—Oh, he’s going to be so angry—whispered Lily, feeling the panic rise in her chest.
Since her mother had died giving birth to Oliver, Lily had tried to be strong. At only eight years old, she had learned to take care of herself… and her little brother.
His home, which used to be warm, had become cold the moment Carolipe Beppett, his stepmother, moved there.
—Lily! —Caroli’s sharp voice suddenly cut through the air—. What have you done now?
Lily knelt down quickly, trying to gather the pieces of glass before Oliver could reach them. A small cut opened in the palm of her hand, and a few drops of blood stained the white tile.
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