Chapter 62

Dorothy’s POV I kept a placid smile on my face, the kind that came from years of practice—the kind you wear when you’ve long since learned that showing pain only feeds the predator. Lyra’s words rolled off her tongue with the carelessness of someone drunk on champagne and entitlement. "You cooked for us, washed our clothes, cleaned the house," she said, her voice slurred but cruelly precise. "Oh, wait—let's see what else you did. Oh, right, you made our beds, dusted the furniture. You even cleaned my toilet! Washed Mum's car. Mowed the lawn for Dad. Picked up after us." She giggled, then burst into laughter that echoed like nails on glass. "You rubbed Mum's feet once! I saw that! You were like a dog begging for scraps from the dinner table. I swear, I wish I'd filmed it—could’ve made a killing on social media!" Her words stabbed like thin knives, delicate but deadly. Across the room, I saw Jude retreating slowly, inching away like she hoped no one would notice. Her cheek still bore the