Chapter 2The Legacy of the Split

I looked at Silas. He smelled of soil and sweat, standing there with a timid posture.

My parents told him to pack his things immediately to head back to the estate.

Silas whispered, "The local diner is still waiting for their produce."

"I’ll handle it," my father said, ordering me to help Silas pack.

When Silas walked into his room later, the tension was thick.

I wanted to offer help, but he shot me a look of pure disgust.

"Don't touch my stuff!"

I walked out, frustrated. In the yard, I saw that the vegetable garden Silas had spent years tending had been completely stripped.

The neighbors were thanking my father for his "generosity."

I looked back at Silas. His eyes were hollow.

He had spent his life watering those plants, only for my parents to give them away for free to buy social favors.

My father didn't care about the price of a few vegetables.

Silas packed his life into tattered duffel bags.

My father frowned. "Just take your IDs. That trash can be thrown away."

Silas gripped the bags and didn't move.

"Silas!" my father’s voice turned sharp.

"Mom said you should use things until they’re gone," Silas said quietly.

Mother smiled. "The hard times are over, Silas. You’re coming home to the good life."

Silas tightened his jaw and condensed his life into a single bag.

On the drive back, my parents took turns bragging.

Mother took credit for Silas’s "blue-collar grit."

Father bragged about me being the most sought-after debutante, already engaged to the Blackwood heir.

They thought they were geniuses.

I thought they were insane—manufacturing suffering just for an ego trip.