The road to the house feels shorter now.
Or maybe I just walk faster when I'm no longer running away.
The gate opens like it remembers me.
Like it knows I was never meant to stay gone.
Funny.
Some doors welcome ghosts more than they welcome daughters.
I step inside. The house looks the same - but time has dusted its cruelty into every corner. The marble floors. The expensive silence. The walls that once held secrets better than people ever could.
Someone gasps softly.
The housekeeper. She freezes when she sees me.
"Miss Selene… you're back?"
Her voice trembles like she isn't sure I'm real.
I simply nod.
I am real.
I just didn't exist back then.
I walk deeper inside.
Every step is a memory. Every breath tastes like betrayal I once swallowed politely.
My eyes land on the piano in the corner.
White. Perfect. Untouched.
Just like Alex wanted it -
no trace that I ever learned to play on it.
No trace I ever existed at all.
I run my fingers lightly across the keys.
Dust jump-starts, like even air remembers me.
I almost hear Dad's voice again.
Harsh. Controlled.
"Not here. You can't be seen."
I blink the memory away before it stings.
"Selene?"
Her voice slices the room - soft, saccharine.
Stepmother.
Her heels click closer, carrying perfume that always smelled like expensive lies.
"You look… different."
I smile politely.
"I am."
She studies me, searching for the old weakness.
Poor thing.
She'll never find it again.
"You should have called," she says. "We could've prepared - "
"No."
Just one word. Calm. Firm.
Preparation isn't necessary when you're already unwelcome.
I take a photo frame from the table - the perfect family portrait.
Mother, father, Alex.
A picture I was never allowed in.
I brush my thumb over the glass.
Then I place it back - slightly tilted.
Not broken.
Just… unsettled.
Like the truth that's coming.
I turn to leave, but the front door opens.
Alex.
Of course.
His eyes widen just a fraction - then the smirk returns.
"You think walking back into this house means something?"
I step close enough that he notices my calm.
"It already does."
His jaw clenches.
Control slipping.
Finally.
I lean in just a little, voice a whisper meant for only him:
"You buried me.
You should've made sure I stayed dead."
And then I walk away first -
because power leaves the room on its own terms.
Outside, my phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
If you want to break him, I can help.
A slow smile spreads across my lips.
War doesn't start with fire.
It starts with a whisper.
And I have just spoken mine.