Revenge on my wicked stepmom

loors. She didn't mean to listen in, but something made her want to go into the room aheadmaybe curiosity or a feeling of unease that wouldn't go away. She looked around the corner and saw th

lood was boiling, and every muscle was tense with rage. Isabella ran down the hall, breathing in short, quick bursts. She wanted to go outdoors into the chilly air, but she couldn't escape the feeling that she was suffocating. Her heart raced in her chest, and each beat echoed in her ears as she pushed past the big doors and into the garden, which was calm. The stress was too much. She stopped, and her hands turned into fists at her sides. How could her stepmother treat her this way? Wasn't she already in enough pain because of her harsh, controlling rule? The inheritance, which was their house, was hers by birth. Not Seraphina, but it was hers. Isabella thought to herself, I can't let her get away with this, as the evening air made her breath foggy. The heaviness of her choice made her feel bad, yet the idea of silently giving up made her blood boil. They weren't going to throw her away. Not like this. Determined, she turned back towards the door, but stopped when she saw her stepmother standing at the doorway with an unreadable look on her face. There was no sign of Victor Mallory. Seraphina murmured in a quiet, almost too calm voice, You shouldn't have heard. But now that you know, I guess we should talk. Isabella's fists were tight, and her nails dug into her palms. She said, A conversation? Are you going to tell me how you're going to take everything from me? How I'm only a piece in your game? Seraphina's eyes lit up, and a small, sly smile spread across her lips. You are so dramatic. But you'll get it eventually. You don't know the truth. Isabella stepped closer and said, I see enough. I know exactly who you are. Seraphina's smile went away and was replaced by a cold glare. I'm giving you an option, Isabella. Be wise. Take your place, or lose everything. Isabella had no doubt after hearing the finality in her voice. The woman in front of her was not a mother. She was a predator, and Isabella was her victim. But she wasn't