The Vanghue mansion loomed ahead like a haunting memory. Angela stood at the wrought-iron gates, her breath visible in the frosty air. Snowflakes dusted her coat and lashes, but she barely noticed. The structure before her, once a beacon of safety and family, now only reminded her of betrayal.
The bodyguards stationed at the gate exchanged uneasy glances as she approached. One of them, a stocky man with a fur-lined coat, stepped forward.
"Miss Angela," he began cautiously, "you're not authorized to—"
"I don't care," Angela snapped, her voice cold enough to rival the December air. "Step aside."
"But the family is in a meeting—"
"I said move."
The firmness in her voice caught them off guard. She pushed past the men, her determination cutting through their hesitation. As she stormed up the driveway, memories of her childhood flickered in her mind: running up this same path in a flurry of excitement, the mansion's golden lights promising warmth and love. Those promises had been lies.
When she reached the entrance, the sound of laughter drifted out to her. It was a sharp contrast to the storm brewing inside her chest. Angela paused, adjusting her gloves. Her breath hitched for a moment, but she forced herself to take the final step, pushing open the grand doors.
---
Inside, the dining hall was awash in golden light and opulence. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above a long table set with an extravagant feast. The Vanghues and Bradleys sat together, their smiles and laughter flowing as easily as the wine in their glasses. At the head of the table stood Mrs. Vanghue, holding a crystal goblet as if it were a scepter.
Angela's entrance went unnoticed at first. But then she cleared her throat, the sound sharp and commanding, cutting through the jovial atmosphere. All heads turned toward her.
The room fell silent.
Mrs. Vanghue's face froze, her lips parting slightly in surprise before she quickly recovered. "Lily, dear!" she exclaimed, her voice syrupy sweet. "You're back! We've been waiting for you for so long."
Angela's stomach churned at the insincerity. These were the same people who had discarded her without a second thought, who had stripped her of dignity and respect. And yet, here they were, pretending to care.
"Mrs. Vanghue," Angela began, her voice steady and icy, "don't act like you don't know where I've been. Your precious daughter must have kept you informed."
Her gaze swept across the table, landing briefly on Brad. He looked away, his discomfort visible, but Angela had no time for his cowardice.
Carlyle Bradley, Brad's mother, shifted uneasily in her chair. "Angela, dear," she said, forcing a smile. "Why don't you sit down? Let's talk this through. I'm sure we can compensate you."
Angela's laugh was bitter and sharp, cutting through Carlyle's false sincerity like a blade. "Compensate me?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow. "And how exactly do you plan to do that? Do you think money can erase years of betrayal? The public humiliation? The wasted time?"
She picked up an untouched glass of wine from the table, swirling the deep red liquid before downing it in one smooth motion. Her cheeks flushed slightly, but her eyes remained cold as she slammed the glass down on the table.
"Let me make it simple for you," Angela continued. "You want to compensate me? Fine. Transfer ten billion dollars into my account, and we'll call it even."
The room erupted into murmurs of disbelief.
"Ten billion?" Lilian screeched, her face twisting with outrage. "Are you out of your mind?"
Angela smirked, her expression almost playful. "You're right. Ten billion is too low." She tapped a manicured finger against her chin, pretending to consider. "Let's make it twenty. Ten from the Vanghues and ten from the Bradleys. That seems fair, don't you think?"
"Enough!" Mr. Vanghue's voice boomed, silencing the murmurs. "We're not paying you a single cent."
"Neither are we," Carlyle added, her voice trembling with indignation.
Angela's smirk didn't falter. She let the empty wine glass slip from her fingers. It shattered against the marble floor, the sound echoing ominously in the tense silence.
"Oops," Angela said, her voice dripping with mock innocence. She stepped over the shards, her boots crunching on the glass. "You have twenty-three days until Christmas to pay your debts. If you don't…" She trailed off, her smirk widening into something feral. "Well, let's just say your Christmas spirit will take a very different form this year."
---
The silence that followed was deafening. Even Lilian, usually quick with sharp retorts, seemed at a loss for words. Angela turned on her heel, heading for the grand staircase. But before she reached it, Mrs. Vanghue's voice stopped her.
"Angela, this is the season of celebration and love," Mrs. Vanghue said, her voice trembling slightly. "Why can't you forgive your family? Don't be an unfilial daughter."
Angela froze mid-step. For a moment, she considered leaving without a word. But the rage bubbling inside her demanded release. She turned slowly, her gaze locking onto Mrs. Vanghue.
"Family?" Angela's voice was soft but lethal. "Do you even understand the meaning of that word? A family doesn't use their daughter as a pawn. A family doesn't discard their child the moment she becomes inconvenient. You want forgiveness?" She laughed, the sound cold and hollow. "Forgive yourselves."
Mrs. Vanghue's face crumpled, but Angela didn't wait for a response. She climbed the staircase with purposeful strides, ignoring the whispers and uneasy glances that followed her.
---
Upstairs, Angela entered her old room, now stripped of any personal touches. It felt foreign, like a stranger's space. She quickly packed her belongings—jewelry, heirlooms, anything of value—and placed them in a sleek leather suitcase.
As she zipped it shut, a knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," Angela said, her tone curt.
To her surprise, it was Brad. He stepped inside hesitantly, closing the door behind him.
"Angela, can we talk?" he asked, his voice low.
"There's nothing to talk about," she replied, not even glancing at him.
"I didn't mean for things to end this way," Brad said, his tone pleading.
Angela finally turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "End this way?" she repeated. "Brad, you didn't end anything. You simply replaced me, like I was a pair of worn-out shoes."
Brad flinched at her words, but Angela didn't stop.
"You think you can waltz in here, say a few empty words, and everything will be fine?" she continued, her voice rising. "You don't even have the decency to apologize properly."
"I'm sorry," Brad said quietly, his eyes downcast.
Angela laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Sorry? Sorry doesn't even begin to cover it." She stepped closer, her gaze piercing. "You're going to regret everything you've done to me, Brad. Mark my words."
---
When Angela left the mansion, the suitcase in tow, she felt a strange mix of emotions. There was satisfaction in confronting her betrayers, but also a lingering sadness. The people who had once been her world were now nothing more than strangers.
As she walked down the snowy driveway, a black car idling near the gates caught her attention. The tinted window rolled down slightly, and she caught a glimpse of piercing blue eyes watching her intently.
Jonas.
Angela's heart skipped a beat, but she quickly composed herself. She had more important things to focus on. Christmas was coming, and with it, the reckoning her so-called family deserved.
---