Chapter 2

Before I turned twelve, the world felt like nothing but hell.

A drafty room. Bare cupboards. Endless chores. Endless beatings.

The man who “raised” me was a gambler. Every time he lost, he took it out on me—pressing his cigarette into my arm, laughing at my screams. The woman was no better; she beat me for fun and hated to see me rest. I worked from dawn until midnight.

Then, when I was twelve, the Carters found me.

Light for the first time in that basement. And my real parents standing over me.

It was the middle of summer. My wounds were festering. I smelled like rot. But they didn't recoil. They held me. Their tears were warm against my neck.

That was the first time I ever knew warmth.

When I came home with them, I learned I had an adoptive sister. We’d been switched at birth. The people who’d abused me were her biological parents.

My parents were good to her. I didn’t mind—I was grateful just to be warm.

And then Sebastian arrived like a god.

I was behind in school, never properly taught, bullied at every turn. He stood in front of me. He protected me. He taught me what I’d missed. He helped me belong.

At sixteen, under the old oak, we promised forever.

So when did it all start to fall apart?

When Felicity turned eighteen and began faking depression—threatening to kill herself every other week. After that, somehow, I became the villain in their story. My parents looked at me differently. "Leah, Felicity is sick. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be," they said, and that was all.

Sebastian drifted away too. He paid more attention to Felicity. When I argued, he only frowned and said, "You've been way too spoiled."

Then the accident five years ago.

I’d just finished my PhD ceremony and walked out of the building. A truck hit me. Bones shattered. I almost died.

One foot still bears the limp.

My parents stayed at my bedside for a week. Sebastian went after anyone responsible. When evidence showed Felicity had hired the driver, I thought every wrong would finally be made right.

I didn't know then that everything they did was to protect her.

I look in the mirror now—bloodshot eyes, a mess of a woman, no trace of the proud girl who clutched her PhD. My chest tightens. I think of Professor Davis—he wanted me as his assistant once—and guilt blooms.

My phone buzzes. A text from him.

Leah. I'm leaving for France in a month.

You were always my best student. Before I go, will you come with me as my assistant?

I didn't cry when my marriage turned out to be a lie. I didn't cry when I saw my parents hand Felicity candy apples. I didn't cry through five years of this nightmare.

But seeing my professor—the man who treated me like a daughter—still care? I break.

I type back before I can think. Thank you. Yes. I'll come with you.

He's handling the visa and the tickets. I need to pack.

That's when I realize how little I own.

Five years. Not one new piece of clothing. Because Sebastian said, "Be frugal." I've been living like a nonperson.

I'm still packing when the door opens.

Sebastian walks in. He sees the empty dinner table and frowns. "Leah. What the hell?"

"Did you feed Sammy? Why isn't the fish ready?" He fires question after question—none of them asking if I've eaten.

I look at him. My face is blank.

"Why should I do any of it?"