She’s Back, and Hell’s Coming with Her novel Chapter 10

After breakfast, Celine linked arms with Sabrina and led her upstairs. Sabrina gently slipped her arm free, a wave of revulsion passing through her.

The air felt icy, as if the chill had seeped into the very walls.

Celine noticed Sabrina’s cold distance. She didn’t like it, but kept her displeasure tucked away behind a polite smile.

She led Sabrina to her own bedroom first, eager to show off just how spacious and beautiful it was. Celine wanted Sabrina to know, plain and simple: even if you’re the real Sutton heiress, Mom and Dad still care about me most.

She expected Sabrina to be consumed with jealousy, to envy her gorgeous room. But she was wrong.

Sabrina’s expression didn’t flicker, even when confronted with a space several times larger than her own. All she said was a flat, “It’s nice.”

Celine had wanted to put her in her place, to make her feel small and unwelcome, but Sabrina’s indifference threw her off balance. Celine couldn’t quite figure out what Sabrina was thinking.

Next, she took Sabrina up to the third floor, to the master bedroom.

“This is our parents’ room,” Celine said, voice sweet but eyes sharp. “But just so you know, you’re not allowed in here without their permission. Mom would be furious if you ever went in.”

She pressed both hands to the door and pushed it open, making a show of her special access. Celine wanted Sabrina to see: I’m the exception here. I can go wherever I please, but you—Sabrina—will always be an outsider.

Sabrina’s lips curled in a cold, fleeting smile. With Celine being so eager, it would almost be rude not to play along.

Celine made a point of showing Sabrina every corner of Sutton Manor, dragging her through the halls and past lavishly decorated rooms.

Half an hour later, Celine smiled and asked, “Well, Sabrina, you’ve seen it all. Which room do you like best?”

We’ve only just started, dear sister. There’s plenty of time.

Celine masked her satisfaction and waited for Sabrina to continue.

Sabrina frowned slightly. “I really like the master bedroom upstairs. And yours, too. But since I can only choose one, it’s a tough call. Which do you think I should take?”

As the words left Sabrina’s lips, the smile vanished from Celine’s face. Her eyes darkened, fingers curling into tight fists.

That was her room—the one with every piece of furniture imported, where even the wastebasket was a limited-edition designer piece.

How dare this country bumpkin even suggest taking it? Was she insane? The audacity to ask something so absurd!