The zip burst open instantly, and Chloe’s clothes spilled across the floor like broken pieces of her life. A framed photograph slid out and hit the tiled floor with a sharp crack. Chloe froze. Then she stepped forward and picked it up. It was the last photograph she had taken with her father—his arm wrapped warmly around her shoulders, both of them smiling at the camera like nothing in the world could ever go wrong. Now an ugly jagged crack ran straight through it, splitting their faces apart. The room fell completely silent. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Chloe stared at the broken frame, her fingers tightening around it. She lifted her gaze slowly to Linda and Emily, as though she was seeing them properly for the first time. “Were you both just waiting for this moment?” Neither of them answered. Chloe exhaled, shaky, barely holding herself together. “My father was buried just three weeks ago,” she said, her voice breaking despite everything. “Three weeks… and this is what you do? You throw me out of his house like I’m nothing?” Her eyes moved between them, glassy but refusing to fall. “So what was I to you people before he died? Just someone you tolerate?” Linda’s face hardened. “Pick up your things and leave,” she said, her voice low and final, heavy with years of resentment. “And don’t come back here again. This house is no longer yours.” Chloe held the broken photograph a moment longer… then lowered it. “Fine,” she said quietly. But when she spoke again, her voice had changed. “I’ll go. But this isn’t over.” That made both women still. “My father left something behind,” she said clearly. “And I’m going to find it.” Without another word, she bent down and began gathering her scattered clothes, while the only family she had left stood watching her like she had already been erased from their world.