When the Lancasters adopted Lydia, everyone believed it was Claudia's fault. Her tantrum, her running away that night—people said that's what made Zoey rush out looking for her and crash the car. So everyone pitied Lydia, the poor little girl who lost her mother at just eight years old. They doted on her, spoiled her, treated her like a fragile thing that needed protecting. But those two were born to clash. Whenever Claudia and Lydia were in the same room, chaos followed. Most of the time, it was Claudia who got branded the bully. Once, both of them tumbled down the stairs. Lydia, who was hurt worse, woke up first—and the first thing she did was beg her parents not to blame her sister. Only after they pressed her did the truth come out: Claudia had pushed her. All because of a doll. It was a doll Wilson had brought home from an overseas business trip—a gift meant for Claudia. Lydia's present had been a diamond hair clip. But Lydia, quiet and meek, kept sneaking glances at the doll with those big longing eyes. The adults' hearts softened. They decided to let her have one too. Claudia already had plenty of toys, while Lydia—dragged from place to place by her gambler father—barely owned two decent dresses. Claudia had cried her eyes out, but eventually agreed after being coaxed. Later, though, jealousy hit hard. Wilson was so furious he locked her up without a word. And while Lydia recovered in the hospital, the whole family stayed by her bedside. If Jasper hadn't realized Claudia was missing and secretly called Grandma Wen, no one would've known she'd been locked in a room for two days—starving, burning up with fever. Grandma was livid. She scolded Lottie and Wilson like she'd never scolded anyone before. When she saw her lively granddaughter turned dull and withdrawn, she took Claudia away, ignoring everyone's protests. For three years, Claudia lived with her grandmother, slowly coming back to life. When Grandma finally agreed to let her return to Liberty City—because of the better schools—she thought things would be fine. But she was wrong. The moment Claudia came home, she began to fade again, like a flower left in the dark. Grandma's health was failing. All she could do was bring Claudia home for summers and winters and keep reminding Lottie and Wilson, "Lydia's had a hard past, but that doesn't mean Claudia should be treated like she's the orphan here." But Grandma never realized how that love, seen through Lydia's eyes, would twist into something dangerous. It happened one ordinary summer afternoon. The two girls had grown into young women—beautiful, poised, like peach blossoms in the yard. That summer, Lydia suggested they visit Altrix City to keep Grandma company. Seeing the girls arrive together warmed Grandma's heart. But something felt… off. Claudia was too quiet, too careful around Lydia—like she didn't dare breathe wrong. Lydia's words, her moods, her whims—Claudia followed them all like rules carved in stone. It hit Grandma like a stone in the chest. The peace everyone believed in was fake. That night, after Claudia fell asleep, Grandma spoke with Lydia. No one knew what was said, only that the talk ended in tears and sharp words. The next day, Claudia went into the hills to pick wild fruit. Before she left, she neatly sorted Grandma's heart medicine, slipped it into her pocket, and reminded her to take it on time.Lydia said she wasn't feeling well and stayed home. For once, Claudia felt light—no whispers, no scolding, no Lydia hovering. Just a bit of sunshine and the scent of summer. But when she came back, everything changed. Grandma was on the ground. The medicine lay spilled a few feet away. When Claudia left, Grandma had been fine. How had she suddenly collapsed? And Lydia—hadn't she been home? What had she been doing? That faint, taunting smile on her face still burned in Claudia's mind. For the first time since Zoey's death, Claudia snapped. She nearly beat Lydia to death. If Lottie hadn't suddenly stopped by to visit her mother, she would've walked into a bloodbath. Claudia swore Lydia killed Grandma. She went to the police herself. But the autopsy showed a heart attack. Nothing proved otherwise. Lydia said she'd been asleep—that when she came out, Grandma was already gone. In the end, Lydia spent a month in the hospital, and Claudia was locked in a psychiatric ward for the same. When she got out, she still wanted to kill Lydia. Lottie slapped her so hard her vision went white. Tears streaming down her face, her mother screamed, "You killed Aunt Zoey, and now you want to kill your sister? Claudia, I wish I'd never given birth to you!" …Claudia stopped trying to get Lydia jailed, but something inside her broke for good. She turned from quiet and soft to sharp and untouchable—a hedgehog bristling with spines. Wherever Lydia was, she'd go the opposite way. Whatever Lydia said, she'd fight. And soon, the Lancaster family's second daughter earned a reputation: heartless, wild, cruel. The Lancasters never hid Lydia's background. Lydia herself chose to move out, though she kept the Lancaster name. To people who didn't know better, Lydia was their real daughter—she just took her late mother's surname. But those who did know whispered behind their backs. They said Claudia had killed Lydia's mother, and now she bullied the poor orphan. Ungrateful. Vicious. Rotten to the core. Neighbors, classmates, relatives—everyone turned against her. Claudia became an island of one. Only a few remembered that Julie had once been her friend. When Julie was bullied, Claudia had been the one to step in, to protect her, even when she could barely protect herself. But later, it was Julie who spread the rumors—rumors that Claudia hated Lydia and wanted to destroy her. Claudia never fought back. She just kept crashing forward, wounded but defiant, her spine was her only armor. She should've known—whatever she had, Lydia would take. When Grandma said she'd leave the old house to Claudia, Lydia must have decided right then she'd find a way to have it. Now, standing in the courtyard, Claudia pulled out the lighter she'd bought at a highway rest stop. Her face was blank, her eyes fierce. She lit a few candles, then some paper, and tossed the burning scraps to the ground. Flames burst to life, roaring skyward, reflected in her eyes—wild, defiant, unstoppable. Even if Lydia hadn't killed Grandma, she'd stood there and watched her die. Claudia would rather see the house burn to ashes than let it fall into Lydia's hands. Let the home and its memories go back to dust—with Grandma. If Lydia wanted it, she could have the ashes in three days. They should've known better—threatening Claudia was like shaking hands with a madwoman who had nothing left to lose. She stood in the dark, watching as the house that once held all her warmth turned to embers. When the fire finally died down, she calmly picked up her phone and called the fire department. Her voice was steady. "I was lighting candles for my grandma," she said. "The fire got out of hand." The firefighters came quickly. But by the time they arrived, the flames were nearly gone. In the middle of the night, with the mountains looming and the wind howling, the sight of a young woman surrounded by candles and ashes chilled everyone to the bone. Fortunately, aside from the house, nothing else was lost. They even comforted her, thinking she was just a grieving granddaughter who'd made a mistake. They didn't know—this was no accident.This was goodbye.