Chapter 31 Chapter 31
Chapter 31
Nina’s POV
I stared at the frozen screen. Elena’s face remained locked there wide eyes glistening with the start of tears, lips parted in shock, as if my sudden appearance had punched the air out of her lungs.
The chat kept scrolling in the corner, a blur of venom and confusion, but her words echoed loudest inside my skull.
“You’re the witch we should be scared of.”
My voice came out low, almost a whisper, but steady enough to carry through the mic. “Why did you call me a witch, Elena?”
She blinked rapidly, like she had not expected me to speak again. Josh’s arm stayed clamped around her shoulders, his fingers digging in as if to anchor her.
The classroom had gone deathly quiet except for Dr. Patel’s hesitant “Students, perhaps we should—” before someone muted him. All eyes were on us now.
Elena swallowed hard. Her voice cracked when she finally answered. “Just… look at the news, Nina. You don’t have to go far. It’s everywhere.”
The screen flickered as she shared her tab. A browser window popped up in the shared view. Headlines slammed into me one after another.
“Grieving Politician Rossi Launches Campaign After Tragic Loss: Wife’s Cancer Battle Leaves Family in Ruins”
“Heartbroken Father Pledges to End Medical Debt Nightmare: ‘No Family Should Suffer Like We Did’”
“GoFundMe Explodes: Donations Pour In for Senator Rossi’s ‘Healing Families’ Initiative”
Photos filled the screen. My father at a podium, eyes red-rimmed, voice trembling in a clip. “My beloved wife fought cancer with everything she had. The treatments drained us financially, emotionally. I went into debt to give her every chance. And when she passed… my daughter couldn’t cope. She became suicidal. We had no choice but to place her in a secure mental health institute for her own safety.”
The crowd in the video murmured sympathetically. A reporter asked, “Senator, will you consider starting a new family? The state needs a model of stability from its leaders.”
My father paused, wiped his eye with a handkerchief, then nodded slowly. “Yes. I believe in functional families. The people deserve to see one leading them. I will rebuild for them, and for the memory of my late wife.”
Donations ticker at the bottom: already over two million raised. Comments flooded in: “Poor man,” “What a monster daughter,” “Prayers for Senator Rossi.”
I sat perfectly still. No tears came this time. My chest felt hollow, like someone had scooped out everything soft and left only bone.
He had turned my mother’s death into a campaign prop. Cancer even though when he knows that his enemies shot her !? I remembered the hospital rooms, the whispers, the way doctors avoided my eyes or did she had the cancer before she died or did he kill her knowing she will die and used the death for political stunt. But debt?
He had money always had. And suicidal? Locked in a mental institute? I was here, breathing, bleeding, trapped in a mafia compound, not padded walls.
This was not grief. This was calculation. Power. Money. Votes.
He had sold me out for sympathy points and a ticket back into office.
Something cold uncoiled in my stomach. Not pain. Resolve.
I would get to the bottom of this. All of it. Was it really cancer that took her, or something darker? Who killed her—if someone did? I would find out. And when I did, I would take everything from him. Power. Money. Reputation. I would take it all and burn it down.
Even if it took years.
I closed every tab without a word. The shared screen went blank. I minimized the class window and returned to my university portal as if nothing had happened. Assignments waited. Quizzes. Lectures. My old life, still there, mocking me with its normalcy.
My body burned fever-hot rage under my skin but my hands moved steadily. I opened the first overdue biochemistry report and began typing. The familiar rhythm grounded me. Formulas. Pathways. Facts that did not lie or betray. Relief seeped in, thin but real.
I whispered to the empty room, “I will lure Dante. He will teach me how to use the gun properly. Elena and Josh are enemies now. Nana is my only true ally.”
The words felt like armor clicking into place.
I lost myself in the work. Hours blurred. The moon shifted across the floor. My split lip scabbed over. The orange juice stain on my tank top itched, but I ignored it.
The door opened without a knock.
Isabela stepped in, heels clicking like gunshots on marble. She wore a silk robe the color of fresh blood, loosely tied, hair perfect even at this hour. Her eyes swept over me disheveled, stained, hunched over the laptop like a feral thing.
“Using my gift to good use, kiddo?” she said with a smirk that did not reach her eyes.
I turned slowly. “Get out of my room.”
She laughed softly and crossed the space in three strides. Her hand shot out, fingers twisting into the collar of my tank top. She yanked me up from the chair. Fabric strained against my throat.
“You are just a disposable human here,” she hissed, face inches from mine. “Do not start feeling like you belong. They are mine. Dante. Enzo. Nikolai. They will discard you and waste you the second they squeeze that 57 million from your deadbeat father.”
I swung my hand to slap her. She caught my wrist mid air, grip iron. Nails dug into skin.
“Do not dare,” she warned. Her eyes blazed dark, terrifying, the mask slipping to show something vicious underneath.
Then, just as suddenly, her expression softened. She released me with a sweet, poisonous smile. “Let us go shopping with the black card. The chopper is waiting.”
“Chopper?” I echoed, rubbing my wrist.
“Yes, duh.” She rolled her eyes. “Why are you acting broke for someone who used to be a politician’s kid?”
I did not want to go. Every instinct screamed to refuse, to lock myself in, to hide. But this was the game now. I had promised myself I would play it. Win it. Even if it meant enduring her.
“Get out of my room,” I said flatly. “Let me dress.”
She tilted her head, gaze dropping to my chest where the thin fabric clung, nipples visible through the dried stain.
“wonder what you are hiding. Everyone has already seen a glimpse of your huge titties and nipples in that little nightie downstairs. Just do not think it will be enough to seduce the boys.”
She smirked wider. “Five minutes. If you are late, I will leave and come back with any rags I find. You can wear those.”
She cat-walked out, door left ajar like an insult.
I stood there, heart pounding, skin crawling. The room felt smaller, air thicker. But I moved.
I stripped off the ruined tank top and nightie. Blood and juice and sweat peeled away with them. I stepped into the shower—hot water scalding, steam filling the space. I scrubbed hard, as if I could wash away the betrayal, the lies, the hands that had grabbed me tonight.
Dried off. Pulled on clean jeans and a simple black top nothing flashy. No makeup. Hair tied back. Practical. Ready.
I glanced at the laptop one last time. The school portal glowed softly. A lifeline. A weapon.
I closed it gently.
Five minutes were up.
I walked out to meet the devil in silk, vowing silently: I will survive this. I will learn. I will take everything back.
And when I do, no one will call me pathetic again.