Chapter 81 This Is My Home
Wynter's POV
"I haven't abandoned anything," I said, my voice rising now. "I've been trying to find the truth—"
"The truth?" My aunt's voice was shrill. "The truth is that you're cursed, Wynter. Death follows you. Your mother died because of you. Your father died because of you. And now you're bringing that curse into our home—"
"This isn't your home!" The words exploded out of me before I could stop them. "This is my home. My parents' home. And you have no right—"
The silence that followed was absolute.
My uncle and aunt stared at me, their expressions cycling through shock, fury, and something that looked almost like fear.
"No right?" my uncle finally said, his voice dangerously quiet. "We have no right? We took you in when you had nowhere else to go. We fed you, clothed you, paid your tuition, gave you a roof over your head—"
"You took over my parents' house," I corrected, my voice steady now despite the trembling in my hands. "You moved into their bedroom, gave away their belongings, erased every trace of them—"
"We maintained this property," my aunt interrupted. "We paid the taxes, covered the expenses—"
"With my parents' money," I said. "My father had savings. Life insurance. This house was paid off. Where did all that money go?"
Another exchanged look—quick, furtive, guilty.
"The funeral expenses," my uncle said. "The debts your father left—"
"What debts?" I demanded. "My father was careful with money. He wouldn't have—"
"You were thirteen years old," my aunt cut me off. "You don't know what your father's financial situation was. You don't know what we've had to sacrifice—"
"Then show me," I said. "Show me the records. The expenses. The tax payments. If you've been maintaining this property out of the goodness of your hearts, there should be documentation."
The silence stretched.
"We don't owe you an explanation," my uncle finally said. "You're a guest in this house—"
"I'm not a guest," I interrupted. "I'm the owner. This house belonged to Arthur and Margaret Vaughn. When they died, it passed to me. Legally. And I want it back."
"You want it back?" My uncle's voice dripped with contempt. "You, who haven't contributed a single yuan in five years? You think you can just waltz back here and demand we hand over everything?"
I said, my voice shaking. "This was mine to begin with."
"Maybe there's truth in that," my aunt said coldly. "But you are cursed. That's why death follows you. Maybe that's why you can't let your parents rest in peace—"
"Don't." The word came out sharp and final. "Don't you dare talk about my parents like you knew them. Like you cared about them. You took over their house the moment they were gone. You erased them. You made it like they never existed."
"We were trying to move forward," my aunt said, but her voice lacked conviction. "We couldn't just leave everything as a shrine—"
"You could have asked," I said quietly. "You could have saved something. Anything. But you didn't. You threw it all away like it was garbage."
I stood, my legs shaking but my resolve firm. "I want this house back. I want you out."
"Out?" My uncle's laugh was bitter. "Where exactly are we supposed to go? We've lived here for five years. We've made this our home—and we’re not going back to that cramped little house we had before."
"That's not my problem," I said. "You have one month. One month to pack your belongings—your belongings, not my parents—and to leave."
"You can't do this," my aunt said, her voice rising with panic. "You can't just throw us out. We're family—"
"Family?" I turned to look at her, really look at her. "You've never treated me like family. You've treated me like a burden. Like something to be tolerated. Like I should be grateful for every scrap of kindness you threw my way."
I moved toward the door, my vision blurring with tears I refused to let fall.
"But the real reason I want you out," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "isn't because you took my house. It's because you took my memories. You made me ashamed of my parents. You made me believe I was cursed. You made me feel like I deserved to be treated like I was nothing."
I paused at the threshold, one hand on the doorframe.
"I was wrong to believe you," I said. "And I'm done letting you make me feel like I'm the problem."
"You are the problem!" my aunt shrieked. "You're cursed! Death follows you! And now you want to curse us too—"
"Then maybe I should," I said, turning to face them one last time. "Maybe I should wish with all my heart that the same fate befalls you. So I can finally have some peace. Would you like that? Would you like to test whether the curse is real?"
My aunt stumbled backward as if I'd struck her, her face going white. The temperature seemed to drop, and I realized my anger—my absolute fury at their manipulation, their cruelty, their theft—was manifesting in the sheer force of my conviction.
"Wynter, please—" Elena's voice was small now, frightened. "We didn't mean—"
"Save it," I cut her off. "I don't want your excuses."
I looked up at my father's portrait above the mantelpiece—the only thing they hadn't removed, probably because it was too large to sell easily.
He looked so young in that painting. So full of hope.
"Dad," I whispered, as if he could hear me. "I've uncovered the truth. The one who killed you wasn't the Silvermoon Clan—it was the Bloodrock Clan. Lord Draven Kaine ordered your death. And I swear, I'll make him pay."
I turned back to my uncle and aunt one final time.
"You have one month," I repeated. "I'll have a lawyer contact you about the property transfer. If you're not out by then, I'll have you forcibly removed. And I'll report this to the Alpha—at least he’s on my side."
"You ungrateful—" my uncle started, but I cut him off.
"I'd rather have no family at all," I said, my voice steady even as emotion threatened to choke me, "than have family like you."
I walked out without looking back.
---
The afternoon sun was warm on my face as I descended the porch steps. My legs felt shaky, my hands trembling with residual adrenaline, but I kept walking.
I made it three houses down before the tears started.
Not the dramatic, sobbing kind—just a quiet stream down my cheeks that I couldn't seem to stop. My whole body was shaking now, the adrenaline crash hitting me all at once, and I had to stop and lean against a fence to catch my breath.
I did it, I thought, half-disbelieving. I actually stood up to them. I told them to leave.