Chapter 2

The phone slipped through my mom’s trembling fingers and crashed loudly onto the floorboards.

"She looks like... she looks so much like her..."

Maya was still smiling brightly on the illuminated screen, looking as smug as a direct insult.

After a long, suffocating silence, my mom asked, "Is this girl’s mother... named Whitney?"

I gave her a quiet nod.

She let out a bitter, hollow laugh.

"That's your father's first love. Whitney Clark."

Only then did I learn the truth: my father had kept a torch burning for another woman all along.

Years ago, because he was dead broke, Whitney dumped him and moved abroad with a wealthy man.

They never spoke again.

Or so my mother thought. It wasn't until their wedding day, when Whitney shipped an extravagant gift from overseas, that my mom learned of this ex's existence.

Back then, my dad dramatically threw the gift into the trash, dropped to his knees, and swore to God that my mom was the only woman he would ever love.

My mom believed him.

She never imagined her blind trust would be repaid with eighteen solid years of calculated deceit.

Not only had he cheated on her, he had the audacity to place his illegitimate daughter in the exact same prep school as me.

The only difference was that I had earned my spot through sheer academic brilliance.

Maya’s spot was bought with cold, hard cash.

"No wonder your father never showed up to a single one of your parent-teacher conferences," my mom whispered, her voice cracking. "He was too busy playing proud daddy to his other little princess."

I sighed quietly. "Yeah. And next Monday, he's attending the early-admissions honors banquet for Maya."

Before my words even settled, my mom suddenly bolted into the master bedroom. She dragged a battered, dusty lockbox from beneath the bed.

Inside were neatly stacked, yellowing financial ledgers, tracking every single dollar that went in and out of this household over the past twenty years.

"When your father wanted to launch his tech startup, I begged your grandfather on my knees for three days straight just to secure his seed funding."

"During his company’s first financial crash, I pawned the heirloom gold watch my mother gave me just so he could make payroll for his staff."

"Last year, when he claimed he needed to invest in a major expansion, I liquidated the last bit of my family inheritance for him..."

She flipped to the final ledger, her voice turning completely hoarse.

"Look at this."

Recorded clearly on the page was a wire transfer of fifty thousand dollars from last month. The note next to it read:

"Consulting fees for daughter’s Ivy League nomination."

Which daughter was that wire meant for?

I immediately logged into our high school’s internal portal on my laptop.

On the newly posted public roster for guaranteed early-admissions recommendations, Maya Vance’s name was plastered front and center.

And under the required national academic competition credentials, listed right beside her name, was the title of the National Science Olympiad Gold Medal that I had won!

School policy dictated that winning a national gold medal guaranteed an early-admissions spot.

When the announcement first came out without my name, my mom had wanted to go to the principal's office to demand answers.

My dad had stopped her cold.

He told us, "The administration must have their reasons. It just means Chloe’s grades aren't solid enough yet. She needs to keep her head down and work harder."

I had spiraled into severe self-doubt for weeks.

Looking back now, my dad hadn't just stolen my academic blood, sweat, and tears.

He had personally crushed my future under his boot just to pave an effortless path for his other daughter.

In an instant, every lingering doubt hardened into pure, unadulterated hatred.

My mom snatched my phone, staring at the official school roster. Suddenly, she started laughing.

The laugh was cold, hollow, and filled with the absolute clarity that comes after devastating heartbreak.

"Mark Vance... good. You are so, so good!"

As she laughed, tears poured down her face like a violent thunderstorm.

When the storm finally passed, her slumped shoulders slowly, deliberately straightened.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Every single penny he stole from us, I am going to make him vomit it all back up."

She picked up my phone, her eyes locking onto the screenshot of the ceremony invitation.

"Next Monday is the honors banquet, right?"

"Your dad is going to cheer for her. I’m going to stand by you."

"We need to go and give your sweet little sister a proper show of support."