Chapter 2 She Moved into Edith's Room
The next morning, Caroline returned to the Neville Mansion.
The grand old house was alive with the noise of a family gathering. Every familiar face she passed seemed to harden into a mask of disdain, their eyes cutting into her like knives.
"How does she still have the nerve to show up here?"
"She killed her own sister and stole her sister's fiancé. I've never met a woman with a colder heart."
"I heard she even faked a suicide attempt just to win sympathy. Shameless doesn't even begin to cover it."
Caroline kept her head lowered, each whispered remark pressing against her temples until the room seemed to tilt. She needed her medication, but the bottle was in her bag, and she couldn't bring herself to pull it out in front of them.
On the far wall hung the family portrait: her father, Damon Neville; her mother, Isabella York; Caroline herself; and Edith, smiling like sunlight, her arm looped through Caroline's. None of them had known then that six months later the family would be shattered beyond repair.
"Caroline! You came!" The voice was sweet, almost syrupy, drifting down from the staircase.
Caroline looked up to see Celeste bounding down the steps, her movements light and eager. She was the adopted daughter Damon and Isabella had taken in last year, a fragile patch over the gaping wound Edith had left behind.
Celeste wore a pale yellow dress—Edith's favorite shade—and her hair was styled to echo Edith's. The effort was obvious, a performance for their parents' approval.
Her eyes flicked to Caroline's wrist, and she gasped. "Oh my God… what happened to your wrist?"
Caroline tugged at her sleeve, hiding the bruises Alexander had left on her the night before. "It's nothing. I tripped."
Celeste tilted her head, her expression sharpening into something sly. "Did Alexander hit you again?"
"She deserved it!" Isabella's voice cut through the air as she stepped from the living room, her gaze as cold as if she were looking at a stranger. "Stealing her sister's man… if she were beaten to death, it would be justice."
"Mom, don't say that…" Celeste slipped her arm around Isabella, but her tone was laced with poison. "Caroline was just… swept away by passion, wasn't she? Otherwise why would she be so eager to marry Alexander right after Edith was buried?"
The words struck Isabella like a blade. Her eyes filled with tears. "My poor Edith… how could she die for something so heartless…"
Caroline lowered her gaze again. She didn't argue. She knew it was useless.
Three days after Edith's funeral, she had gone to Alexander and asked him to marry her. Everyone had thought she'd lost her mind. Edith's body was barely cold, and her own sister—her closest blood—was trying to take the man Edith had loved.
Alexander had refused, of course. But Caroline hadn't stopped. She kept treating him with the same devotion, even as he hurled insults at her, calling her the lowest kind of woman to walk the earth.
Then one day, every major platform in Grandhaven exploded with a scandal: the Neville family's eldest daughter and the Hamilton family's mafia godfather had been secretly involved for years, and the sister's grave was barely closed before they moved in together.
Photos accompanied the headline. The images were grainy, but clear enough to identify Caroline and Alexander. Later, someone proved the pictures were AI composites, but no one cared. The marriage proposal was fact enough.
The city's business circles shook with the news. Both families were pillars of Grandhaven's underworld, and under the crushing weight of public outrage, Alexander had finally agreed to marry her.
Everyone said he'd been trapped, that Caroline herself had leaked the story and commissioned the fake photos. In truth, she had no idea where they'd come from. But it didn't matter. She already carried the blame for Edith's death. One more crime on her name meant nothing.
"Enough. All of you." Damon's voice cut through Isabella's sobs.
He crossed the room to Caroline. His eyes softened for a fraction of a second when he saw the marks on her arm, but the warmth vanished almost instantly. "Since you're here, stay for dinner."
It was a dinner destined to be anything but peaceful.
Celeste's voice was bright and lilting, filling the air with stories of her latest adventures. The relatives around the table praised her with smiles and nods.
Caroline sat at the far corner, silent, eating in small bites. At one point she placed a piece of beef into Damon's bowl. He froze for a moment, said nothing, and kept eating. But when Caroline washed the dishes later, she saw the beef still sitting untouched in his bowl.
He still couldn't forgive her.
Turning on the faucet, she reached for the first plate, then noticed a pink crystal cup in the cabinet. It was Edith's favorite, one Caroline had chosen for her birthday.
She opened the cabinet door, her fingers reaching toward the glass.
"Don't touch that!" Isabella's scream was sharp enough to cut the air. She rushed over, slammed the cabinet shut, and slapped Caroline hard across the face.
"Don't put your filthy hands on Edith's things!"
The sting on her cheek was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.
Caroline bowed her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."
Damon came over then, catching Isabella's arm before she could lash out again. "Enough, Isabella."
He turned to Caroline, his expression heavy with exhaustion. "If you don't have a reason to be here, don't come back. This house doesn't welcome you."
Her heart lurched, and she started to protest. "But I promised Edith—"
"Don't say her name!" Isabella's voice cracked with rage. "You killed her! You took her to that dock! Why wasn't it you instead of her?"
Her rage broke into sobs. Damon pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. He looked over her shoulder at Caroline and shook his head. "Go. Leave now."
The room dissolved into chaos. Every pair of eyes was on her, watching as if she were the punchline to a cruel joke.