2: 2.
Chapter 2 The Fall of a princess
Odessa’s POV
“Hopkins Family Behind Multi-Million Dollar Fraud!”
“Business Tycoon Matthew Hopkins Arrested!”
“Luxury Empire Built on Lies?”
Every television channel showed the headlines, and everyone had an opinion about it.
I stood behind my bedroom curtains, watching the swarm of reporters outside our gates.
There had to be at least thirty of them.
News vans blocked the entrance, and camera flashes lit up the driveway every few seconds, despite it being barely eight in the morning.
They were here for a spectacle, and my family had become today’s entertainment.
Someone knocked on my bedroom door
“Odessa?”
Dean’s familiar voice drifted through the door.
“You ready?” he said.
I glanced around my room.
The walls were painted a soft cream color my mother had spent weeks choosing.
A white bookshelf stretched from floor to ceiling, overflowing with novels I’d collected since I was thirteen.
The vanity by the window still held my perfume bottles, jewelry boxes, and tiny souvenirs from our family vacations.
Everything looked exactly the same, yet somehow nothing belonged to me anymore.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I called out.
Dean didn’t answer; he knew I was lying.
I turned back to the half-packed suitcase sitting open on my bed.
How was I supposed to fit eighteen years of my life into one suitcase?
My fingers hovered over a framed family photograph.
Dad stood behind Mom with his arm wrapped around her waist.
Dean stood beside me, laughing because I’d accidentally smeared my birthday cake on my dress.
I remembered that day.
Dad had laughed so hard he nearly dropped the camera.
Mom couldn’t stop teasing me about it for weeks.
Back then, life had felt perfect; I traced the edge of the frame with my thumb.
“What happened to us?” I whispered.
There was no answer.
I carefully wrapped the photo in one of my sweaters before placing it inside the suitcase.
My wardrobe was still full of designer dresses, coats, and shoes.
There was another knock, and Dean opened the door just enough to peek inside.
His brown eyes landed on the untouched half of my closet before returning to me.
“You don’t have to take everything,” he said.
“I know.”
“You’ll be okay, and everything will be sorted out soon.”
“I’m working on believing that,” I told him.
He stepped inside without another word.
Dean had always been the calm one, even when we were kids.
He never panicked; he simply figured out what came next.
He grabbed the handle of my suitcase.
“I’ll carry this.”
“I can carry it; I’m not a child.”
“I know you can.”
He smiled gently.
“But let me.”
I nodded.
As we stepped into the hallway, the silence inside the mansion felt almost eerie—no housekeepers anymore, and no more gardeners.
The front door opened, and voices came from outside.
“There she is!”
“Odessa!”
“Miss Hopkins!”
“Did your parents know the money was illegal?”
“Did you benefit from the fraud?”
“Where are they being taken?”
“Do you have anything to say?”
Flashes blinded me as questions came from every direction.
I instinctively stepped backward, and Dean immediately moved in front of me.
“No questions.”
One reporter pushed forward anyway.
“Miss Hopkins, were you aware your father…”
“I said no questions,” Dean’s voice hardened.
A black SUV rolled into the driveway, and two police vehicles followed closely behind.
My heart dropped.
The front doors of the police cars opened, and my parents stepped out in handcuffs.
My mother looked exhausted.
Her usually flawless hair was tied back carelessly.
There wasn’t a trace of makeup on her face.
Dad’s shoulders remained straight despite the cameras pointed at him.
He searched the crowd until his eyes found mine.
“Odessa,” his voice barely reached me.
“I’m sorry.”
Those two words shattered whatever strength I’d been holding onto.
I wanted to run to him, and I wanted to ask him if any of this was true.
Instead, a police officer gently guided him toward the vehicle and the door closed.
The convoy slowly pulled away.
I stood frozen, watching until the last car disappeared beyond the gates; only then did I realize tears were streaming down my face.
The drive to Blackridge town took nearly four hours; after the flight, I was already exhausted.
The towering buildings of the city slowly disappeared.
Everything looked different from the bustling city; I rested my forehead against the window.
“I hate it here already.”
Dean chuckled softly.
“You’ve been here for exactly three minutes.”
“I’ve hated it for all three,” I said.
“You’ll survive, little sister.”
I sighed dramatically.
“There aren’t even proper buildings.”
“There are.”
“I’ve counted more cows and animals than people.”
“They’re friendly cows.”
I rolled my eyes and looked at my phone; the service had disappeared.
Nice.
The sun had already begun to set when we pulled into a quiet neighborhood.
The houses were beautiful.
Small gardens decorated the front yards and children rode bicycles down the street.
Someone was mowing their lawn.
An elderly couple waved at us from across the road.
Weird.
Dean parked in front of a neat two-story house painted white with navy-blue shutters.
“This is my home.”
I stared at it.
Home?
Compared to the mansion I’d grown up in, this house looked tiny.
Dean had moved out of the house when he turned eighteen to start a new life; this, apparently, was it.
The bedrooms were probably the size of my old walk-in closet.
The kitchen alone was smaller than the dining room back home.
I swallowed every single thought because this wasn’t my house.
Dean was opening his home to me; the least I could do was be grateful.
He noticed my hesitation.
“I know it’s different.”
I forced a smile.
“It’s… nice.”
“Liar.”
I laughed.
“I was trying to be polite.”
“I know.”
He grabbed my suitcase.
“Come on.”
The front door swung open before we even reached it, and a woman with curly black hair burst outside with an excited grin.
“You made it!”
She practically skipped down the porch steps before wrapping me in a hug.
“So you’re finally here!”
I blinked.
“Oh.”
She immediately pulled back.
“Too much?”
“A little.”
She winced.
“Sorry.
I got so excited.”
Dean laughed.
“Odessa.”
He gestured toward her.
“This is Havana, my girlfriend.”
His girlfriend smiled brightly.
“I’ve heard so much about you.”
“I hope only the good things,” I said.
“Mostly.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Dean.”
He lifted both hands innocently.
“I said mostly.”
Havana elbowed him and led me inside the house.
The house smelled like cinnamon, and soft music played from somewhere in the kitchen.
Photographs lined the hallway walls—Dean and Havana at the beach and on a camping trip.
“This room is yours,” Dean said, pushing open a door at the end of the hallway.
I walked in.
The bedroom was simple, with a neatly made bed and a wooden desk beside the window with a bookshelf.
Fresh flowers were in a vase on the bedside table.
“You didn’t have to decorate,” I said.
Havana shrugged.
“I figured your first day was going to be hard.”
My throat tightened.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
She smiled warmly.
“Dinner’s in an hour.
If you need anything, just yell.”
They quietly left the room.
I stood alone and slowly unzipped my suitcase.
I took out the family photograph and placed it on the bedside table.
I stared at it for several seconds, then I gently turned the frame face down.
I wasn’t angry; I just couldn’t look at it anymore.
Outside the window, the sun disappeared behind the hills surrounding Blackridge.
I was in a new town, a new house, and a whole new life now.
Later that evening, we ate dinner together.
Dean did most of the talking, and Havana chimed in with stories about her disastrous attempt to bake a birthday cake that had somehow caught fire.
After dinner, Dean walked me to the porch.
“You don’t have to pretend to be fine with us.”
I looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I know you’re hurting and you miss them.”
The words caught me off guard.
“I’ll be okay.”
“I know.”
He rested a hand on my shoulder.
“But being okay doesn’t mean pretending you’re not sad.”
A lump formed in my throat.
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“You don’t have to.”
He smiled gently.
“Just take one day at a time.”
I nodded.
As I headed upstairs to my room, my phone buzzed with a notification.
BLACKRIDGE UNIVERSITY
Orientation begins in two days.
I stared at the message.
Dean said he had helped me apply for a transfer of university so I could continue school; this was a fresh start.
I sighed and cried myself to sleep.