I Begged The Real Heiress To Take My Life Away Chapter 08

I Begged The Real Heiress To Take My Life Away Chapter 08

Josie froze.

My eyes burned, but I didn’t cry this time.

“You can hate me.”

“But don’t you dare say I had it easy.”

“Someone like me, living inside a house full of geniuses, every single day felt like a public execution.”

“I don’t want to fight you for any of it.”

“I really don’t.”

“You want the Sterling daughter title? It’s yours.”

“You want the clothes, the jewelry? Yours.”

“You want the parents and the brother? Also yours.”

“But can you please stop stabbing me with one hand while complaining my bleeding looks ugly?”

The living room went dead silent.

Josie’s face slowly drained of color.

For the first time, the look Eleanor gave me wasn’t quite so cold.

Weston opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Sebastian said, low: “Daisy…”

I took a step back.

“Don’t call me that.”

“I came back today just to say all of this out loud.”

“I’m not here to compete for love.”

“I’m not a cushion between the two of you.”

“And I’m definitely not a tool for you to prove you still have some warmth left in you.”

“Starting today, I’m going back to the Doyles.”

“None of you come after me.”

With that, I turned and walked out.

Nobody stopped me this time.

The tears didn’t come until I was already through the Sterling front doors.

Not from sadness.

From relief.

So much relief.

Like a breath I’d been holding for eighteen years finally let go.

Outside, Frank was waiting on his little electric scooter.

A bag of hot biscuits sat in the front basket.

He saw me crying and nearly tipped the scooter over in a panic.

“Sweetheart, who hurt you?”

I wiped my eyes and climbed on the back.

“No one.”

“I won the argument.”

Frank blinked, then straightened his spine with pride.

“Good!”

“My girl’s amazing!”

I wrapped my arms around his waist, and the tears started again.

This time because someone had actually praised me.

The scooter puttered off down the street.

The night air was cool.

Frank called back over his shoulder.

“What do you want to eat?”

I shouted, voice cracking:

“Pot roast!”

“Done!”

“And fried chicken!”

“Buying it!”

“And a whole milkshake, full sugar!”

Frank hesitated for a second.

“Your mom says too much sugar’s no good.”

My chest tightened.

So even here, parents were the same everywhere, huh.

Then Frank lowered his voice.

“We’ll drink it in secret. Just the two of us.”

I burst out laughing through the tears.

That was the first real win of my entire life.

Not humiliating the real heiress.

Not making the Sterlings regret anything.

Just finally sitting on the back of my real dad’s scooter, allowed to shout out loud whatever I wanted to eat.