CHAPTER ELEVEN

Once, Nathaniel Cruz had been everything to Maya. Her hero. Her protector. The best—and only—brother she could ever want. She had idolized him as a child, following him around like a shadow, wide-eyed and eager to soak up his attention. His laughter had been her favourite sound, and his words of encouragement had lifted her spirits even when their parents' relentless criticism tried to tear her down.

But those days felt like a lifetime ago.

The moment Nathaniel became their parents' shining star—the perfect, elite son who embodied all of their impossible standards—everything Maya loved about him began to crumble. His fierce loyalty was replaced with ambition, his warmth with cold indifference. The brother who once held her hand when she cried over scraped knees now saw her as a stumbling block, a flaw in the family's polished image.

One moment, he was still her brother, offering a rare smile or a kind word. The next, he was a mirror of their parents, echoing their disdain, turning his back on her with eyes full of judgment. It wasn't a gradual drift—it was a hard, merciless severing of the bond they once shared.

Weeks passed after Maya's heart-to-heart with Leah, and the lingering thoughts of returning to her parents' home had finally faded. But she still needed to confront them—to make it clear, once and for all, that she had no intention of going back to live under their roof.

The weekend trip was inevitable, though she dreaded it. Her parents weren't the type to accept defiance easily. She knew them too well—their vanity, their obsession with appearances—and if she wanted them to let her go without a fight, she needed to play their game.

The airport was her first reminder of how little she mattered to them. Her flight landed on time, and she waited by the terminal, scanning the crowd for her parents' familiar faces. But instead of them, it was Nathaniel who appeared, arm-in-arm with his picture-perfect girlfriend—a flawless, poised young woman who radiated charm. Her parents greeted the couple with joy and open arms, oblivious to Maya standing awkwardly nearby, clutching her luggage.

No one noticed her.

No one asked how her flight had been.

Not a single word was spared for her arrival.

They were too busy showering Nathaniel with praise, their attention glued to his triumphant return and the poised, graceful woman at his side. His girlfriend—polished and picture-perfect—was everything their parents adored: sophisticated, successful, and carefully curated for their approval.

Maya watched in stunned silence as they swarmed around him, her presence reduced to a shadow at the edge of their celebration. Her fingers gripped the handle of her suitcase as they laughed and hugged, oblivious to the youngest member of their family standing right there.

The car ride home should have been her chance to settle back into this world, but when they reached the vehicle, she felt her stomach drop. Every inch of space was filled with her brother's girlfriend's luggage. Maya stared at the overflowing trunk and the bags crammed onto the seats.

Nathaniel didn't even offer to help her. He didn't even look at her.

The door slammed shut with a dull thud. He leaned out of the half-open window, his tone casual and dismissive, as if he were asking her to grab him a coffee instead of solving an actual problem. "Just call a taxi."

Maya blinked. "Are you kidding—"

But the car had already pulled away, its taillights disappearing into the distance.

Her heart lurched painfully, her breath catching in her throat. She stood frozen, gripping her suitcase so tightly her knuckles turned white. The humiliation burned through her, sharp and suffocating.

Her voice, raw with disbelief and anger, spilt out in a whisper. "What the actual fuck?"

Her fingers fumbled as she pulled out her phone, shaking with fury as she hailed a cab. The soft click of the screen felt so small, so insignificant compared to the churning storm inside her.

The ride to the house was quiet, but the silence wasn't peaceful. It pressed against her like a weight, heavy and suffocating. She stared out the window, the city lights blurring as her mind raced with thoughts that wouldn't slow down.

This—this was exactly why she didn't belong here.

Leah's blunt, unvarnished truths echoed in her head. The Clearwater house was rough around the edges, filled with noise, teasing, and moments of messy, imperfect love. It was everything this place wasn't. It was warm. Real.

Here, her worth was measured by accomplishments she never cared for, by standards she never asked to be held to.

This wasn't home.

These weren't the people who made her feel safe or wanted.

Her gaze dropped to her lap as the cab turned into the driveway of the house that once felt familiar, her heart heavy with the realization that she had already made her choice long before this moment.

She was never coming back.

That night, after what felt like an eternity of being invisible, her parents finally acknowledged her presence—just barely—when they invited her to dinner. The gesture was more out of obligation than genuine interest, and Maya could feel it in the air. She sat across from Nathaniel and his girlfriend, who looked as if she had stepped out of a glossy magazine. They were the perfect couple—an image of effortless grace and romance, holding hands under the dim light as they exchanged sweet nothings. Maya fought to keep her composure, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping. Their voices were soft and affectionate, the kind of whispers that might have been sweet under different circumstances, but tonight, they only grated on Maya's nerves.

Her parents, the same parents who had barely spared her a second glance since her arrival, now beamed with pride as they lavished attention on Nathaniel. He was their shining star, the one who always made them proud, and always did what was expected of him. As he detailed his latest accomplishments, his voice dripping with self-importance, Maya couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of resentment. His every word seemed designed to earn their admiration, each success recounted like a story they were all meant to marvel at. She stared down at her plate, pushing her food around with her fork, the motion almost mechanical. The conversation swirled around her like static—words she couldn't care less about, discussions she had no stake in.

No one asked her how she was doing. No one cared.

This wasn't a family—it was a performance. A performance in which she had been relegated to the background, cast aside for the sake of keeping up appearances.

And she was done playing her part.

As the dinner dragged on, the patience she had left was wearing thin, unravelling like a loose thread. Every boast Nathaniel made, every carefully crafted statement of achievement, was another reminder of how far he had fallen from the brother she once knew. She had loved him, had looked up to him, and for a while, he had been the only one who had made her feel like she mattered. But now, he was no different from their parents—obsessed with approval, with perfection, with living up to expectations that meant nothing to her.

Each of his accomplishments felt like a weight pressing down on her chest, suffocating her with its perfection. It wasn't jealousy that made her grip the fork tighter. It was the sharp realization that she didn't want what he had. She didn't want their kind of approval, their kind of life. She wanted freedom—from their control, from their suffocating demands, from the need to constantly measure up.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt to watch Nathaniel bask in the praise she had long stopped hoping for.

"...And of course, once the next phase of the project is completed, my team and I will be attending the elite conference in San Francisco," Nathaniel announced with a smug grin, his eyes gleaming with pride. "They personally requested me to present the findings."

Their father's face lit up with approval. "Excellent work, Nathaniel. That's exactly what I expect from you."

Their mother raised her glass, her smile so wide it almost felt rehearsed. "To Nathaniel. Always making us proud."

Maya swallowed the bitterness that rose in her throat, forcing a smile that felt foreign to her lips. It didn't reach her eyes, but no one seemed to notice.

Nathaniel flicked a glance in her direction, his eyes sharp and calculating, like he was waiting for her to say something wrong, something to embarrass him or ruin the moment. He was always waiting for her to slip up, always expecting her to be the screw-up.

"So, Maya," her mother said, her voice laced with thinly veiled politeness, "how's school? Still adjusting to... what's it called again? La Push?"

Maya's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the name. Home.

"Yeah, it's great," she answered, keeping her tone calm, and steady. "It's exactly where I want to be."

Her mother's smile tightened, and for a brief moment, Maya saw the flicker of something—a hint of disapproval, perhaps, or just the realization that her daughter was no longer fitting into the box they had created for her. "I see."

Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine with an air of superiority. "Must be quite a change from city life. All that wilderness. Must be hard keeping up."

"I'm managing just fine," Maya replied coolly, her voice steady.

"Managing?" He chuckled as if the idea of Maya succeeding was a joke. "I thought you always dreamed bigger than that."

Maya set her fork down with deliberate care, her hand steady as she met his gaze. For the first time in a long while, she didn't feel small. "I don't need to prove anything to anyone, Nathaniel."

His smirk faltered, just for a second, but it was enough to make Maya feel a surge of something fierce—a sense of power she hadn't felt in years.

"Unlike some people," she added softly, each word landing like a dagger.

The room seemed to freeze, the clinking of silverware halting, the air thick with tension. Her parents exchanged a glance, but neither of them said a word. Nathaniel's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing, but he remained silent.

Maya's heart pounded in her chest—not with fear, but with liberation.

She stood slowly, pushing her chair back with a soft scrape against the floor. "If you'll excuse me," she said, her voice firm. "It's been a long day, and I need some rest."

Without waiting for permission, without looking back, she walked away. Each step was steady, her head held high.

When she reached her room, she closed the door behind her with a quiet click, then leaned against it, letting out a long breath. Her pulse was still racing, but this time it wasn't from anxiety—it was from the rush of taking control, of standing up for herself in a way she never had before.

For the first time in years, Maya didn't feel like the forgotten daughter. She didn't feel like the unwanted shadow in Nathaniel's perfect world.

She felt like herself.

And for now, that was more than enough.