The morning light poured through the tall glass windows of the grand estate.
Mark stood near the entrance and checked his leather briefcase.
He was a hardworking businessman who loved his young daughter Clara more than anything in the world.
Since his wife passed away three years ago, Mark had done everything possible to keep Clara safe and happy.
Recently, Mark had married Victoria, believing she would bring warmth back into their quiet home.
Victoria always acted like a kind and loving stepmother whenever Mark was around.
She spoke in a soft voice and offered warm smiles during family dinners.
However, the moment Mark left for his office, Victoria's gentle persona completely vanished.
She treated young Clara like an unwelcomed intruder in the massive house.
Clara sat quietly at the heavy oak dining table with her favorite sketchbook open.
She was drawing a colorful picture of her late mother under a bright blue sky.
Victoria walked into the dining hall with heavy footsteps and stared down at the child.
Victoria: Why are you wasting your time with those silly drawings again?
Clara: It is not silly, it is a picture of my mommy.
Victoria: Your mother is gone, and you need to stop living in the past.
Clara pulled the drawing book closer to her chest and looked away.
Clara: My daddy told me I should always remember her.
Victoria: Your daddy is busy running a real business, so do not bother him with your nonsense.
Victoria snatched the colored pencils right off the wooden table.
Clara felt tears welling up in her small eyes but tried her best not to cry.
She knew that complaining to her father often led to more tension in the house.
Victoria tossed the box of pencils into a deep kitchen drawer with a loud thud.
Victoria: Go up to your bedroom right now and clean up your mess.
Clara: But I was drawing quietly, I was not making any noise.
Victoria: Do not argue with me, little girl.
Clara slowly stood up from the plush chair and wiped her cheeks with her sleeve.
She carried her drawing book up the sweeping white marble staircase to the second floor.
From the top balcony, Clara could hear Victoria talking on her cell phone down in the foyer.
Victoria's voice was sharp and calculating, completely different from how she spoke to Mark.
Victoria: He still has not signed the updated trust fund documents yet.
Victoria: If that girl remains the sole heir, I will get nothing if something happens.
Clara leaned against the polished wooden railing and listened closely to the cold words.
She did not fully understand what a trust fund was, but she knew Victoria sounded mean.
Victoria paced back and forth across the shiny marble floor below.
Victoria: I need to convince Mark that she is emotionally unstable and needs boarding school.
Victoria: Once she is out of the house, I can handle the rest of the estate.
Clara gasped softly and pressed her small hand against her chest in fear.
She did not want to be sent away to a distant boarding school away from her father.
Victoria heard the faint noise from above and stopped dead in her tracks.
She slowly turned around and locked her sharp eyes onto the balcony stairwell.
Victoria: Who is up there listening to my private conversation?
Clara backed away from the edge of the railing as quickly as her feet could move.
Her heart beat fast like a trapped bird inside a tiny cage.
Victoria began walking up the grand marble stairs with slow, measured steps.
Every step seemed to echo loudly off the massive, empty white walls of the mansion.
Clara ran down the hallway toward her bedroom to escape her stepmother's cold gaze.