Chapter 1: The Girl Who Fell Without Being Touched
“HELP! DADDY! ETHAN JUST ATTACKED ME!””
My fourteen-year-old stepsister screamed so loudly that the glass in the living room cabinet seemed to vibrate.
Then she threw herself onto the hardwood floor.
I stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding an empty glass, wondering what on earth had just happened.
I hadn't touched her.
I hadn't even spoken to her.
But Brittany Williams was already clutching her arm, kicking her feet against the floor, and crying as though someone had beaten her.
“HE PUSHED ME! MOM! HE TRIED TO HURT ME!””
“Brittany?”” I stared at her.
“What are you talking about?””
My stepmother, Vanessa, came rushing out of the kitchen.
She didn't ask what happened.
She didn't look at the chair lying beside Brittany.
She looked straight at me.
“You disgusting animal!””
Before I could take a step backward, her palm cracked across my face.
My glasses flew off and skidded beneath the coffee table.
For several seconds, all I could hear was a high-pitched ringing.
“Vanessa!”” I shouted, one hand pressed against my cheek.
“I didn't touch her!””
“Don't you dare lie to me!”” she screamed.
She grabbed the front of my T-shirt and shoved me against the wall.
“Your sister is fourteen years old! She's a child!””
“She's not my sister,” I muttered.
“And I didn't—”
Her fingers tightened around my shirt.
“What did you just say?””
I swallowed.
“I said I didn't touch her.””
Then my father appeared in the doorway.
Marcus Williams was a successful real estate developer, a man who could silence an entire conference room with one look.
But that afternoon, he looked like a confused husband and father who had walked into the middle of a disaster.
“What the hell is happening?””
Brittany immediately scrambled off the floor and ran into his arms.
“Daddy!””
She buried her face against his chest.
“Ethan pushed me because I wouldn't give him my phone!””
My father looked down at her.
“Are you hurt?””
“My arm hurts!”” she sobbed.
Vanessa placed a protective hand on Brittany's shoulder.
“Marcus, I told you this would happen. Ethan has become increasingly aggressive. I've been worried about Brittany being alone with him.””
I stared at her.
Aggressive?
For three years, Vanessa had made that accusation whenever she needed to turn my father against me.
When a necklace disappeared, I was responsible.
When cash went missing from his wallet, I was responsible.
When Brittany broke an expensive vase and blamed me, Vanessa had demanded that I apologize.
And every single time, Dad had asked me to be the bigger person.
Because Vanessa was his wife.
Because Brittany was her daughter.
Because keeping peace in the house apparently mattered more than finding out the truth.
“Ethan,” Dad said firmly.
“Did you push Brittany?””
“No.””
“Think carefully before you answer.””
“I was walking downstairs to get water!””
Vanessa made a dramatic noise.
“Oh, Marcus. Listen to him. He always has an excuse.””
Brittany lifted her tear-streaked face.
“Daddy, I'm scared of him.””
That sentence changed something in my father's expression.
He looked at me as though he was seeing a stranger.
“Ethan, go upstairs.””
I didn't move.
“Dad, please. Just listen.””
“I said go upstairs.””
“Why won't you ask her what actually happened?””
Vanessa stepped between us.
“Because my daughter is crying, Marcus! Do you need her to show you bruises before you believe she's been hurt?””
I looked at Brittany.
For one tiny second, her crying stopped.
She glanced at Vanessa.
Then she looked at me.
And smiled.
It was barely noticeable.
But I saw it.
My stomach tightened.
“Dad,” I said quietly.
“Look at the camera.””
Vanessa froze.
“What camera?””
I pointed toward the small black security camera mounted above the bookshelf.
My father had installed four of them the previous month after discovering that someone had been entering his home office while he was away.
One faced the living room.
Another faced the front entrance.
The third covered the hallway.
The fourth pointed directly toward the stairs.
Dad followed my finger.
“Right,” he said slowly.
“The security system.””
Vanessa immediately shook her head.
“Marcus, don't do this. Brittany is traumatized.””
“Then the recording will show what happened,” I replied.
Brittany's expression changed.
“Daddy, I don't want you watching me!””
“Why not?”” Dad asked.
She began twisting the sleeve of her sweater.
“Because it's embarrassing.””
Vanessa stepped closer to him.
“Marcus, your daughter is upset. We should take her upstairs and talk privately.””
“She's not going anywhere until I understand what happened.””
He pulled out his phone and opened the security application.
I watched Vanessa's face.
Her lips had gone pale.
Dad selected the living room camera and dragged the timeline backward.
“Let's see,” he murmured.
The recording began.
Brittany was standing beside the sofa, scrolling through her phone.
I wasn't in the room.
She looked toward the staircase.
Then she glanced toward the kitchen.
She waited.
Suddenly, she reached behind herself and deliberately shoved the wooden chair onto its side.
The chair crashed against the floor.
Brittany looked directly at the camera.
Then she dropped onto the hardwood, grabbed her arm, and started screaming.
Dad stopped breathing.
“Brittany?””
She took a step backward.
“Daddy, I can explain.””
He replayed the recording.
Then he looked at Vanessa.
“You told me Ethan attacked her.””
Vanessa opened her mouth.
“Marcus, children sometimes—”
“Answer me!””
His voice shook the room.
Brittany began crying again.
But this time, my father didn't immediately reach for her.
Instead, he stared at the screen.
Then Brittany whispered something that made my blood run cold.
“Mom told me to do it.””
Vanessa spun around.
“BRITTANY! SHUT YOUR MOUTH!””
And for the first time in three years, my father looked genuinely afraid of his own wife.
Because the camera had recorded something far worse than a fourteen-year-old girl pretending to fall.
May you like
It had recorded the beginning of a plan.
And Dad hadn't seen the rest yet.
