There is a specific kind of cruelty that leaves no physical scars, yet bleeds for years. For Maya, that cruelty had a name: Beatrice.
When Maya’s father fell ill, Beatrice systematically cut off everyone who truly cared about him. But her true targets were the memories of Maya’s late mother. Beatrice didn’t just want the wealth, the family business, and the estate; she wanted to erase every trace that Maya’s mother had ever existed in this house.
Tonight, Maya came home early to find her mother’s private locked trunk open in the hallway.
Beatrice was standing over it, calmly pulling out rare hand-written journals, family heirlooms, and the last remaining letters Maya’s mother wrote before she passed away. Without hesitation, Beatrice began dropping them into the burning fireplace one by one.
“Stop! Please, Beatrice, stop!” Maya screamed, rushing forward, but Beatrice blocked her path with a cold, unyielding stance.
“These trashy reminders of the past have no place in my house, Maya,” Beatrice whispered, her voice dripping with malice. She picked up the final framed photograph of Maya as a child with her mother, looked Maya dead in the eye, and dropped it onto the hardwood floor, letting the glass shatter into a thousand pieces.
Maya collapsed to her knees, her hands trembling as she tried to sweep the sharp glass away to save the photo beneath. Tears blinded her vision.
“Your father signed full power of attorney over to me this morning,” Beatrice sneered, stepping on the edge of the photograph with her heel. “You have until tomorrow morning to pack your bags and leave. If you try to tell him, I will make sure his medical care is… discontinued.”
The chapter ends with Maya on her knees in the dark, clutching a sharp piece of broken glass, realizing that mercy would never save her—only vengeance would.
