Chapter 2

Mrs. Wilson, the Stamford community social worker, was clearly experienced in these matters. She crouched down, her expression gentle as she looked into my eyes. "Emily, honey, can you tell me why you want to go to a foster home? Is your mother not treating you well?"

Karen Blackwell stared at me, her gaze filled with a naked, shivering warning.

I knew that if I dared to utter a single "yes," she would ensure I experienced even more brutal torture than in my previous life the moment Mrs. Wilson stepped out the door.

I kept my head low, timidly twisting the hem of my shirt. My voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz. "No... Mom is very good to me. It's... It's just my own problem."

I looked up, darting a quick, terrified glance at Karen before looking back down, perfectly playing the part of a child who was frightened but didn't dare speak the truth.

"I heard Mom on the phone saying that the Harringtons don't seem to like me very much. Mom has argued with Mr. Harrington several times because of me. I don't want to make things difficult for her. I'll be happy as long as she can marry Mr. Harrington and live a good life."

This display of "maturity" stunned every adult in the room.

Mrs. Wilson's eyes filled with deep sympathy and heartache. Meanwhile, Karen's face turned various shades of red and pale, like a shifting color palette. She wanted to argue, but she couldn't find a single entry point because every word I spoke was, on the surface, "protecting" her.

She could only manage a stiff, frozen smile as she chimed in, "This child... She's just far too sensitive. How could I ever find her a burden?"

"Ms. Blackwell," Mrs. Wilson said, standing up with a stern expression. "Children are sensitive. Since you are planning to remarry, the issue of the child's future must be communicated clearly with your future husband. It is our responsibility to contact the child's future guardian to understand his intentions."

Karen's smile vanished completely.

The thing she feared most was this matter reaching Richard Harrington's ears. In the narrative she had sold to him, I was a well-behaved, sensible daughter who was incredibly excited about her new family. If he knew I was begging to go to a foster home, how could she possibly explain that to him?

"Evelyn, there's no need for that. This is all a misunderstanding. We can resolve this family matter ourselves..."

Mrs. Wilson ignored her, pulling out her phone and dialing a number right in front of us.

"Hello, is this Mr. Harrington? This is the Stamford Community Youth Services..."

From the other end of the line, Richard Harrington's refined, gentlemanly voice came through, sounding slightly confused. Mrs. Wilson explained the situation in just a few brief sentences. Even from several feet away, I could hear the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone.

"I'm coming over immediately." Richard's voice dropped into a low, serious tone.

After the call ended, the atmosphere in the apartment plummeted to freezing. Karen glared at me with such intensity I thought she might skin me alive, but I simply looked back at her with a calm, vacant stare.

In less than twenty minutes, Richard Harrington arrived. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, radiating an air of elegant authority. When he saw the standoff in the room, his brow furrowed deeply.

"Richard, you're here," Karen said, immediately adopting a tearful, fragile expression as she rushed to greet him. "This is all my fault. I didn't communicate well enough with her, and she's been having these terrible thoughts..."

Richard didn't look at her. Instead, he walked straight to me and knelt down, bringing his eyes level with mine. There was no blame in his gaze, only a profound sense of worry and confusion.

"Emily, can you tell me what happened?"

His voice was incredibly gentle, just as it had been in my past life. In that previous life, it was this very kindness that had made me depend on him, which in turn made me a target for Karen's malice.

I sniffled, and large tears began to roll down my cheeks. I didn't say a word. I just kept shaking my head.

Sometimes, silence is more powerful than any speech.

My tears, my silence, and the faint red marks on my arm were a silent indictment.

Richard's expression grew darker. He glanced back at Karen. Under the weight of his scrutiny, Karen's confidence wavered. She forced a hollow laugh. "I just... I got a little impatient earlier and grabbed her arm."

Richard didn't ask any more questions. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders, wrapping my small, thin frame in the warmth of his clothes. Then, he stood up and turned to Mrs. Wilson and Karen, speaking in a tone that allowed for no argument.

"I am taking this child with me today."

He paused, his voice firm. "Emily is my legal stepdaughter. The Harrington family has an inescapable responsibility for her upbringing."

He took my hand, his palm offering a reassuring warmth.

"Emily, come home with me."

Under Karen's look of utter disbelief, I nodded. For the first time, I willingly stepped toward the life that awaited me at the Harrington family estate.