His Twisted Love, My Gilded Pain

jewels, hosted lavish parties, and cultivated the air of someone who had been born to wealth. The tired, bitte

h a prettier backdrop. I was less a stepdaughter and more an unpaid servant. I did

, gave me the worst tasks. The head cook, a large, sour woman named Mrs. Gable, seemed to

her, in a rare moment of wanting to show off, had enrolled me in the best private school in the city. E

far away from here. I would get a good job. By the time I was eighteen, I would be free. T

uting from downstairs. It was Mr. Hayes. I had never heard him raise his voice before. It was a deep, guttur

rage. He was holding a stack of photographs. My mother was on the floor, her dress torn, a

photos at her. They scattered across the marble floor

was too late. She looked up, her face a mask of desperation and

my mother or his father. He was looking straight at me. His expression was one of chi

al revenge. He had been waiting for this, planning for this. My mother' s downfall wa