From Unwanted To Dominator: Her Comeback! Chapter 02

From Unwanted To Dominator: Her Comeback! Chapter 02

Chapter 2 Three Rules
I was brought back home when I turned six.
Not because they’d suddenly grown to love me—but because Doris, the nanny who raised me, had retired.
That was also the first time I ever saw Jasmine.
She was wearing a pink princess dress, surrounded by scattered dolls in the living room.
Mom sat beside her, patiently coaxing spoonfuls of food into her mouth with soft murmurs and gentle smiles.
Dad led me through the front door.
The moment Jasmine saw me, her expression went cold.
Her brows pinched together like she’d just spotted something dirty—something that didn’t belong.
“Jasmine,” Dad said gently, “this is your little sister, Annie Hayes.”
I stood frozen, barely whispering, “Sister…”
Mom’s frown deepened instantly.
Jasmine stared at me for a long moment.
Then her lip trembled, and she burst into tears. “Mom! You said I was the only princess in this house! Why do I have a sister now? And why is she wearing my favorite pink dress?! That’s my color! Only I’m allowed to wear it!”
“Jasmine, sweetie, don’t cry! Don’t cry, baby!” Mom’s voice melted into honey the second her daughter sobbed.
She pulled Jasmine into her arms, wiping away tears with feather-light touches—so tender it hurt to watch.
It was the same woman who’d looked at me seconds ago like I was trash on her shoe.
While cradling Jasmine, Mom snapped her head toward me. Her eyes—sharp as ice-coated blades—pierced right through me.
“Who told you you could wear pink?” Her voice cracked like a whip. “Don’t you know that’s Jasmine’s color?”
I flinched, rooted to the spot, too scared to move or speak.
Dad cleared his throat, voice strained and dry. “Claire Hayes… she just got here. It’s just a dress…”
But Mom wasn’t listening. In one furious motion, she lunged forward and grabbed the fabric of my dress.
With a harsh rip, she tore it clean down the front.
The force yanked me off balance, and I crashed onto the hardwood floor.
Pain shot up my arm. I screamed—not just from the fall, but from the shock, the shame, the crushing weight of betrayal. I cried until my throat burned, sobbing like my heart was splitting open.
That dress… Doris had helped me put it on that morning. She’d smiled, smoothing the fabric with pride. “Annie, you look so pretty in this. Your mom’s gonna be so happy to see you.”
But Mom wasn’t happy. She was furious—and she’d shredded that hope along with the dress.
She loomed over me, voice low and final.
“You listen well. In this house, Jasmine is the only princess. Always. Starting today—you will never wear dresses. You will never grow your hair long. And you will never, ever take anything that belongs to Jasmine. Do you understand?!”
Those “Three Rules” branded themselves into my six-year-old soul like red-hot iron.
Above us, the living room light cast a harsh, sterile glare over Mom’s face—cold, unyielding, absolute.
Cradling Jasmine like a sacred relic, she stood like a goddess guarding her temple, shutting me out forever.
Dad opened his mouth—maybe to protest, maybe to comfort me. But in the end, he just let out a heavy, exhausted sigh and turned away.
From that day on, the “Three Rules” became law.
My closet filled only with dull pants, oversized T-shirts, and shapeless athletic wear—all in gray, navy, black. No color. No joy.
Just a permanent shadow I wore every day.
I never owned a hair clip. My hair stayed cropped short, bristly like a hedgehog’s back.
The boys called me “tomboy.”
The girls wouldn’t even look at me.