Back From Prison, Built For Revenge - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

After the tense, explosive "family reunion", Chloe pushed open the door to her old room. A familiar scent washed over her.
It was as if the last three years had never happened. Only the ivy on the windowsill showed the passage of time, its leaves yellowed and brittle—a mirror to her own withered youth.
She walked to the window, her fingers tracing the dying leaves. The memories weren't a tide; they were a flood, threatening to drown her. The warmth of what this room once was, ripped to shreds by the reality of what had happened since. Yolanda had taken her place, while she had endured humiliation and pain in a concrete cell.
"Miss, I've been taking care of this plant for you," a soft voice rang behind her.
Chloe turned. It was Demi Lane, a maid who had served the Stone family for years. She stood in the doorway, her face arranged in a gentle smile.
"Thank you," Chloe said, her voice flat.
Demi, however, seemed undeterred, bustling into the room. "Oh, miss, it's been so hard on you. But you're back now, and that's what matters."
Chloe watched her eyes dart around the room. The warmth felt rehearsed, setting Chloe on edge. Was Demi here to be helpful, or had she been sent to watch her? She pondered.
"Demi, you can go," Chloe said, turning her back. "I don't need any help unpacking."
Demi faltered, but followed her order. "Of course, miss. I'll be right outside if you need anything." With that, she left the room.
Chloe didn't respond, simply closing the door with a soft click. She leaned against the cool wood, took a deep breath, and found the air still wouldn't reach her lungs. The weight on her chest was suffocating.
After unpacking, she took a shower. In the bathroom, hot water gushed down, filling the air with steam. The mirror fogged over, blurring Chloe's reflection along with it. She swept the damp hair to reveal a pale, haggard face.
Three years behind bars had left their mark on her, not just on her body, but on her spirit too. But she refused to let anyone see her weakness, not even Demi, who stood there with a forced smile, trying to win her over.
After changing her clothes, she stepped out of the room and headed straight for her grandmother Evelyn's room. But before she could reach it, a tall figure blocked her path. It was Hayden.
"You're planning to see Grandma looking like that?" said Hayden. His eyes swept over her, and his brow furrowed.
Chloe glanced down at herself. The dress was plain, and she noticed for the first time a small, almost invisible tear near the hem.
A cold smile touched her lips. "When did you become the fashion police, Hayden?" she asked.
"Grandma isn't well. You'll worry her," Hayden stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Oh?" Chloe arched an eyebrow. "And what would you have me do? Put on a pretty dress and pretend the last three years were a holiday?"
Her words hit their mark. Guilt flickered in Hayden's eyes before the mask of indifference slammed back down. "Regardless. You're not going in."
"On what grounds?" Chloe took a step closer, her voice dropping to a frigid whisper. "Because I'm a criminal? Or because I'm not a real Stone?"
Hayden's jaw clenched, but he didn't answer. Nothing he could say would change the choice he'd made—to protect Yolanda, he had personally thrown Chloe to the wolves.
As they stood locked in a stalemate, a frail voice, yet one that still held its familiar authority, drifted from the room. "Who is making such a fuss?"
Hayden's expression shifted. He quickly pushed the door open to go inside, but Chloe was faster, stepping across the threshold before he could stop her.
"Grandma, it's me," Chloe said. Her voice was low and hoarse, but a tremor she couldn't suppress ran through it.
Evelyn Stone on the bed slowly opened her eyes and met Chloe's gaze. "Chloe, you're back... " she breathed. A single tear escaped the corner of her eye.
Her words shattered the armor around Chloe's heart. She sat down by the bedside, taking Evelyn's hand in hers. "Yes Grandma. I'm back."
Hayden stood frozen by the door, a storm of emotions warring on his face as he watched the scene. He wanted to intervene, but the words wouldn't come.
It hit him then—a sudden, gut-wrenching realization that no matter what had happened, he owed her an apology. But the guilt, arriving three years too late, could never undo the damage he had done.
Later that evening, the family gathered for a tense dinner. The air was thick with unspoken words, and each family member wore a different mask: polite fiction, cold indifference, nervous apprehension. It was a silent, bitter war.
"Chloe, you've just returned home, so we had the kitchen prepare all your favorites," Phoebe said, raising a wine glass with a practiced, welcoming air. "We hope you like it."
Chloe didn't pick up her forks. Instead, she pushed up her sleeve, revealing a latticework of pale, jagged scars. "I was very well taken care of, thank you. Your family's 'care' was unforgettable."
The air crackled and died. Everyone stared, frozen—even Yolanda, whose prim and proper smile was fixed in place. The sight of the scars was a slap in the face, tearing away the family's carefully constructed facade.
"My god!" Phoebe gasped, reaching for Chloe's arm. "What... what happened to you?"
"Just part of the prison etiquette," Chloe said, her voice dangerously calm. "Surely you knew?"
Her words were another blade, twisting in the guilt of everyone present. Yolanda's eyes immediately welled up. She choked out, "Chloe, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. If only back then... "
"Stop it!" Chloe slammed her palm on the table. The sound cracked through the room. She stared at Yolanda's pitiful, tear-streaked face. "Save your crocodile tears, Yolanda. They're disgusting."
Silence. No one dared to speak. Finally, Hayden, who had been watching from the head of the table, broke. "That's enough! This is a family dinner. Stop making a scene!"
"A 'family dinner'?" Chloe laughed, a short, sharp, ugly sound. "You didn't seem to think I was 'family' when you threw me out of this house three years ago, did you?"