They Wanted Me to Chaperone My Sister Abroad, So I Vanished Chapter 13

They Wanted Me to Chaperone My Sister Abroad, So I Vanished Chapter 13

Nothing had ever felt as free or as whole as life at the classified research base.

My stellar SAT scores paired with flawless performance on every research project put me at the top of my

mentor’s priority list.

Here, I no longer had to dim my light to appease anyone. No one would punish me for ridiculous, petty reasons, and I was free to claim every honor I’d spent years earning.

My fellow researchers were kind and driven-they admired genuine talent instead of playing the victim, focused only on pushing themselves to keep up.

Every single day felt light and unburdened.

I was utterly stunned to run into Julian in the lab wing next door.

He was the boy who’d bought me cake at that café the day Linda abandoned me at the amusement park. Later, he’d hooked me up with endless remote writing gigs and private tutoring clients so I could save for

university expenses.

His smile had been warm-not the kind that demanded gratitude or left you bracing for fallout.

We crossed paths in the campus cafeteria, and he lit up the second he spotted me. “Bella! I never imagined I’d run into you here of all places! I assumed you’d pick Harvard or MIT without a second thought.”

A soft, easy smile tugged at my lips, my heart light for the first time in years. “What’s wrong with bright young people devoting themselves to national research?”

Julian blinked, then grinned even wider. “You’re absolutely right. With driven, hardworking kids like us, the country’s only bound to thrive.”

“You’ve got such a lovely smile-you should let it show more often. Back in high school, you always wore such a solemn, closed-off expression. It never suited you.”

I dropped my gaze, still smiling faintly. It wasn’t that I’d refused to smile back then; there’d simply been nothing in my suffocating home life to make me happy.

Julian scooped the last fried chicken onto my tray without hesitation. “Eat up. You were far too skinny in high school, but you look so much healthier and grounded now.”

I’d lived under constant, crushing stress back then-no appetite, no chance to put on weight. Now that I’d escaped that toxic household, every part of me felt renewed.

I didn’t turn down the gesture, accepting the drumstick without guilt. “Thanks. I didn’t get this dish in my line,

and I’ve been craving it.”

Julian was nothing like Owen or Marcus. I never had to second-guess accepting his kindness, terrified Linda

would throw a screaming fit. I never braced myself for cruel scolding the second I let myself enjoy

something small and good.

This quiet, uncomplicated peace was everything I’d ever dreamed of.

Days slipped by, full of research, study, and quiet joy. When our next rest day rolled around, we were

permitted to retrieve our personal cell phones for the first stretch of free time since arriving.

Security protocols at the sealed base were strict; phones were locked away most hours, only handed back

briefly to let us check in with family. This was my first chance to look at my device in months.

The screen flooded with unread messages the second I powered it on-almost all warm well-wishes from teachers and classmates, congratulating me on my historic SAT ranking and wishing me a brilliant academic

future.

Page after page held genuine fondness and sincere blessings, and my throat tightened with unshed tears.

So many people out there saw me, liked me, and thought I was worthy of good things-all without me ever

realizing it.

But scrolling to the very top of the inbox, every trace of soft emotion vanished in an instant. Familiar contacts stared back at me: the family who’d made my childhood unbearable.

Dozens of missed calls and hundreds of texts lined the feed.

Early texts were sharp with blame; then, overnight, they turned syrupy-sweet-the exact day they found out

my real score.

The final message burned brighter than all the rest.

They’d thrown a belated college send-off party in my honor, bragging endlessly about its extravagant scale-

far grander than Owen’s celebration years prior.

I was the Miller family’s most accomplished child, they wrote, and I owed it to them to return and parade

their pride for every guest to see.

The party was scheduled for that Sunday, they claimed, thoughtfully timed around my class schedule so my

studies wouldn’t be disrupted.

It read like a handout tossed to a stray dog they’d spent years beating: first break its legs, then dangle a

scrap of meat and act as if they’d gifted it salvation.

Condescending charity, wrapped up as kindness. If I turned it down, I’d be labeled ungrateful and cruel.

I stared at that message for a long while. Nineteen years of swallowed pain hardened into something quiet

and final.

We only had thirty minutes of phone access total. With one minute left on the clock, the girl they’d written off

as “missing” sent them her first reply in months.

[Understood.]

I powered the phone off without hesitation and locked it back in the secure storage vault.

They’d spent my whole life manipulating me, certain a single passive reply meant I’d swallow my pain, show up, and play the perfect, beautiful centerpiece for their party.

They didn’t know I’d left Washington, D.C. entirely. They didn’t know the base barred all outside travel for my first full year of enrollment.

I would never step foot at that fake celebration.