They got into Livia’s room and saw her coughing, and for the first time, they didn’t feel any concern for her because they felt like everything was a performance.
The coughs that would have once sent them rushing to her side now sounded hollow, theatrical, like lines delivered by an actress who had forgotten that her audience had seen the script.
"M-Mama~ Papa~ You’re here, hehe. I feel even more better now."
But still, the family played along. Dahlia sat on Livia’s bedside and nodded, her movements were mechanical, her smile was fixed in place like a mask she had forgotten how to remove.
Livia smiled at her siblings, her eyes were bright with the kind of manufactured innocence that had fooled them for years.
"Sister Samantha and Sister Christine, can we go shopping once I recover?" She asked, her voice was sweet and hopeful.
Their faces froze before forcing themselves to smile at her. The request, which would have normally sparked an immediate and enthusiastic "Yes!" Instead landed with a heavy, awkward thud.
Samantha and Christine didn’t even look at each other; they just froze, their minds were replaying the memory of Kamilah’s internal laughter, mocking Livia’s "best actress" routine on a loop.
The air in Livia’s room felt cloying, smelling of expensive perfumes and artificial fragility. To anyone else, she looked like a delicate flower recovering from a sudden ailment, but to the Worthingtons, the scene was now a poorly acted play.
Every "hehe," every flutter of her eyelashes, and every soft cough felt like a calculated move on a chessboard. The performance was so transparent it was almost offensive.
Samantha forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It was a brittle, mechanical expression, the kind of smile one wore at a funeral when asked how they were doing. "Of course, Livia," she said, her voice sounded flat, devoid of the usual affection that had once come so naturally. "Once you’re... Fully recovered."
Dahlia, sitting by the bed, found herself staring at Livia’s smiling face and feeling a sudden, intense surge of repulsion. She remembered the way Kamilah had trembled against the door, the way she had tried to convince herself she was safe.
She looked at Livia and wondered how many times this girl had used these exact same expressions to cast Kamilah into the shadows.
For the first time, the "angel" didn’t look innocent. She looked like a predator who had finally lost her grip on her prey.
"Livia, just rest. I’ll be in my office. I have a lot of things to do." Chris let out a heavy sigh, not even trying to hide the relief in his voice at finding an excuse to leave early.
He didn’t wait for a response, didn’t offer a gentle pat on the head or a reassuring squeeze of the hand. He simply turned and walked out, his footsteps were echoing down the hallway.
"O-Okay, Papa. Good night." Livia said, her voice was faltering slightly at the abruptness of his departure. She watched him go, her brow furrowed in confusion, before turning back to her mother with a smile that looked a little less certain than before. "What about you, Mama? Are you gonna stay?"
She coughed again, a delicate sound that she had perfected over years of practice, and Dahlia just acted like she was concerned. She nodded, her hand was moving to stroke Livia’s hair in a gesture that felt more like a habit than a choice.
As she looked down at the girl, a battle raged within her. She desperately wanted to believe that Livia was the innocent child she had always seen, but the voice of Kamilah—the raw, bleeding truth of her daughter’s thoughts—was louder than Livia’s soft coughs. Every time Livia leaned into her, Dahlia felt a flicker of the same repulsion she had felt in the hallway.
Frank and Tyler felt like this was all a lie, so they left without saying anything. They didn’t even look at Livia as they walked out, their silence were speaking louder than any words could have.
"I forgot, I have an appointment tomorrow," Garett also admitted, already heading toward the door before he had finished speaking. He hurried out, his long strides was carrying him away from the room as quickly as possible.
"I have a blind date tomorrow," Samantha said, though her voice lacked conviction.
"And I have to study," Christine added, her excuse was flimsy at best.
They left the room one by one, leaving Dahlia and Livia alone. The departure of the family was like a slow-motion exodus, a retreat from a battle they no longer wanted to fight.
The people who usually flocked to Livia’s side were inventing the most flimsy, desperate excuses just to escape the room. The air of adoration that usually surrounded her had evaporated, replaced by a thick, suffocating awkwardness.
Livia’s smile remained, but for the first time, she was left in a silence that felt hostile. Her eyes followed her mother as Dahlia slowly stood up to leave, and she could feel the shift in the atmosphere. The blind devotion of the Worthingtons had turned into something distant and strange.
"Come on, rest now. Recover fast, okay?" Dahlia said, still hoping that everything Livia was showing was not a lie.
"Yes, Mama. Thank you!" Livia hugged Dahlia, her arms are wrapping around her mother’s waist in a gesture that had once melted Dahlia’s heart.
But this time, Dahlia felt nothing but a cold, creeping unease. She patted Livia’s back awkwardly, then gently disentangled herself from the embrace. She lay Livia back on her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin with hands that trembled slightly.
"Sleep well, Livia," Dahlia said, her voice was soft but distant.
She walked toward the door, but she didn’t look back. Instead of heading to her own room or the kitchen, her feet instinctively turned back toward the hallway leading to Kamilah’s room.
She didn’t know if she was going there to apologize, to spy, or simply to make sure the girl was still breathing, but for the first time in years, Livia was no longer the center of her world. Follow the newest chapters on novelping(.)com.
After a few moments, the family gathered in the hallway, making sure Livia was really asleep. Only then did they knock on Kamilah’s door.
There was no response from behind, and the light beneath the door was out, which meant Kamilah had already turned off the light inside and gone to sleep.
"We should get the keys," Dahlia said, her voice was tight with worry. "I’m worried."
It was the first time she had felt genuinely worried for Kamilah, the first time in years that the thought of her daughter’s well-being had sparked anything other than mild irritation or indifference.
"Oh, good idea," Chris said, his voice was subdued. He turned to Tyler. "Get Kamilah’s room key."
Tyler immediately went to the nearby maids’ quarter and asked them for Kamilah’s room key. The maids exchanged confused glances, clearly puzzled by the sudden interest in the daughter they had been trained to ignore, but they knew better than to question their employers.
After obtaining the key, Tyler came back and passed it to his mother.
Dahlia’s hands trembled as she unlocked the door. The key felt heavy in her palm, as if it were made of something denser than metal. She pushed the door open slowly and her heart was pounding in her chest.
As they got inside, it was not entirely dark. Kamilah had left the dim lights on, and she was already heavily asleep. The room was small compared to the other bedrooms in the mansion, a fact that Dahlia had never noticed before.
It was clean and neat, but sparsely furnished, with none of the expensive decorations or personal touches that filled the other rooms. It was the room of someone who had never been allowed to feel at home.
Dahlia immediately saw that Kamilah had taken a pill and drunk half the water in her glass. The glass sat on the nightstand beside a small, unassuming bottle of medication.
"Kamilah?" Dahlia softly called out, her voice was barely above a whisper.
There was no response. Kamilah lay still on the bed, her breathing was shallow and uneven, her face was pale and slick with sweat.
Dahlia approached her daughter and touched her forehead, her hand trembled as she made contact with the burning skin.
"She’s... She’s burning," Dahlia said, her voice was cracking.
Their earlier suspicion was confirmed. Kamilah was sick. The confidence she had shown at the Belvedere meeting, the sharp wit and the bold demands—it had all been a performance, a desperate act put on by a girl who was falling apart behind the scenes.
Garett approached and picked up the bottle of medication, examining it closely. His face paled as he read the label. "This is bad," he murmured, and his siblings saw it too.
They knew that taking sleeping pills while having a fever was dangerous. The combination could be lethal, suppressing the body’s natural responses and making it harder to fight off infection.
But more than that, it spoke of a desperation that none of them had ever suspected. Kamilah hadn’t been trying to sleep. She had been trying to escape.
Chris took a thermometer from the nightstand and used it to check Kamilah’s body temperature. A few moments passed before it chimed, and he cursed under his breath.
"Dahlia, it’s thirty-nine point eight," he said, his voice was tight with barely controlled panic.
"Ngh~ mmm~" Kamilah murmured and slightly stirred, her movements were weak and uncoordinated. As she shifted, the sleeve of her nightgown rode up, revealing a few healing scars on her arms.
The sight of the scars was the final blow.
In the dim, amber glow of the lamp, the thin, silver lines etched into Kamilah’s skin looked like ghosts of a thousand silent screams.
For the Worthingtons, who had spent years ignoring the gaps in her presence, seeing the physical evidence of her agony was like being slapped across the face with a freezing wind.
The girl they thought was merely "withdrawn" had been meticulously carving her despair into her own flesh while they praised Livia’s radiance.
Dahlia let out a ragged sound—half-sob, half-gasp—and pulled her hand back from Kamilah’s burning forehead as if the heat were a brand of their own failure.
The sleeping pills were the cruelest detail; Kamilah hadn’t sought relief from the fever, she had sought an exit from consciousness.
"She’s not just sick," Garett whispered, his voice was shaking as he stared at the scars on her arm. The ruthless, calculating voice they had heard in her head had been a fortress built over a graveyard.
The contrast between the "strong" woman who negotiated with the Belvederes and the broken child shivering under these sheets was almost unbearable.
Samantha covered her mouth with her hand, tears streaming down her cheeks. She thought of all the times she had dismissed Kamilah’s pain, all the times she had chosen Livia over her own sister, and all the times she had raised her hand against Kamilah and felt nothing but satisfaction.
Christine was sobbing openly now, her young facebwas twisted with a grief she didn’t know how to express. She had never been cruel to Kamilah directly, but she had stood by and watched, had laughed at the jokes and ignored the signs.
That was just as bad, she realized. Complicity was still a crime.
Chris didn’t waste another second. The authoritative patriarch disappeared, replaced by a man driven by a sudden, desperate panic.
"Stop standing there!" He snapped at his children, though his own hands were trembling. "Tyler, get a basin of cool water and towels. Now!"
Tyler nodded and ran out of the room, his footsteps are pounding down the hallway.
"Garett, find the fever reducers—not sedatives, actually help her!" Chris continued, his voice was cracking with emotion.
Garett immediately began searching through the medicine cabinet in the adjoining bathroom, his hands are shaking as he read label after label.
"Dahlia, help me get her out of these damp clothes before the chill sets in," Chris said, his voice was softer now and almost pleading
Dahlia nodded, her tears were falling freely as she moved to help her husband. Together, they carefully lifted Kamilah into a sitting position and began to change her out of the sweat-soaked nightgown.
Kamilah’s body was limp and unresponsive, her head was lolling forward and her arms were hanging at her sides like broken wings.
As they worked, Kamilah let out a low, pained whimper, her head was tossing side to side.
Even in her sleep, she seemed to be trying to push them away, her subconscious mind still treating her family as the enemy.
"Ngh~ Mmmm~"
Kamilah’s moan was thin and fragile, a sound of pure distress that seemed to echo in the quiet room. She shifted again, her eyelids are fluttering but not opening, her brow furrowed as if she were fighting a battle in her dreams.
The fever had her trapped in a delirium, and her small, trembling hand clutched the bedsheets with a white-knuckled grip.
Dahlia leaned over her, her eyes are brimming with tears that finally spilled over.
"Kamilah... Sweetheart, please," she whispered, her voice was cracking. She reached out to gently brush a damp strand of hair from Kamilah’s forehead.
But the moment her skin touched Kamilah’s, the girl flinched violently. It was a sharp, instinctive jerk of her head, as if she expected a blow instead of a caress. Her entire body tensed, her hands are coming up to protect her face, and a small, terrified whimper escaped her lips.
The reaction sent a shockwave through the family. They froze, paralyzed by the realization that even in a semi-conscious state, Kamilah’s body remembered the pain they had allowed into her life. To her, a touch from her mother wasn’t a comfort—it was a warning.
"Shhh, it’s okay... You’re safe," Dahlia sobbed, though she knew the words were hollow. She didn’t pull away this time; instead, she began to carefully dab a cool, wet cloth against Kamilah’s burning skin, her movements were hesitant and pleading, as if she were trying to apologize to the girl’s unconscious mind.
Chris stood by the bedside, his face was ashen, his eyes were fixed on his daughter’s trembling form. He had built an empire, had accumulated wealth and power beyond measure, but none of it mattered now.
None of it could undo the damage they had done.
"We did this," he whispered, the words were heavy with a guilt that would never fully fade.
Garett returned with the fever reducers, and together, they managed to coax Kamilah into swallowing the medicine. She resisted at first, her body was rejecting the intrusion, but eventually, she swallowed, her throat was working convulsively.
Tyler came back with the basin and towels, and Dahlia began to gently sponge Kamilah’s forehead and neck, trying to bring down the fever.
The cool water seemed to soothe her, and gradually, her breathing became less labored as her body relaxee into the mattress.
But even as she slept, her hand remained clenched around the bedsheets, as if she were holding onto something that might slip away. And in her dreams, she was still fighting, still running, and still trying to escape the nightmare that had been her life.
The family stayed by her side through the night, taking turns watching over her, checking her temperature, and changing the cool cloths.
They didn’t speak much, each lost in their own thoughts, and their own guilt. The silence was heavy with unspoken apologies and impossible regrets.
Dahlia sat beside her, holding her daughter’s hand, tears still streaming down her face. She looked at the scars on Kamilah’s arms, the evidence of a pain she had never acknowledged, and made a silent vow.
Never again. She would never ignore her daughter again.