Chapter 5

The next day, Francesca was able to walk, though every step sent a jolt of pain through her side. She was making her way down the hallway of the family mansion when she heard voices coming from the sunroom.

It was Amelia, her voice light and happy. "Oh, Archer, it's exquisite! I've never seen anything so beautiful."

"I'm glad you like it," Archer's voice responded, full of the same tenderness he always used with her. "It's yours."

Francesca' s heart clenched. She pushed the door open.

Amelia was standing in a beam of sunlight, holding a small, heart-shaped locket. It was antique gold, intricately carved with roses and vines.

Francesca stopped breathing.

It was her mother's locket.

It was the only thing she had left of her. The one piece of jewelry that had survived the fire. It was priceless, not because of its monetary value, but because it held the last picture of her mother, smiling and vibrant.

She kept it locked in a safe in her bedroom. The only other person who knew the combination was Archer.

"Give that back," Francesca said, her voice a low growl. She lunged for the locket.

Archer moved instantly, shoving her back. The sudden push sent her stumbling, and she fell hard against a table.

He stood in front of Amelia, shielding her, his body tense and ready for a fight. "What is wrong with you? Are you trying to hurt her again?"

"That's mine," Francesca gasped, pushing herself up. Pain shot through her side, but she ignored it. "That locket is mine. It was my mother's."

"Not anymore," Archer said coldly. "I gave it to Amelia. She likes it."

"You... you can't," Francesca stammered, her mind reeling. "You can't do that."

"Why not?" he said with a cruel shrug. "It's just a piece of jewelry. I can buy you a hundred more."

She stared at him, at the man she had loved, the boy who had grown up in this house. He had seen her take the locket out on the anniversary of her mother's death. He had watched her cry as she held it to her chest. He knew what it meant to her.

He knew, and he had given it to Amelia anyway.

The Archer she knew was gone. This man was a stranger, a monster wearing his face.

Just then, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and his expression softened. "I have to take this. I'll be right back." He stepped out of the room, leaving the two women alone.

The moment he was gone, Amelia's entire demeanor changed. The sweet, vulnerable girl vanished, replaced by a woman with eyes full of smug triumph.

She dangled the locket in front of Francesca's face. "It's so pretty, isn't it? I think it looks better on me."

"You're a parasite, Amelia," Francesca hissed.

Amelia laughed. "Maybe. But I'm the parasite he loves. He gives me everything I want. All the things he knows you cherish."

She smiled, a slow, malicious smile. "I've been taking things from you my whole life, Frankie. Your toys, your friends, your awards. But you know what's been the most fun to take?"

She paused, letting the silence hang in the air. "Taking the man you love."

Francesca felt a cold dread creep up her spine. "You won't get away with this. He'll see you for what you are eventually."

Amelia's smile widened. "Oh, I don't think so. He's too blinded by his guilt and his fabricated memories." She held the locket up, her thumb stroking the gold. "You know, this is the last piece, isn't it? The last thing of yours I haven't taken." Her eyes glittered with a sick pleasure. "I wonder what would happen if I were to... break it."

"Don't you dare," Francesca whispered, her voice trembling.

"Give it back to me, Amelia. I'll get on my knees. I'll beg."

"One."

"Please," Francesca pleaded, the word tearing from her throat.

"Two."

With tears streaming down her face, Francesca slowly sank to her knees on the cold marble floor. Her pride, her anger, everything was stripped away, leaving only raw desperation.

Amelia looked down at her, her face a mask of pure, triumphant cruelty. "That's a good girl."

Then, with a deliberate, slow movement, she opened her hand.

The locket fell.

It hit the floor with a sickening crack.

Francesca screamed and scrambled forward, gathering the broken pieces. The tiny frame was bent, the glass shattered. The picture of her mother was torn. Her hands shook so badly she could barely hold the fragments.

Pain, sharp and overwhelming, tore through her. She ignored the stinging in her palms as the broken edges cut into her skin.

She didn't cry. The pain was too deep for tears. It was a hollow, aching void where her heart used to be. It was the final, ultimate violation.

Then she heard a sharp slap. She looked up.

Amelia had struck her own face, hard. A red mark was already forming on her cheek.

Francesca watched, a detached sort of horror washing over her. She knew what was coming.

Just as Archer walked back into the room, Amelia threw herself into his arms, sobbing hysterically.

"Archer! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I was just looking at it, and Frankie... she got so angry. She said I didn't deserve it, and she grabbed it from me and smashed it! Then... then she hit me!"

Archer looked from Amelia's tear-streaked, red-marked face to Francesca, kneeling on the floor amidst the broken pieces of her mother's memory.

"You witch," he snarled.

Francesca didn't even try to defend herself. What was the point?

She looked up at him, her eyes empty. "It was her. She did it."

He didn't believe her. She knew he wouldn't. She saw it in his eyes.

With a cry of rage, Francesca launched herself at Amelia and slapped her across the face, a real, stinging blow this time. The sound echoed in the silent room.

"That," Francesca said, her voice dangerously calm, "is for my mother."

She turned and walked away, her back straight, leaving the broken locket and the broken pieces of her life behind her.

Archer caught up to her in the hall, grabbing her arm in a brutal grip.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, his voice shaking with fury.

He glanced around, then his eyes, cold and hard, met hers. He pulled out his phone.

"Security," he said into the phone. "To the main hall. Now."