"A pretty smile doesn't mean she feels pretty on the inside." - Unknown.

Saying I am lost is a massive understatement. Three months ago, I lost both my parents and my home all in one go. It's stupid, really, how life can go from almost perfect to absolute garbage in a second. But that's the beauty of life—how things don't go as you plan it.

The view out the window catches my attention. Dead trees of various sizes blur together as the taxi speeds down the road. "So, what brings you to such an expensive city?" the driver asks, pulling my attention from the window. I tuck a braid behind my ear and glance at him.

"My parents," I reply, keeping it short. The last thing I want is to get into details. Mentioning death always draws pity, and that's the one thing I neither want nor need.

"They must be really influential to afford a place in such an expensive neighborhood," he says, his eyes flicking from the rearview mirror back to the road.

My lips curl into a fake smile that doesn't reach my eyes. 'Yeah, sure. They're probably influencing all the dead people to do good deeds. Not that it matters anymore.'

A sigh escapes my lips as my phone vibrates. Glancing at the screen, I spot a message from Aunt Adebisi.

"Coconut, you go show them say no matter wetin, you be strong pikin. Carry your head up, my dear. We dey your back always." ("Coconut, you will show them that no matter what, you're a strong child. Hold your head high, my dear. We are always behind you.")

Aunt Bisi is my favorite person, second only to Cerviché and my parents. Just six months ago, she made me a bridesmaid at her wedding. My thumbs slide across the pull-out keyboard of my mom's old BlackBerry, typing a response. Pidgin is our shared language—she doesn't speak fluent English, and I barely know Yoruba.

I hit send quickly and let my head fall back against the headrest. Pain pounds through my skull, relentless, like a jackhammer splitting it in two.

Aunty Bisi, why I no fit stay with you? Why una carry me go people wey I never even meet before? Wetin if dem no like me? ("Aunty Bisi, why couldn't I stay with you? Why did you send me to people I've never even met before? What if they don't like me?")

The taxi driver keeps talking, his attempts at small talk blending into the hum of the engine. I tune him out, my attention elsewhere. Conversation has never been my thing—unless it's with Mama, Papa, Cerviché, or the rest of my family in Ijebu Ode. Cerviché, though, was different. He was the best pet ever. Hell, he was my only friend.

The taxi pulls up to a winding road, each house more impressive than the last. We drive up a steep, twisting hill, passing through a rose-gold gate guarded by lion statues. The driveway stretches out, a mile-long path leading up to the house. My stomach sinks as I take in the view.

In the center of the driveway stands a water fountain with a little stone boy peeing. All I can see are his stone buttocks. The entrance is grand but feels cold and uninviting. Double mahogany doors rise at the top of the steps; framed by an oak tree and floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Your parents must be loaded," the driver says, cutting the engine. A fake smile tugs at my lips. "You're really fortunate. Make sure you treat your parents well," he adds.

"..." I don't know how to respond; his words feel like a dagger to my chest. "Thanks," I manage, pulling the sunglasses down over my eyes as tears threaten to fall.

Mama always told me, "bùnmi, life no easy o, but no let anybody see say you weak. No matter wetin happen, stand gidigba like strong pikin wey you be. Remember, you carry strength inside you, and nobody fit take am from you."("My gift, life isn't easy, but don't let anyone see that you're weak. No matter what happens, stand firm like the strong child you are. Remember, you have strength inside you, and no one can take it from you.")

When I open the door, my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. The cold air hits me, and with it comes an overwhelming sense of unease.

Stepping out of the taxi with the last of my belongings, I lock eyes with the beast. The dark brown and black Rottweiler bares its teeth, growling as it charges in my direction. Panic surges through me, my feet frozen to the ground as if they've become part of it. Dogs—I'm not a fan, and I probably never will be. 'Don't just stand there lookin' dumb—run, Samantha!'

A scream bursts from my lips, and without thinking, I drop my stuff and sprint for the nearest tree. I scramble up, my limbs shaking with fear. "Stay back, you mangy hound!" I shout, trying to steady my breath as the K9 snarls below.

I sit on the branch, hugging the trunk for support with one hand, and pull my phone out of my pocket to send a text to someone who lives here. But before I can hit send, the phone slips from my hands and lands on the ground below. I notice the cab driver driving away as it starts to pour. 'Just my luck...'

The red long-sleeve flannel sticks to me like a second skin. It feels like half an hour has passed as my behind begins to feel sore, just as someone approaches the scene. "Havoc, what are you doing out here?" the boy down below asks before he looks up in my direction. "Oh, you're either Maddy's cousin Samantha or a burglar."

"I definitely ain't no robber," I say, glaring at the Rottweiler, who now sits beside him looking all innocent. 'That thing is a hellhound.' Slowly, I start my descent down the tree, gripping the trunk tightly as I go.

"I'm Damien," he says once my feet touch the ground. "You're going to love being a Vanderbilt. They're the coolest people you'll ever meet."

"I am a Vanderbilt," I correct him, brushing dirt off my damp jeans.

"Oh, right, because of your dad," he says quickly, his voice faltering. I nod slowly, shivering as the cold begins to seep into my back. "My bad," he adds awkwardly. "Sorry for your lost." 'So begins the pity trail.'

I pull my phone out to check it, only to see water pouring out of it. It refuses to turn on. 'Goshnabit.'

"How are we related?" I ask, brushing past him to pick up my belongings scattered across the wet ground.

"Oh, we're not. Maddy and I are childhood friends, so I stop by a lot," he explains, bending to grab my suitcase before I can.

"Thanks," I mutter, slinging my soaked backpack over one shoulder. Water drips from the straps, and I wince at the squelching sound it makes.

"I'll show you to your room so you can change," Damien offers, the Rottweiler trailing behind him.

"What time is it?" I ask, following him inside. He glances at the flashy watch on his wrist.

"Just a bit after six-thirty. Dory and the old man should be home soon," Damien says, glancing at his watch again.

I freeze. When I was stuck in the tree, my phone said it was five o'clock. I'd been sitting in the rain for over a damn hour.

"Ian, can you help me?" a voice calls from upstairs. I look up to see a blonde girl standing on the landing, a tiny dog tucked under her arm. 'Great, anotha one.'

"I need your help with the tarp," she says, shifting the dog in her arms.

"I'll get to it after I show Samantha to her room," Damien replies, gesturing for me to follow him up the steps. "Just up here."

"Oh, she's here already? I thought Dory was picking her up after work," the blonde girl says, her gaze sweeping over me. "You don't look like any of the pictures," she states bluntly.

"Neither do you," I reply, giving her a once-over of my own. My tongue grazes my braces as I flash her a fake, closed-mouth smile, which she matches with one just as insincere.

"Right, everyone always tells me I look way prettier in person," she says, her blue eyes locking on my light brown ones. "Don't worry, Ian, I can show her around since I'm on my way to grab something anyway."

My soaked black jeans stick to my legs, itching and clinging like a second skin. "Great. Here you go, Samantha," Damien says, handing me my suitcase. "I'll be outside getting ready for the welcome party tomorrow."

"Right this way, Sammy. Do you mind if I call you Sammy? Whatever, I'm going to call you Sammy," she says, spinning on her heel and heading down the hall. I trail after her, barely paying attention to the walls lined with gold-framed abstract paintings. Why anyone needs this many overpriced, meaningless decorations is beyond me.

AN: Oml I hate doing these things but figure what the hay why not. Please don't be afraid to tell me what you think so far.

How do you guys feel about Samantha, Damien, and Madison so far? (if you were here for the original version you might have noticed the name change)

What do you think what kind of pet Cerviché is? (don't answer if you've seen the first and second version.)

If i made any grammar mistakes please let me know, starting from scratch... again so its only the first draft.

I'm going to try my best to post regularly and finish a chapter daily. What days would you like to see updates on? (updating once a week right now but may post more if i have a big enough back log)

With the help of a very special writing tool i have some special extra content planned out so stay tuned, our be'love'd grandfather is coming next.

See you soon you beautiful Jems

~Jules ❤️