They had successfully changed the sheets and managed to bring Kamilah’s fever down by staying up late into the night. Dahlia never stopped changing the towel on Kamilah’s forehead, her movements were mechanical but gentle, as if she were afraid that any sudden motion would shatter the fragile peace they had found.
There were times when Kamilah would stir, her body would twitch beneath the covers, or whimper softly, the sounds of someone trapped in a nightmare they couldn’t escape. Sometimes she would simply change her position, curling into herself as if trying to make herself as small as possible, and the sight of it made Dahlia’s heart ache with a pain she had never allowed herself to feel before.
"Ngh~ hm~" Kamilah weakly whimpered, her eyelids are fluttering as she slowly opened her eyes. For a moment, she simply lay there, her gaze was unfocused and confused, as if she didn’t recognize the room around her. Then, without warning, she suddenly forced herself to stand up. Her legs gave out immediately, her body was pitching forward, and she stumbled, almost hitting the floor face-first.
Luckily, Chris caught her. His arms wrapped around her instinctively, steadying her before she could fall, and he gently guided her back to the edge of the bed. "Easy, easy," he murmured, his voice was softer than any of them had ever heard it. "You shouldn’t be standing. You’re still weak."
But Kamilah didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes were glassy and distant, her mind was still trapped somewhere between sleep and waking. She absentmindedly tried to stand again, her body was moving on autopilot, but this time she was stopped by her mother and siblings, who had all risen from their seats the moment she had stirred.
"No, don’t stand up," Frank said, his voice was tight with worry. He was standing closest to her, his hands hovered uncertainly at his sides, as if he wanted to reach out but didn’t know if he was allowed.
He had never been close to Kamilah, had never been the brother she could rely on, and now he didn’t know how to bridge the gap that years of neglect had created.
Then Kamilah raised her hollow gaze and looked at them. Her eyes, once so bright and full of hidden defiance, were now empty and exhausted, the eyes of someone who had been fighting a losing battle for far too long. "Vomit~" she uttered, the word barely audible.
No one immediately understood what she meant. They stared at her, confused, their minds still sluggish from the long night. Then Kamilah’s body convulsed, and she vomited the food she had eaten earlier, her stomach was expelling its contents with a violence that seemed to shake her entire frame.
She stained her sleepwear, her feet, the floor, and spilled some of her retch on her family’s feet. The smell was overwhelming, acidic and sour, and they reacted as a reflex, stepping back instinctively.
But they didn’t get mad. They didn’t shout or recoil in disgust or demand that she clean it up. They had made a promise to themselves, a silent vow in the dark hours of the night, and they were determined to keep it.
Chris didn’t flinch as the vomit splashed against his shoes. He didn’t even look down at the mess. Instead, his arms tightened around her, his hands steady and supportive, keeping her from collapsing again. The disgust he might have felt for the filth was completely overshadowed by the raw horror of seeing his daughter so depleted, her gaze was hollow and her body was trembling like a leaf in a storm.
"It’s alright... It’s okay, Kamilah. Just let it out," Dahlia whispered, her voice was was trembling. Without a moment’s hesitation, she reached for a towel and began to gently wipe the remnants from Kamilah’s chin and sleepwear, her touch was careful and nurturing. She didn’t care about the stains on her own expensive dress; she only cared about the girl who looked like she was fading away right before their eyes.
Frank and the siblings moved in a coordinated, frantic dance of care. Tyler quickly grabbed a basin for her to lean over, while Samantha rushed to get a glass of water to rinse her mouth.
Christine retrieved a fresh towel from the bathroom, and Garett began to carefully clean the floor, his movements efficient and silent. There was no shouting, no judgment, and no demand for an apology.
They watched her with eyes full of a desperate, aching guilt, realizing that for the first time in her life, they were treating her like a human being rather than a burden or a tool.
Kamilah leaned back against Chris, her breathing was shallow, her eyes were blinking slowly as she looked at them. The confusion in her gaze was profound; she looked at them not as a daughter looks at her parents, but as a wounded animal looks at people who have suddenly stopped hitting her.
Sigh, "What kind of nightmare am I in again?~" Kamilah weakly breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. Then she slowly slipped away into slumber, her head lolling against Chris’s chest, her body going limp.
The words were a devastating blow. To Kamilah, their sudden kindness wasn’t a miracle or a change of heart. It was a nightmare. It was so alien to her reality, so contrary to every scar on her arms and every memory in her mind, that her brain could only categorize it as a hallucination. She didn’t feel loved; she felt confused, as if the world had tilted on its axis and she could no longer trust her own senses.
As she slipped back into the void of sleep, her head lolling against Chris’s chest, the family remained frozen. The silence that followed her comment was heavier than the illness that plagued her. They had spent the entire night fighting her fever, thinking that their care was a step toward healing, only to realize that their very presence was a source of terror for her.
Chris looked down at his daughter, his expression was fracturing. He held her closer, but he felt the invisible wall she had built—a wall he had helped construct brick by brick through years of neglect. He realized that an apology wouldn’t be enough. A few nights of nursing her back to health wouldn’t erase the years of psychological warfare.
Dahlia let out a choked sob, burying her face in her hands. She had wanted to be the one to save her, but hearing Kamilah call their care a "nightmare" made her realize that they were the monsters in her story. They stood there in the dim light, surrounding the sleeping girl, not as a family, but as a group of strangers trying to figure out how to love someone who had already given up on them.
In the morning, they were worried Kamilah would still be sick, but she descended down the stairs as if nothing had happened. She was wearing a soft pastel color of navy silk fabric skirt that flowed elegantly around her legs, with an ivory silk polo as a top that complemented her complexion perfectly.
The long sleeves were folded neatly to her elbows, revealing the pale skin of her forearms, and she looked clean, a woman with dignity, an heiress who knew exactly who she was and what she wanted.
The scars on her arms where concealed by makeups and foundations.
It looked like nothing had happened the night before. The color of her skin had come back, the pallor replaced by a healthy glow, and her eyes, though still carrying the weight of exhaustion, were clear and focused.
She moved with the grace of someone who had been trained from birth to navigate the treacherous waters of high society, and for a moment, the family could almost believe that the events of the previous night had been a bad dream.
"I’m going," Kamilah announced, taking the black trenchcoat from the butler and folding it around her arm. Her voice was calm and steady, betraying none of the vulnerability she had shown hours before.
"Kamilah, where are you going?" Dahlia asked, the usual angry voice was gone, replaced by something softer, almost hesitant. She was standing at the bottom of the stairs, her hands clasped nervously in front of her, her eyes are searching her daughter’s face for any sign of the pain she had witnessed the night before.
"With Maeve... Didn’t we make plans yesterday? We’ll see each other today," Kamilah said, and she couldn’t help but smile as she thought about it.
Today is a lucky day. I will make sure to max out Maeve’s credit card.
The family heard her thoughts again, the words were ringing through their minds with perfect clarity, and Chris almost choked on his coffee. He had been taking a sip when Kamilah’s internal declaration echoed through the room, and the shock of it made him sputter, the hot liquid was burning his throat.
"Kamilah, why don’t you take the car?" Chris asked, recovering quickly and trying to keep his voice neutral. He didn’t want to give away that he had heard her thoughts, didn’t want to reveal the secret they had all agreed to keep.
Kamilah shook her head. "No need. I’m good."
She said it with a lightness that was almost convincing, but the family could hear the truth behind the words. They could hear the resentment, the frustration, the years of being overlooked and dismissed.
She was about to leave, but she stopped mid-step when her father added, "I don’t want Maeve Belvedere to think I am neglecting you. Take the car, please."
Chris just really said that to make Kamilah take the car. But Kamilah was not pleased.
Why does he care so much now when I have no place for our private vehicles?
They heard it, the bitter question echoing in their minds, and they tried to stay neutral. But Dahlia’s heart was clearly breaking for Kamilah. The thought revealed so much more than Kamilah had intended.
It revealed that she had been denied access to the family’s resources, that she had been treated as less than a servant, that she had been forced to walk or take public transportation while her siblings drove luxury cars and attended parties.
Kamilah put on a forced smile before turning around to face her family. "Okay, Dad. Thanks." She said, her voice was polite and distant.
But the family already knew what she was feeling.
Well, I never expected I’d witness my stupid father’s change of heart... How anticlimactic.
Her thoughts continued to run, and Chris almost choked on his coffee again. The word "stupid" stung, but it was the "anticlimactic" that hurt the most. It was a dismissal, a refusal to be impressed by his sudden attempt at kindness. It was the voice of someone who had been disappointed so many times that she could no longer believe in the possibility of change.
Then Livia descended down the stairs, her presence was announced by the soft rustle of her silk nightgown and the sweet, melodic tone of her voice. "Hello! I’m back! I’m okay now, Mama!" She greeted them cheerfully, her smile was bright and her eyes sparkling with a vitality that seemed almost offensive in the wake of Kamilah’s illness. Read this novel at novelping dot com for the best experience.
She hugged them one by one, she wrap her arms around each family member with the kind of effortless affection that had always come so naturally to her.
But the family tried not to tense at the hug, forcing themselves to remain still, to not pull away. It was the first time they had to consciously remind themselves to be present, and the effort showed in the stiffness of their responses, the hesitation in their pats on her back.
Hahaha, how fake. And her next move was probably to ask them to take her shopping because she just recovered.
Kamilah was totally not impressed, her internal voice dripping with contempt as she watched the scene unfold. She had seen it all before, had watched Livia perform the same routine a thousand times, and the predictability of it was almost boring.
"Mama, Papa, brothers and sisters. Let’s go on a shopping! Didn’t sister Samantha agree to take me on shopping once I’m better?" Livia asked, her voice bright and hopeful.
Everyone except Kamilah and Livia was totally shocked. Kamilah’s thoughts had come true, and they couldn’t believe it. The prediction had been so accurate, so precise, that it felt like a confirmation of something they had refused to see for years. Livia was predictable. Livia was manipulative. Livia was performing.
"Enjoy your shopping, guys. I’m going now." Kamilah said, and totally walked away. She didn’t wait for a response, didn’t look back, just moved with the kind of quiet confidence that had been absent from her life for as long as any of them could remember.
"Eh? Where is sister Kamilah going?" Livia asked, keeping her voice childlike to sound innocent. She looked around at her family, waiting for the answer, waiting for the reassurance that everything was fine, that she was still the center of their world.
The family stood in a stunned, collective silence. Livia’s voice, dripping with that practiced, sugary innocence, sounded like grating noise in the wake of Kamilah’s cold internal monologue. For the first time, the "innocence" didn’t evoke a desire to protect her; it evoked a desire to cover their ears.
Chris looked at Livia, and for a split second, the mask of the indulgent father slipped. He saw the calculation in her eyes, the way she was testing the waters to see if her grip on the family was still secure.
He remembered Kamilah’s thought—"how fake"—and it resonated with a sickening accuracy. He felt a sudden, visceral disgust that he had ever mistaken this performance for purity.
"She’s going to see her fiancée, Livia," Chris replied, his voice clipped. There was no warmth in it, no lingering softness. He didn’t hug her back with the same fervor as before, his arm retreating as soon as the formality of the greeting was over.
Samantha and Christine exchanged a glance. The "shopping trip" that had once been a coveted invitation now felt like a chore, a sentence they were being forced to serve.
They looked at the door where Kamilah had just exited—the girl who looked like a painting of dignity and grace despite the wreckage of her health—and then back to Livia, who was still beaming with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
"I... I actually have a lot of work to catch up on," Samantha lied smoothly, her voice was devoid of the usual eagerness. "Maybe another time, Livia."
Dahlia didn’t even answer immediately. She was staring at the empty space where Kamilah had stood, her heart ached at the memory of that forced smile. She realized that Kamilah’s "thanks" wasn’t an expression of gratitude, but a polite way of keeping them at a distance.
The fact that Kamilah viewed her father’s change of heart as "anticlimactic" was a brutal reminder that trust, once shattered, doesn’t mend just because someone finally decides to be kind.
Livia’s smile wavered for the first time. She could feel the temperature in the room dropping, the atmospheric shift that she couldn’t quite explain. She looked at her family, waiting for the usual wave of apologies and doting attention, but all she found was a wall of polite, distant indifference.
"Did... Did I say something wrong?" Livia asked, her voice was small and uncertain. She was confused, genuinely confused, because for the first time in her life, her usual tricks weren’t working. The family that had always rallied around her, that had always defended her and adored her, was now looking at her like she was a stranger.
"No, Livia. You didn’t say anything wrong," Dahlia said, her voice was flat. She didn’t offer any further explanation, didn’t rush to reassure her or comfort her. She simply turned and walked toward the kitchen, her mind still consumed by thoughts of Kamilah.
Livia stood in the foyer, alone, the silence stretching around her like a physical thing. She didn’t understand what had happened, didn’t understand why the family she had manipulated so easily for years was suddenly slipping through her fingers. But she was smart, smarter than anyone gave her credit for. She knew that something had changed. She just didn’t know what.
And as she stood there, watching her family scatter to their various corners of the mansion, she felt a cold knot of unease form in her stomach. For the first time in her life, Livia Worthington felt like she was losing control.
She didn’t like it. Not one bit.