Chapter 2

I can't start yelling at my dad at a gas station. Sure, I missed my chance to run away, but where would I've gone anyway? What would I've done? With a book I don't even like in my backpack, a sandwich, a water bottle, and fifteen dollars in my wallet?

My father was always witty, and I inherited my mother's kindness and naiveté. Apparently, we both trusted the wrong person. He's a damn cheat, and my ex-boyfriend broke up with me because, apparently, a long-distance relationship isn't one of his priorities.

With teary eyes, I go back to the car, put on my headphones and stay still and silent until I arrive, while thinking about how damned unlucky and terribly alone I'm.

I knew Celeste was financially secure, but I certainly didn't expect to find myself standing before the most beautiful villa in the entire damn gated community where she lives. It stands magnificently before my eyes, with two side staircases of white marble and a fountain at the end of the driveway. At the top, the statue of Poseidon stands out, holding his trident upwards as if he wants to pierce a cloud, and the lighting system further emphasizes the color of the water, making it appear turquoise.

Going from our little white house, still in need of renovation, with crumbling window frames and a nonexistent garden, to a house that could hold my entire family tree, isn't easy to accept. Now, the idea of being insignificant looms even larger in my mind.

Unconsciously, I let out a series of moans, making Dad sigh yet again. He straightens his neck and puts the arm of his glasses in his shirt pocket, then opens the door, grabs my arm, and urges me to leave.

"Come on, don't be difficult now too. You're not a kid anymore. I expect some seriousness from you."She gives me a warning look, and I get out of the car, snatching my backpack from her hands. I open the trunk and grab my suitcase, dropping it abruptly to the floor. If it weren't so heavy, I might have thrown it upstairs.

Dad crosses his arms in front of his chest and, now that I look at him more closely, with that white linen shirt on, he seems tailor-made for this lifestyle.

"Why are you so stubborn? You've nothing to lose and you know it very well,"he murmurs softly, but then bites his lip as if mortified.

Her words pierce me like a knife. I struggle to stay calm, to keep the tears from betraying me. I can't be a child right now, can I?

"What, sorry?"I ask, frowning.

The fury I feel is a volcano about to erupt. How dare you tell me I've nothing to lose? Don't you see the pain, the disappointment, the rage that consumes me?

"Your boyfriend broke up with you, your friends haven't even texted you since we left on this trip, and you hated your school. Tell me, would you really have preferred to stay there, in that godforsaken town in Cedar Hollow? Elara..."She tilts her head, her expression anguished, as she reminds me, without hesitation, that my life isn't as fantastic as hers.

I feel stupid and frustrated, and I just wish my mom was still here so I could hug her.

"I'll never accept this family. I'll repeat it as many times as necessary,"I say in a firm and decisive voice. A gentleman approaches me with a dazzling smile, ready to help us; he greets us courteously, indicating the entrance with his arm.

"they've a butler? But who's she, Kate Middleton?"I ask dismissively. I grab my suitcase and start up the stairs, making a lot of noise. Dad nervously wipes his cheek and reaches out to help me carry him, but I hug him even tighter against my side and look at him.

"I can do it. I don't need your help,"I say, lifting my chin in a defiant gesture. I reach the top, my legs trembling, sweating as if I'd been running for an hour straight, and my hand red from gripping the suitcase handle too tightly.

Celeste, the beautiful woman my father fell madly in love with, is waiting for us at the entrance. I never asked her for details, but I imagine it happened purely by chance on Facebook. I doubt someone like you'd have given my father a chance if she'd met him casually on the street.

As I struggle to catch my breath, my father opens his arms and approaches her, exclaiming,"My love!"

Nausea churns my stomach, but I try to ignore it. As they hug each other like they've never seen each other before, I glance at her out of the corner of my eye.

She has bright blonde hair that falls in soft waves over her small shoulders and wears a light blue dress with thin straps and a side slit; on her feet she wears white sandals and around her neck she wears a thick gold necklace with a butterfly-shaped pendant with two light blue points.

Her green eyes rest on me reluctantly, and then her small, thin, peach-colored lips stretch into a shy smile.

"It's so nice to see you again."she brings her palms together in front of her chest and then comes closer, almost as if she were calculating every centimeter that separates us, and extends her thin arms toward me, embracing me in a lively and welcoming hug.

It smells good, sweet and fresh; it reminds me of spring. But its embrace is too warm, too familiar. I feel like I'm invading a space that doesn't belong to me.

"What do you think, Elara?"my father asks with a victorious smile.

"I don't like it,"I reply coldly.

"What?"Celeste pulls away from me, frowning.

"I don't like any of this. I don't like this house, I don't like her, I don't like anything,"I say firmly, as fury flares up again inside me.

"Hello, Celeste."I gently touch her back with the palm of my hand and then withdraw it, suddenly turning into a block of ice.

Dad nudges me with his elbow and hisses:—Smile.

My lips try to fake a smile, but I'm sure that, judging by Celeste's expression, I probably look more like a revenge-seeking psychopath than the carefree eighteen-year-old boy Dad described me to be.

My eyes begin to absentmindedly scan my surroundings once more; I'm drawn to the beauty of the garden, with its diverse flowers lending it an elegant and inviting feel, the swimming pool, and the dark wooden deck framed by a glass railing. In the center are several sun loungers with small round tables and large, sandy-colored parasols.

After letting out a fake cough, I say:—Nice house.

"Thank you, it cost a fortune. But it's actually a gift from my father,"she admits with a hint of embarrassment in her voice, saying it so naturally, as if she were talking about a book she just bought at Target.

"Sounds good. The last nice gift I received from my father was twelve years ago: a second-hand bicycle, with chipped red paint and a rusty basket."

Celeste starts to open her mouth, but my father rejects her.

When the discomfort begins to slide down my face like a wax mask, I grimace and try to ignore the strange sensation in the pit of my stomach.

I remember that day as if it were yesterday. The day he showed up at the door with a large, slightly battered box, held together with tape and a red ribbon on the front. I was six years old, and that was the best gift in the world. I was happy. I walked along the paths with my friends, excited to hop on my Juliette and keep up with everyone else. I walked under the shade of the trees on the hot August asphalt, my hat on backward and wearing oversized denim overalls that made me look cheerful.

But that memory is joined by another, not as pleasant as the first. It was also the period in which I risked dying. Let's just say there's never any boredom in my life.

"Elara,"Dad says, bringing me back to earth. His warm hand squeezes my shoulder, and his narrowed eyes scrutinize me intently."Here and now,"he whispers, patting my back."She gets distracted often,"he says, glancing at Celeste."But you'll have all the time in the world to see it for yourself. She lives more in her head than in real life."

Celeste's gaze is understanding and affectionate. She scans me from head to toe, but I see that smile appear that screams out loud:"Poor baby, that must have been hard for you. But here I'm, ready to fix your shitty life by letting you into my perfect life, making you feel even more shitty."

His green eyes linger on a specific point of my body and he tilts his head further; a lock of hair cuts his face in two.

I step aside, hiding the scar on my foot. The memory of the accident, the pain, the blood, runs down my spine like an electric shock.

"Did something happen to your foot?"Celeste asks in a soft, almost maternal voice.

"It's nothing,"I reply coldly, while fury flares up again inside me.

"Don't worry, Elara. I'll be here to take care of you,"Celeste says with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"I don't need you to take care of me,"I reply with a defiant look.

"What do you think, Elara?"my father asks with a victorious smile.

"I don't like it,"I reply coldly.

"What?"Celeste pulls away from me, frowning.