The Billionaire's Stolen Angel: A Painful Return

The inside of the Lincoln was a different planet.

It smelled of sterilized air and leather. The silence was thick, insulated from the world by layers of bulletproof glass and steel. Estelle sat on the edge of the seat, trying to hover so her dirty jeans didn't touch the beige leather.

Across from her, the boy-Harlen-was staring.

He wasn't just looking; he was dissecting. He wore a hoodie that probably cost more than Mrs. Miller's entire trailer. He had a Nintendo Switch in his hands, but he wasn't playing.

"She smells," Harlen said.

He didn't whisper. He said it flatly, like he was commenting on the weather. "Like rot and wet dog. Can we put the partition up?"

Estelle felt the heat rush to her face. She tried to shrink, pulling her arms tight against her sides. She knew she smelled. She had been dragging trash in the sun all morning.

"Harlen," Arthur warned. He was sitting next to the driver, but his eyes were glued to the rearview mirror, watching Estelle. "That is enough."

"What? It's true," Harlen muttered, slouching. "She's gross."

Eleanor opened a small refrigerator built into the side of the car. She pulled out a glass bottle. Evian. The glass was frosted with condensation.

"Here, sweetie," she said softly.

Estelle stared at the bottle. She had only ever drunk water from the hose or the kitchen tap. Water came in plastic or pipes. Not glass.

She reached out, her hand trembling. Her fingernails were rimmed with black dirt. The contrast against the pristine bottle was stark.

"Thank you," she whispered. Her voice sounded rusty.

"I bet she doesn't even know how to open it," Harlen scoffed. He put his headphones on, but left one ear cup off, just to make sure she heard him.

Arthur turned in his seat. His movement was sharp, violent. He reached back and snatched the game console out of Harlen's hands.

"Hey!" Harlen yelled. "I was on the boss level!"

"You don't deserve distractions," Arthur said. His voice was terrifyingly calm. "You need to sit there and think about the fact that your sister has been living in hell while you were leveling up."

He tossed the console onto the empty seat next to him.

Harlen's face went red. He glared at Estelle. Pure, unadulterated hatred. This is your fault, his eyes screamed.

Estelle flinched. "I'm sorry," she blurted out. "Give it back to him. I don't mind. I'm used to... people saying things."

The car went silent.

That was the wrong thing to say. She saw Eleanor's face crumble. Arthur gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather creaked.

"You shouldn't be used to it," Arthur said, his voice thick.

Harlen just rolled his eyes and put both headphones on, blocking them out.

The car slowed. They were turning off the highway.

Estelle looked out the window. The rusted factories and strip malls were gone. Instead, there were trees. Huge, ancient oaks that lined the road like soldiers. The grass was impossibly green, cut so short it looked like carpet.

"Almost there," Eleanor said. She pointed a manicured finger at the horizon. "Look, Elara. That's home."

Estelle pressed her forehead against the cool glass.

In the distance, rising out of the greenery like a castle from a storybook, was a house. No, not a house. An estate. It had white pillars and endless windows and slate roofs.

It was beautiful. And it was terrifying.

Harlen pulled one side of his headphones back. He leaned forward, his voice low so his parents couldn't hear, just for her.

"That's our house," he hissed. "You're just a visitor."

Estelle pulled back from the window. The cold glass left a mark on her forehead. She looked at her lap, at her dirty hands, and she believed him.