The Counterfeit Bride Takes Everything

I have always been a survivor with sharp teeth.

When I was seven, my parents stood in a sterile family courtroom and tore our lives in half. When the judge looked down from the bench and asked which one I wanted to live with, I didn’t shed a single tear; I pointed straight at my father, whose suburban factory was still pulling in millions.

By the time I turned fifteen, his empire had crumbled into bankruptcy. The bank took the cars, the house, and every scrap of pride he had left.