Chapter 6 The Investigation

• I was determined to clear my name and expose Roselyn's evil schemes, but in order to come up with a proper strategy, I had to learn more about my dangerous rival, even if it meant going all the way back in time. And since she would be out of town for a few days, I knew it was the perfect opportunity to get started.
• I swallowed my pride and visited Mr. Hunt as soon as I had the chance. On this occasion, I took my time to explain the situation in detail and defend myself from his daughter's accusations. To my surprise, he was extremely condescending. He probably assumed my mother and I were desperate for money, so he pretended to believe me, which made my heart sink even more. We also spoke about Roselyn and her complicated character.
• Mr. Hunt's eyes, usually bright during our conversations, were now clouded with a pain I hadn't seen before. "She was a fragile thing, barely five when her parents perished in that fire," he began, his voice hoarse. He tapped a photograph of a little girl with silvery eyes, auburn hair, and a shy smile.
• "Her father was a close friend of mine, so I promised myself I would take care of her and raise her as my own. But maybe I wasn't ready to be an actual father then. I was too focused on making money, and my personal life was a mess. Samantha took advantage of that..."
• "Samantha, your ex-wife?" I inferred, remembering my mother's words.
• He trailed off, his gaze drifting towards the window, where the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the library. I sensed the untold story in his silence.
• I flipped through the rest of the family album then, each photo revealing a different stage in Roselyn's life. The initial sparkle in her eyes dimmed with each passing year, replaced by a cautious reserve. My heart ached. Was this the source of her cold demeanor, the calculated cruelty that masked the pain?
• Mr. Hunt felt particularly unwell that day, so I left the mansion shortly after. However, later that evening, I resumed the conversation with my mother, while I helped her clean the store. Even though she was angry at Roselyn, her normally vibrant eyes were clouded with sadness as she spoke about her childhood.
• "Poor little rich girl," she sighed. "Samantha was a viper, venomous and manipulative. She treated Roselyn like a burden, a stain on her perfect world. I witnessed her cruelties, the constant belittlement, the deprivation of love and affection. Roselyn never complained, never sought attention, she just endured. And Tyler was too busy chasing paper to even notice. Samantha kept him under a spell for some years, in order to steal his money, but Roselyn was the one who actually paid the price"
• Her words pierced my heart. Roselyn, the calculating, ambitious woman I knew, was just a child trapped in a cage of neglect. The pieces began to fall into place. Her constant paranoia and relentless pursuit of power could all be attributed to that childhood trauma.
• "I know," I said, my voice weak. "It explains a lot."
• "It explains nothing," My mother stated, her eyes piercing mine. "What explains Roselyn's actions now? Her desire for revenge, her cold heartedness, the manipulation she employs? This is not the result of a difficult childhood; this is her choice."
• Her words stopped me for se second. I hadn't considered that. Did Roselyn choose this path, or was it simply the only one she knew?
• "She's broken," I said finally, my voice heavy with a sadness I couldn't shake. "But she's also capable of immense evil.”
• Mom nodded, her expression grave. "That's the truth, darling. She's a puzzle with missing pieces. We must tread carefully, Lisa, for she is a dangerous player." She warned, and her words resonated in my mind for the rest of the day.
• The next morning, I continued my investigation and tracked down some of Roselyn's former classmates, their memories as faded and blurry as the old photographs Mr. Hunt kept. I listened to their recollections of a quiet, shy girl, mistreated by her stepmother and ignored by her adoptive father. They also spoke of Samantha's dominance, her cruel jokes, her disdain for other people. Each story painted a portrait of a child struggling to survive, to find her place in a home that was equally lavish and unwelcoming.
• I left feeling a strange combination of anger and empathy. Anger for Samantha, for her cruelty, and empathy for Roselyn, for the innocent child she once was. Now, I had to navigate a dangerous game, where the lines between victim and villain were blurred. This was no longer just about outsmarting my stepsister, but about understanding her, about seeing the pain behind the mask of ruthlessness. And perhaps, in the process, I might find a way to reach the child that still lingered within her.
• Before Roselyn came back from vacation, (a fancy party in Miami, if I heard right) I decided to explore the mansion further, curious to discover her hidden sanctuary, a room where she allegedly spent most of her free time at home.
• As I wandered down the corridor, I noticed the door was half-opened, since the maids were taking care of the cleaning. I dared to venture inside the room then, revealing a spacious art studio filled with canvases, paints, and, at its center, a beautiful grand piano. The room was alive with color and creativity, a stark contrast to the spotless corridors of the mansion. I walked around and admired my surroundings, instantly drawn to a half-finished portrait on an easel. It was a self-portrait, I realized, as I recognized Roselyn's piercing gaze, smooth skin, and striking feminity.
• Next to the portrait was a stack of sheet music, some of it annotated with her own notes and interpretations. I sat at the piano, playing a few chords my grandfather taught me. The music filled the room, and for a moment, I imagined Roselyn there, lost in her own world. This hidden talent of hers intrigued me. It was a side of her I had never imagined, and it made me question how much more I had to learn about my new stepsister.
• I began to explore the studio further, my curiosity piqued. Canvases of various sizes were propped up against the walls, some blank and awaiting their first stroke, while others were filled with vivid colors and abstract shapes. The air was thick with the scent of paint and turpentine, and soft sunlight streamed through the large windows. Roselyn Hunt, college's most infamous mean girl and certified socialite, was also a tortured artist in disguise? It was simply mind-blowing... and fascinating.
• One of Roselyn's designer purses was lying next to her artwork. Initially, I didn't pay much attention to it. However, I suddenly noticed a strange note protruding from within, and my name was written on top of it.
• "What the heck?" I hissed to myself, reaching for the paper while no one was watching. Apparently, it was an anonymous letter directed to Roselyn, and my breath caught in my throat as I read its contents: "Don't trust Lisa. She's a liar, and her intentions are evil. Mark my words”
• My eyes widened out of shock. It was clear someone was trying to put dirt on my name and drive a wedge between Roselyn and I.
• But who? And why?