Chapter 8 Vanessa stood in the middle of the living room like she owned it-like Taylor never existed. "Take all of this out!" she barked, pointing at the bookshelf stacked with Taylor's old novels and framed drawings. "I want every single trace of her out of this house. Burn them, throw them-l don't care. Just get them out of my sight." Two housekeepers hesitated at first, unsure. But Vanessa clapped her hands sharply. "Now!" They flinched at her tone and obeyed, quickly gathering photo albums, Taylor's sketches, and framed wedding photos into boxes. Items that once filled the house with quiet warmth were now nothing but clutter in Vanessa's eyes. Clutter she intended to erase. As the boxes piled up, Vanessa rummaged through one and found the wedding portrait-Taylor in white, her smile soft and reserved, beside Troy, who even then looked distracted. Distant. A man who was there, but not truly hers. Vanessa scoffed. It always annoyed her-how Taylor, the quieter one, the good daughter, always seemed to wir their parents' praise. Even when she ran away all those years ago, it was Taylor who was consoled. It was Taylor who stayed behind, who got comfort, who wore the role of "the strong one." She used to lie awake at night, stewing in resentment. How Taylor always got to be the dependable one, the beloved one, the "better" sister. While she, Vanessa, was too loud, too rebellious, too emotional. Their parents told her to be more like Taylor. Be calmer. Be more obedient. So, she left. And when she came back-when she found out Taylor had taken what was once hers-she knew she had to take it back. Not just Troy, but everything. The house. The title. The peace of mind Taylor used to flaunt. Now she had it all. Vanessa clutched the photo with venom in her eyes. "You took five years from me, sister," she muttered. "Now I'll take back the rest of your life." She tossed the frame into the flames rising in the backyard's metal drum. The glass cracked under the heat, the image of Taylor and Troy curling and blackening as smoke filled the air. She turned with a satisfied smile just as Troy walked outside. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, eyes narrowing as he rushed forward and yanked the frame-now half-burnt-out of the fire. Vanessa tilted her head, arms crossed lazily. "Burning her memories. It's time we cleaned house, don't you think?" He pulled the frame from the fire with a gloved hand, hissing when it singed his fingers. "I never told you to get rid of her things." Vanessa blinked. "Why not? She's not coming back. This was your idea, remember? To get rid of her eventually?" "She's still my wife," he snapped. Vanessa crossed her arms. "Seriously? Are you still waiting for her? After everything?" "No," he muttered. "Just don't burn things that aren't yours." He stormed back into the house, the half-burnt wedding photo clutched in his hand. He told himself he didn't care. That he was just angry. That Taylor deserved it-for disappearing, for running away, for leaving them in a mess. But the lie was wearing thin. The days dragged. And everything began to fall apart. No one cleaned the house. Dust gathered. The laundry piled up. Dishes remained in the sink. The once-warm scent of brewed coffee in the morning-gone. The fridge was a disaster. Vanessa, despite all her confidence, couldn't even boil water without burning it. One morning, Troy came down the stairs with a pounding headache and an empty stomach. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot. 'Where's breakfast?" he barked, opening empty cabinets. Vanessa walked out of the bedroom in a silk robe, yawning. "I don't know. Make something." 'You don't know how to cook?" he asked, voice rising. Vanessa scoffed. "Since when do I cook? That was your maid's job-oh wait, no. That was Taylor's job." Troy clenched his fists. "Then what use are you, Vanessa?!" The words shot out before he could take them back. Vanessa stared at him, stunned. "What… did you just say?" Tears welled up in her eyes. "I gave up everything to be with you, and you're calling me useless?" Just then, Travis and Van walked in from the front door, carrying grocery bags. They stopped short when they heard Vanessa's sobs. 'What's going on?" Travis asked, setting down the bags. Vanessa rushed to him, tears streaming. "Troy yelled at me… he said I'm useless. He-he's acting like I'm the problem when it's all because of her." Van scowled. "She's gone, and you're still hung up on her? Vanessa's sick, remember? She needs support, not your temper tantrums." Troy ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "I didn't mean it like that, alright? It's just… everything is a mess right now. The house, the business, my mind." Travis narrowed his eyes. "Is this about Taylor?" "No," Troy answered too quickly. "It's not." But his voice cracked. He left them there and walked back to the bedroom. He shut the door and sank onto the bed- -4:11 1:1.- -bood lind shou- Th of bo- Taylor's side still made, untouched, like a ghost lived there. The scent of her shampoo still lingered faintly on her pillow. The silence was too loud. He remembered the way she used to fold his shirts. The way she kept his favorite coffee stocked. The quiet way she made the house feel like home-even if he never appreciated it. Now the house was a shell. So was he. Finally, unable to take it any longer, he grabbed his phone. He called his men. "Find Taylor. I don't care what it takes. I want her found. Alive and breathing." "Yes, sir," came the immediate response. He dropped the phone after the call, his hands trembling. He stared at the burnt corner of the wedding photo on the nightstand. "Come back to me, Taylor," he whispered, voice cracking. "Please…"