Chapter 2

The first thing Sylvia did was go to a law firm and ask them to draft a divorce agreement. The second was to return to the York residence. She was determined to convince her parents to leave Jarnheim for good. Edward York and Felicia Hastings were stunned when she brought up the idea of moving. "Sylvia, your mother and I had considered moving before, but we gave up on it because you loved Weston so much and didn't want to leave," Edward admitted, his face darkening. "Tell me, has Weston done something to you?" Suppressing the surge of relief at seeing her parents alive, Sylvia shook her head. "No, Dad. I've simply decided to divorce him." Edward studied his daughter, who looked drained of all spirit, but didn't press further. Felicia squeezed her hand gently and gave her a warm smile. "Sylvia, we'll support every decision you make. We'll start the immigration process today." The paperwork would take half a month to complete. Sylvia asked her parents to handle family matters while she returned to the Lowe residence. The villa's living room had already been tidied up. It was as if nothing had happened. Weston and Elaine sat together on the sofa, chatting and laughing. When Weston noticed Sylvia, he spoke first. "Where did you go, Vivi? You weren't here when I came back." She paused at the doorway, then answered flatly, "I went home to see my parents." "Elaine was just discharged. She needs looking after. What if something happened while you left her alone?" he said, frowning. Sylvia's lips curved into a bitter smile. He had told her the same thing in her previous life. She was told to act like a good sister-in-law and take care of Elaine. She had been foolish enough to do it, even hiding Elaine's drug addiction from him in hopes of sparing his feelings. And how had it ended? With her destroyed. She would only protect her parents now. "There are over a hundred housekeepers in this house. Isn't that enough for one person?" Weston froze. Sylvia had never spoken back to him like that before. Irritation simmered in his chest. "It's fine, Wes," Elaine quickly interjected, trying to sound considerate. "Vivi's your wife. She shouldn't be taking care of me." "She's also your sister-in-law. Looking after you is her duty." His gaze hardened on Sylvia. "Elaine's diet requires special care. Everything should be light and easy to digest. You're good at making tomato soup. From now on, you'll cook for her. I don't trust the staff to do it properly. All the alcohol in the house should be locked away too. There will be no drinking here until Elaine recovers." He said it all as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Sylvia's chest tightened. It seemed like Weston had forgotten all her sacrifices. She had once spent sleepless nights making tomato soup for him to help with his stomach condition. One morning, she collapsed and cut her wrist on shattered glass. Her right hand had never fully recovered. She almost laughed at the cruelty of it all. She opened her mouth to speak, but the sound of Weston's phone cut her off. Weston glanced at the caller, then said flatly, "I'll take this outside. Start getting the soup ready." He stepped into the courtyard. Sylvia turned to leave, not wanting to be trapped alone with Elaine. But Elaine caught her wrist. "Where are you going? Wes said you have to make me soup!" "Get Ms. White to do it. I'm Weston's wife, not your personal assistant. Now let me go." Sylvia's eyes turned cold. Unaccustomed to being denied, Elaine pouted. "No! Wes said it has to be you." Sylvia was annoyed. She was about to yank her hand free when Elaine suddenly stumbled backward with a sharp cry. Her head had struck the corner of the coffee table. Blood instantly streamed down her head. Weston rushed into the living room upon hearing the sound. He scooped Elaine into his arms, his face twisting with rage. "Sylvia! Why did you push her?" "I didn't," Sylvia replied. "She did it herself." Elaine opened her eyes weakly and whispered, "Don't blame Vivi… I shouldn't have asked her to make soup for me. I'm being a burden. Maybe I should just move out." "Don't be ridiculous!" Weston pressed his hand against her bleeding scalp, unconcerned with the blood soaking his suit. "You're my sister. I won't let anyone kick you out of this house." Then, he turned to Sylvia and glared at her. "No one gets to bully my sister, either." That night, Sylvia was locked in a dark closet. Anyone who had never suffered from claustrophobia could never understand the terror of being sealed in a small space. As the doors clanged shut, Sylvia pounded against them. Her voice broke. "Weston! I didn't do it! Don't leave me in here!" There was only silence from the other side. Darkness closed in from all sides. Trembling, she curled up in a corner and buried her face in her knees. She remembered how Weston, after learning of her fear of tight spaces, had installed small nightlights in every corner of the villa. "I'll be with you every night, Vivi." Back then, she had wept with gratitude. She never imagined that one day he'd be the one to throw her into darkness with his own hands.