The Apple Of Their Eye

Sloane stood her ground on the pristine cobblestone, dissecting the twisted logic that governed her biological family’s minds. In the eyes of the Sinclairs, she somehow owed Chloe simply for having the audacity to return to them alive, walking free from the prison sentence she had just finished serving entirely on Chloe's behalf. It was pure delusion.

She reflected on the utter absurdity of her existence. These were the people who had actively poured money into seeking out their long-lost biological daughter. Yet, the absolute second she arrived, they treated her like a repulsive intruder. She wondered bitterly why they had even bothered bringing her back. If they genuinely believed Chloe was a perfect enough replica to completely replace their actual flesh and blood, why shatter Sloane’s peace? Perhaps it was exactly this—perhaps they just needed Sloane to be a captive audience, forcing her to watch from the sidelines as they shamelessly spoiled the adopted child who had stolen her life.

The palpable, cutting sarcasm swimming in Sloane’s dark eyes immediately struck a nerve. Julian’s handsome face darkened with sudden hostility. Unable to handle the suffocating weight of the truth, he furiously deflected, choosing his usual route of blind accusation.

"If you hadn't been so reckless and selfish, Chlo wouldn't have ended up in that mess to begin with!" Julian aggressively claimed, taking a menacing step forward.

Sloane didn't flinch. She met his furious glare head-on, fiercely shooting back, "What mess, exactly?"

She demanded to know what twisted version of reality he was clinging to. She was fully aware—and knew they were too—that Chloe was the one firmly behind the wheel during that fatal hit-and-run.

Sensing the conversation rapidly shifting toward incredibly dangerous territory, Chloe swiftly intervened. She entirely pivoted the focus with the practiced grace of a seasoned actress. She turned her sweet gaze toward the silent man standing nearby. "Derek," she urged smoothly, "didn't you say you wanted to visit Grandpa Arthur? Let's go inside."

Derek’s brooding eyes flicked over to Sloane. "You're not coming along?" he inquired indifferently.

Chloe eagerly agreed, masking her true intentions behind a bright smile. "Of course she is coming!"

"I am," Sloane confirmed, her eyes lighting up at the mere mention of her grandfather.

She took a step forward, but Julian’s iron grip clamped down heavily on her arm, physically halting her progress. His fingers dug painfully into her skin. He sneered in absolute disgust, his gaze raking critically over her appearance. He surveyed the faded, worn, and entirely out-of-style dress hanging off her thin frame—the exact same dress she had kept from before her devastating three-year prison sentence.

"You are actually planning to show up in front of Grandpa looking like that?" Julian violently accused, his voice contemptuous. "What, trying to tattle on us? Trying to look destitute so he pities you for our mistreatment?"

Sloane stared at her sleeves. In prison, there was only the rough fabric of the uniform. She had meticulously preserved this dress, but after three years, it was undeniably faded. Yet, it was clean. She refused to argue over fabric when Arthur was waiting.

"I don't have a change of clothes," she stated flatly, ignoring his juvenile provocation.

Julian’s jaw tightened. "Come with me," he ordered coldly.

Without waiting for a response, he aggressively led Sloane upstairs. As they moved through the massive villa, Sloane noted how unfamiliar the space felt. Every lavish detail screamed of Chloe’s refined tastes. When they paused outside the heavy oak door of what used to be Sloane's bedroom, Julian shot her a callous look.

"You've been gone for three years," he informed her casually. "No one has been using your room. So, we gutted it. It is Chlo's walk-in closet now."

Sloane’s face remained a blank slate. She looked inside as he shoved the door open. The space that had once held her meager belongings had been entirely erased, replaced by a physical monument to Chloe's extreme materialism and absolute dominance. Transparent wardrobes lined the walls from floor to ceiling, resembling an exclusive, high-end department store display. Rows of designer gowns and endless shelves of luxury bags occupied every square inch of Sloane’s former sanctuary.

Julian marched into the room and dug into a forgotten corner. He tossed a discarded outfit toward Sloane.

"These are merely clothes Chlo doesn't like," he stated cruelly. "I am warning you, she despises anyone touching her things. Wear it, and throw it away if you don't want it when you're done. Don't put it back."

Unbothered by his attempts to humiliate her, Sloane didn't argue. She changed into the slightly loose sweater. She ignored his freezing attitude, her mind entirely walled off from the stinging reality of her erased existence. Her thoughts were entirely focused on her sole objective: seeing Arthur.

She walked quickly past Julian, desperate to leave the villa behind. However, the exact moment she stepped out of the heavy front doors to head toward her grandfather's residence, any bubbling joy she felt was instantly annihilated.

She was abruptly intercepted by her mother.

"Sloane... you're finally home," Eleanor Sinclair gasped. Her elegant voice choked up dramatically as she rushed forward, reaching out for a sweeping, maternal embrace.

Acting on hardened survival instinct, Sloane physically stepped back. She sharply rejected the touch, leaving Eleanor grasping at empty air.

Eleanor’s face immediately fell into an expression of profound sorrow. "Sloane," she tearfully asked, her lower lip trembling, "are you blaming me?"

Sloane's internal monologue screamed with bitter irony. She mentally questioned the sheer audacity of the tears. Wasn't she supposed to blame the very woman who sent her to suffer in a cell? This woman had actively traded her biological daughter's freedom for the adopted one's comfort, and now she was demanding absolution?

Refusing to play the role of the compliant, forgiving daughter, Sloane kept her posture rigid. She replied with a hoarse, intensely distant voice.

"Mrs. Sinclair," Sloane stated cleanly, severing the maternal bond, "I am going to see Grandpa."

Eleanor swayed dramatically on her heels, looking as if physically struck by the formal title. Her elegant, fragile face streamed with devastated tears. Looking at her, Sloane felt a sharp ache remembering how desperately she had once yearned for Eleanor’s gentle affection—a softness Eleanor had exclusively weaponized to manipulate her. The only time Eleanor had ever spoken to Sloane with true tenderness was when passionately convincing her to go to prison in Chloe’s place. That memory made an absolute mockery of the current tears.

Seeing her adoptive mother cry out in emotional agony, Chloe immediately rushed over. Chloe's own eyes instantly welled up with perfectly timed, sympathetic tears.

"Mom, why are you crying?" Chloe gasped, executing a masterclass in manipulation. She threw her arms around Eleanor, turning her weeping eyes toward Sloane. "Sloane, if you are mad, please, take your anger out on me! Just don't make Mom this sad!"

Chloe’s voice was breaking beautifully, centering herself as the ultimate victim. "She has been skipping meals and losing sleep over you for weeks. She has completely worn herself out waiting for you. You might not care, but I do!"

Unable to bear seeing the adopted daughter she had so lovingly raised in such distress, Eleanor immediately snapped out of her own grief. She wiped her own tears to comfort the crying girl in her arms, successfully drawing her protective affection entirely away from the actual victim standing a few feet away.

"Chlo, sweetie, don't cry," Eleanor hushed, her tone dripping with tenderness.

Chloe bit her lip, looking heartbreakingly pitiful as she buried her face in Eleanor's shoulder. "Mom, Sloane has every right to resent me. I deserve it. If it weren't for me, she would have gotten all your love. I stole it from her."

"This isn't your fault, Chlo. Don't overthink it," Eleanor said patiently. The two of them stood together, looking especially warm and close.