Chapter 91 Everyone Loves You Savannah I hated cleaning. More than Chloe, more than Cassandra, more than every single person who had ever made it their life mission to chip away at me, I hated the feeling of wiping down someone else’s mess, even if that “someone” was just me and the dust bunnies under my couch. Two days after Roman dropped me off and helped carry my things in, that’s all I had been doing—cleaning, scrubbing, pretending that organizing clutter somehow organized the mess inside my head that finally occurred to me. For a vacation that lasted barely a week, my apartment had transformed into a disaster zone, as if the dust itself had thrown a rave party while I was gone. Dishes I swore I washed before leaving were suspiciously dirty, clothes I never wore were sprawled across my bed, and my bathroom mirror had developed a fine layer of filth that made me question if I even lived like a human being anymore. I was also thinking of adopting a pet. Maybe a kitten or a puppy. Or maybe I'll opt for a hamster. It depends on which I end up bonding with. But that's probably secondary for now. First things first, getting my little space in order again. I kept telling myself it was temporary. That if I just folded one more pile, vacuumed one more corner, I’d feel lighter. Cleaner. Whole. Better. But cleaning wasn’t the point. Not really. The point was avoiding my phone. Avoiding Alyssa’s texts. Lizzie’s voicemails. The fifty-plus missed calls from my mother. Avoiding Dean, who had tried more than once before I finally blocked him. Every buzzing notification felt like someone shaking me awake from a nightmare I was trying to turn into a dream. And I wasn’t ready. The truth? I didn’t want to think back. To New Hope. To anything attached to it. I didn’t want to pick apart the carcass of what had happened there, or let anyone drag me back into the twisted circus of my so-called family. I wanted to move forward. Roman and I, that was one thing worth carrying out of that hell. But the rest? It could rot in the graveyard of my memory where it belonged. And yet, no matter how hard I tried, the past clawed at me.Especially Chloe. Especially the stupid wedding from hell. The sheer audacity still made my blood boil. How she staged the entire thing, how she weaponized love and trust like some sadistic performance act just to destroy me. And the sickest part? I still couldn’t figure out why. What had I ever done to her that deserved this level of cruelty? If anyone had reasons to hate, it was me. She knew I liked Declan. I told her the night I met him, confessed that my heart had practically leapt out of my chest when he smiled at me. And still, she slid right in, seduced him, slept with him, paraded him to prom like he was her prize, then dated him all through spring break while I sat at home bawling my eyes out. And I took it. I let it go. Because that’s what I always did for Chloe. Like the time she got caught with weed in her locker. Who lied for her? Who pointed fingers at an innocent kid just to save her reputation? Me. It was all me. Protecting and fiercely defending my sister by bearing false witness. I was always covering her tracks. Always bending until my spine cracked. And this was the reward. Her turning the knife so deep I could barely breathe. So no. I didn’t feel bad for ignoring calls. Not from Mom. Not from Alyssa. Not from anyone. And I don't feel bad for hating Chloe the way I do now. They stood by, every single one of them, watching Chloe torch my life and calling it “sibling rivalry.” They loved the show. They loved her. Everybody cheered for Chloe. Everyone treated her like a child who didn't know she was stepping on people to get her candy. It was always my responsibility to swallow it all else I'd be seen as the evil sister. Not her. My phone buzzed again, vibrating across the counter, making me groan mid-bite of a cold sandwich. Another call. My thumb hovered, ready to hit “decline” like all the others, until I saw the name. Uncle Jace. I paused. Unlike the rest of them, Jace wasn’t usually the type to meddle. He had always been more… in the background. Present, but quiet. Harmless. He was the uncle who slipped me extra candy at family reunions, who asked about school without really listening, who never picked sides—because picking sides meant acknowledging there was a war to begin with. And maybe that’s what made me answer. “Sav?” His voice cracked through the speaker, weary and edged with relief. “Thank God. Thank God you finally picked up. We’ve been trying to reach you for days.” “I’m alive, Uncle Jace.” My tone was flat, surgical. “Just didn’t feel like talking to any of you.” He sighed. A sound so heavy it almost rattled through the line. “I understand, sweetheart. I do. But your mother’s been worried sick. Everyone’s been worried sick about you.” “Right,” I muttered, bitterness curdling every syllable. “Considering they all stood around while Chloe picked me apart piece by piece, I bet they’re really worried. I mean, who's Chloe going to pick on now?” “Sav, don’t speak like that—” “I’ll speak however I damn well want,” I snapped. “I'm not a child anymore.” The silence on the other end stretched. Then he tried again, gentler, coaxing, like I was a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Your mother loves you. You know that. Everyone loves you. Siblings fight sometimes, Sav. Chloe loves you too, in her own—strange—way.” “She doesn't and you know that.” I countered. He paused. “Sav… don’t talk like that. Your mom’s worried sick. Chloe’s still your sister, no matter what’s happened.” Something inside me snapped. It was the same tired script. The same bullshit I had been force-fed for more than twenty years. Excuses dressed up as wisdom. Platitudes that shoved my pain under the rug. I almost laughed. Instead, my eyes burned. “No, Uncle Jace,” I said, voice shaking, “she doesn’t love me. She never did. And don’t you dare sit there and tell me otherwise. Chloe is not my sister. She is my enemy. She made that perfectly clear. And I’m done pretending otherwise.” “Savannah—” “No. Let me finish.” My words cut sharp enough to bleed. Because I’d had it. I’d had it with being silenced. With swallowing screams until they turned into ulcers. With watching everyone nod and smile at Chloe’s cruelty as if it were just some quirky character flaw instead of systematic torture and bullying.“You,” I spat, “you’re my father’s brother. You’ve been there. You saw how he worshipped her—how he praised her every breath while he treated me like a defective afterthought. For two decades, you watched him kill me slowly with that favoritism. You watched him water the roots of hatred between us until the tree of bitterness split our family apart. And what did you do, Uncle Jace? Did you stop him? Did you speak up? Did you ever once defend me?” The silence told me everything. “No,” I hissed. “You didn’t. You let it happen. You all let it happen. And now you want to fix it with a phone call? With cheap words about love? You can’t tape over a cracked dam, Uncle. Not when the water’s already drowned me.” “Sav, don’t—” His voice cracked. “I’m not done.” My chest heaved. My throat burned. But the words kept clawing out, sharp and ugly. Because the truth was, this wasn’t just about Chloe. It never had been. It was about everything they’d buried. Everything they’d forced me to bury. And today, I was digging it up. “I know what you’re doing,” I said, quieter now, but colder. “You’re trying to smother me with silence again. To shut me up before I say the thing none of you want to admit.” “Savannah—please—” “No. You listen.” My voice broke, but I pushed through it. “Because if I don’t say it now, I never will. And I refuse to let you erase me anymore. I refuse to take the fall when I'm the victim.” I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles whitened. My vision blurred with tears I refused to wipe. “When Professor Kingston raped me,” I whispered, every word felt like jagged glass stuck in my throat, “where the hell were you? Why didn’t you stand up for me then?” The line went dead silent. So silent, I could hear my own heart shattering.