The Misjudged Sacrifice

While other children played, I was forged into a weapon for my mother's revenge. A scorned heiress who fled her wedding after stabbing her mob-boss groom, her love for him curdled into a bottomless hatred after he left her. My sole purpose, she said, was to reclaim her lost fortune.
A prodigy with a photographic memory, I was drilled in finance, high-society etiquette, and how to charm her powerful new fiancé, Lucas Thorne. After eight years of planning, we succeeded. In a boardroom, my childish voice recited a tampered will, winning back her hundred-million-dollar inheritance.
I looked to her, yearning for praise. Instead, coolly looping her arm through Lucas's, she told the butler, "Send Lucy to boarding school."
I didn't cry. My gaze fell to her stomach, knowing a new child would soon receive all the love I never had, while I was left to rot.

1
The butler was packing my suitcase in my room, his movements efficient and cold.
"Your mother has given strict orders. You are to remain upstairs. Do not, under any circumstances, go down and ruin her engagement party with Mr. Thorne."
From the grand hall below, the gentle strains of a waltz and ripples of laughter drifted up. I pressed my face to the crack in the door, watching them, mesmerized.
Beneath the glittering crystal chandeliers, my mother and Uncle Lucas were dancing. The smile on her face was a radiant, joyful thing I had never seen before. On instinct, my bare feet began to trace the steps on the wooden floor, as if I, too, had been invited to the ball.
Suddenly, the door creaked open. A boy about my age peered in, his eyes wide with curiosity.
"It's way more fun downstairs! Come on!"
He was strong. Before I could protest, he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room, dragging me to the top of the grand staircase.
In an instant, every head in the ballroom turned. A hundred pairs of eyes, followed by a blinding barrage of camera flashes, zeroed in on me.
"Who's that little girl with the Thorne boy?"
"She looks just like Ms. Astor, doesn't she?"
The reporters, smelling a story, swarmed the base of the stairs. Microphones were thrust towards my face.
"Young lady, who are you to Ms. Astor?"
"Why has she been hiding you?"
"There are rumors Ms. Astor has an illegitimate child. Is that you?"
My mother’s face went deathly pale. Lucas's brow furrowed into a sharp, displeased line.
I froze, paralyzed by the attention. The flashbulbs were like whips lashing at my face. The reporters’ questions grew sharper, more relentless.
"Ms. Astor fled her wedding ten years ago. Could this girl be the result of that affair?"
"Is Mr. Thorne really raising his rival's child?"
Lucas immediately wrapped a protective arm around my mother. "Get this child out of here," he commanded, his voice devoid of any warmth. He didn't even look at me. He just glared at the butler. "Now."
I was roughly dragged back to my room and the door slammed shut.
The butler snarled, "You little monster." He pulled a thin sewing needle from his pocket. "Just like your deadbeat mobster father. You just can't stand to see your mother happy, can you?" He pricked my fingertip, a sharp sting of pain.
I cried out, struggling, but the sight of the tiny bead of blood sent a wave of terror through me. My vision swam, and the world went black.
I don’t know how long I was out. When I came to, I could hear muffled, angry voices from the next room.
"If she dares to pull a stunt like that today, she'll dare to ruin everything for me tomorrow!" my mother shrieked. "I don't care, Lucas! I want her gone by morning. I can't stand to have her here for one more day!"
Uncle Lucas was silent.
My mother's voice rose to a hysterical pitch. "Lucas, you waited eight years for me! Eight years! Now that we're finally together, are you going to let her destroy our happiness? Don't you understand? Every time I look at her, I'm reminded of how I betrayed you. It's driving me insane!"
I pushed myself up, my body trembling, my fingernails digging into the wall. I prayed, begged to a god I didn't believe in, for him to say no.
A moment later, I heard Uncle Lucas sigh.

2
"If you're sure," he said, his voice heavy with resignation. "Then send her away."
I collapsed against the cold wood of the door, my heart a stone in my chest.
I could hear my mother weeping softly into his shoulder.
"Don't cry," Lucas soothed. "You know what the doctor said. A mother's stress isn't good for the baby."
Her sobs slowly subsided, replaced by a laugh that sounded unnervingly light.
"You're right. We're going to have a perfect, angelic baby. Nothing like that little demon."
That last word lodged itself in my throat, a shard of glass that made it hard to breathe.
"What are you doing, skulking in the dark and eavesdropping?"
I spun around. My grandmother stood there, leaning on a rhino-horn cane, her eyes cold and hard. She looked like a witch from a fairy tale. Terrified, I scrambled back into my room and locked the door.
The next morning, the butler broke the lock and dragged me out of bed, throwing me onto the cold marble floor of the living room. The remnants of last night's party were still there—discarded ribbons tangled on the floor, half-empty glasses on a long table draped in purple silk. My stomach clenched with a mixture of fear and hunger.
A group of adults entered the room, ignoring me completely.
My grandmother pointed at me with her cane. "The car is waiting. Get your things and go."
My mother, clinging to Lucas's arm, let her gaze sweep past me as if I were invisible. "Just looking at her," she murmured, "makes my stomach turn."
Lucas patted her hand comfortingly. "Then don't look. Let's take a walk in the garden."
They turned to leave. Not one of them had spoken a single word to me.
I clutched the little rag doll I had spent all night sewing, my nails digging into my palms.
"Mother," I called out, my voice barely a whisper. "I have something for you."
She stopped, an annoyed frown creasing her perfect brow.
Lucas hesitated, then stepped forward and took the small doll from my hand.
"It's me," I said softly. "So it can keep you company when I'm not here."
My mother's expression twisted in horror. She snatched the doll from Lucas's hand and threw it violently to the floor. She stomped on it with the pointed toe of her designer heel, grinding it into the marble, her composure completely shattered.
My grandmother slammed her cane on the floor. "Are you trying to upset her on purpose?" she hissed. "She'll have a new baby soon. She doesn't need you anymore!"
My heart felt like it was being torn in two. Tears streamed silently down my face. Still, I clung to one last, desperate hope. I looked toward the dining room.
"Mother, can I have a piece of cake?" I asked. "You promised… you promised that when your plan succeeded, you'd throw me a birthday party. With singing and dancing and lots of people…"

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