Sallie's POV
I heard someone say, "Number Ten, your two years are up. Your family's here to pick you up."
The dim room had only one source of light—a flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling.
Huddled in the corner, I slowly raised my head. For the first time in ages, a spark of feeling crossed my grimy, expressionless face.
Since arriving at this nightmare they called St. Chaim Reform Academy, I'd endured the "teachers'" harsh words and violent punishments, the "classmates'" cruel harassment and torment, plus the constant dread of betrayal. Each day dragged on like an eternity.
It turned out to be just two years.
They pulled me from the room like a broken puppet, dragging me through an endless corridor.
I didn't come back to myself until the metal door slammed behind me and harsh sunlight burned my eyes.
I had spent two full years plotting my escape, nearly dying again and again. And now, I was free.
"Sallie?" a voice suddenly jerked me back to the present.
I turned toward the sound and spotted a young man beside a flashy sports car. Brown leather jacket, cargo pants, combat boots—he clutched a pair of sunglasses while staring at me in shock.
That face, familiar yet somehow foreign, made me pause before I remembered—Webster Noah, the one who had called me sister for eighteen years.
Before my eighteenth birthday, I had been Stormhaven's golden girl—the cherished daughter of the Noah family.
I'd had devoted parents, a protective older brother Kevin, and a caring younger brother Webster.
I'd even had a childhood sweetheart who was meant to be my fiancé.
But it all crumbled on my eighteenth birthday.
A girl named Jill appeared with DNA results, declaring she was the real Noah daughter, claiming the nurse had switched us at birth.
My anticipated birthday celebration became her homecoming party. My parents, who had adored me for eighteen years, embraced Jill and wept, vowing to compensate her.
No one noticed me, pale and silent in the corner, despite being the supposed guest of honor.
My dad Harvey said, "Since your real parents are gone, you can stay. One more daughter won't be too much of a burden."
My mom Zora said, "From now on, you and Jill are both our daughters. Isn't it nice to have a sister?"
Kevin and Webster, who had always defended me, said, "Don't worry. Even if we're not related by blood, we're still family."
But when Jill framed me, convincing everyone I had shoved her down the stairs, they all abandoned me and shipped me off to St. Chaim Reform Academy—a facility designed to straighten out wealthy families' "troubled" children.
Harvey said, "Not just anyone can be part of the Noah family. From now on, go by your real father's name—Isabelle."
Zora said, "Sallie, Jill suffered so much growing up. You had all our love these years. Can't you just give her a little room?"
Kevin and Webster both said, "We don't want a sister with such a twisted heart."
After banishing me, they eliminated their problem. But they never considered—a place designed for unwanted children was never going to be pleasant.
"Are you really Sallie?" Webster sounded uncertain.
After all, the Sallie he remembered had always carried herself with pride, regal as the moon above. She'd worn cutting-edge designer outfits and maintained perfectly manicured nails.
But now, I wore the same poorly-fitted white dress from two years ago, slightly yellowed, with a faded gray hoodie thrown over it. My nails were chipped and broken, and my once-radiant face appeared vacant and lifeless.
Without my recognizable features, he might have mistaken me for someone else entirely.
Webster scowled. His chest tightened. This wasn't the Sallie he knew.
I shook myself alert and met his gaze.
But the instant our eyes connected, I dropped mine and stepped backward. My body went rigid with tension.
At St. Chaim Reform Academy, direct eye contact meant defiance. They would curse me, strike me, say the most vicious things imaginable.
It had happened so frequently that my response became instinctive.
But Webster just chuckled. "Looks like St. Chaim's really worked. Finally taught you some manners. We should've sent you there earlier—maybe Jill wouldn't have had such a hard time."
I kept my head lowered and stayed silent. I didn't argue back like before. It seemed like I accepted his words.
Webster slipped on his sunglasses, clearly irritated. "Come on, get in. Don't make me late for my race. Jill's really nice. If it weren't for her asking me to pick you up, I wouldn't have bothered."
I pulled open the passenger door without a word.
I'd barely settled in and hadn't even fastened my seatbelt when Webster floored the accelerator. The engine screamed, and the car launched forward like a missile.
Webster looked thrilled. He shot glances at me from behind his dark lenses, expecting me to shriek or plead with him to slow down. Or perhaps, like I used to, play the older sister card and lecture him about reckless driving.
If I said anything, he'd report back to our parents and Kevin that I hadn't changed at St. Chaim's—still the same entitled brat who didn't know her place.
Unless I begged him and swore to stay out of his way, he wouldn't go easy on me.
But I remained silent.
I gripped the overhead handle with all my strength. Though my face went white with terror, I made no sound.
Two years had taught me to mask fear. My expression revealed nothing.
Only when fear stayed hidden would people lose interest in tormenting me. Only then would they leave me be.
But my silence enraged Webster. As if challenged, he pressed the gas pedal harder, pushing the car to greater speeds.
No matter how fast he drove, I just clenched my jaw until my temples throbbed, and still said nothing.
Then Webster's phone rang. He finally hit the brakes hard. The car squealed to a halt on the deserted mountain road.
My head smashed into the dashboard with a sickening crack.
Pain and vertigo overwhelmed me instantly.
Webster didn't even flinch. He unlocked his phone and took the call.
He'd done it deliberately. This was revenge for what I had supposedly done two years ago—pushing Jill down those stairs.
"Webster, the race's been moved up. When are you getting here?" the caller asked.
Webster glanced at me. "On my way."
He ended the call and said icily, "Get out."
Before I could process what was happening, Webster opened the door and shoved me outside.
"Call a cab or something," he said.
And with that, he abandoned me on the roadside.