Chapter 1

Bennett and I were each other’s first loves. We were together from the age of eighteen to twenty-three.

Later, I personally drugged his drink and sent him into my sister’s bedroom.

He desperately escaped and came looking for me, only to overhear the conversation between my friend and me.

"All these years of history, and you’re just throwing him away?"

I swirled the wine in my glass, a careless smirk on my face. "Friends are like limbs; men are just clothes. She’s my sister. What’s wrong with letting her have some fun with him?"

Since then, Bennett cut all ties with me. We hadn’t seen each other in three years.

Three years later, some were newlywed, while some slept eternally in a quiet southern town.

My name is Norah Vance. I am the eldest daughter of the wealthy Vance family.

For as long as I can remember, I lived in the family’s old estate in the historic district, raised by my grandmother.

My parents, Arthur and Evelyn, lived with my younger sister, Pearl, in a luxury penthouse downtown.

The old estate was only a thirty-minute drive from their place, but to me, we were separated by mountains, living in two completely different worlds.

My parents rarely came to see me. I only saw them during major holidays.

Grandma always told me that they loved me, but they were just too busy with the family business to have the energy to care for me.

I believed her. Yet, the resentment in my heart grew like wild grass, suffocating me.

I couldn’t help but wonder—if they were so busy, why wasn’t Pearl sent to the old estate too?

Why did they have time to raise Pearl, but not me?

The historic district was an exclusive neighborhood where old money retirees lived.

There weren't many left-behind kids in this area, but Bennett and I were the exceptions.

The Vance and Cole families had been close for generations. Bennett's parents worked abroad year-round, so they left him in the care of his grandparents.

You would think two kids in the same boat would look out for each other.

But I hated Bennett from the bottom of my heart. I had hated him since we were toddlers.

He was the textbook "perfect child." He always ranked first in school, excelled in AP math, piano, and golf, and was always polite and well-mannered.

Meanwhile, I was the neighborhood rebel, spoiled by my grandmother. I skipped classes, scaled school fences, and got into fights.

To make matters worse, our names—Norah and Bennett—sounded like opposite poles.

Every time I got into trouble, the elders and teachers would compare me to him. "One goes north, the other goes south," they would say.

Over time, I declared a one-sided war on Bennett.

I did everything to ruin his day. Seeing him miserable was the only thing that made me happy.

But Bennett was no pushover. Throughout middle school, our petty wars never stopped.

I tore his worksheets, he pulled my hair. I put earthworms in his desk, he drew stupid caricatures on my test papers.

In a flash, we turned fifteen and ended up in the same high school.

Bennett got into the honors class with the highest score and became the Student Council President.

I barely scraped into the regular class, remaining the troublemaker who gave teachers headaches.

Whenever he hosted a school assembly, I would catcall and shout his name from the crowd, trying to embarrass him in front of the entire school.

After one assembly, he cornered me in the stairwell. Frowning, his voice deep, he asked, "Norah, we’re not in elementary school anymore. Can we please make peace?"

I rejected him outright, pushed past him, and walked away without looking back.

At fifteen, all I wanted was for my parents to look at me, even if it was just a glance.

And messing with Bennett, the golden boy, was the perfect way to get attention.

I hoped Bennett would lose his patience and complain to my parents. I hoped my parents would finally come to discipline me.

But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

Bennett never told on me, and my parents’ eyes remained fixed solely on Pearl.

Pearl was five years younger than me, the absolute princess of the family.

She actually liked me. Whenever we met during holidays, she would sweetly call me "Sis" and stuff candy into my hands.

But I hated her. I was jealous of her—jealous of the unconditional love she received.

I took my anger out on her. Every time we met, I gave her the cold shoulder, snatched her gifts, and threw away her candies.

I thought I would keep being a rebel until I grew up.