Chapter 1

I was the biological daughter they finally brought home, but I suffered from a severe, life-threatening peanut allergy.

On my very first day back, my father set a brutal house rule: everything we wanted—from clothes to food—had to be decided by drawing cards.

Only drawing the Ace of Hearts would get you what you asked for.

For two years, I never drew it once. Meanwhile, Olivia, the adopted daughter, got the Ace of Hearts every single time.

On the night of my worst allergic attack, my throat swelled shut. I knelt on the floor, begging them for my EpiPen.

My father merely tossed the deck of cards at my face. "You know the rules. Draw the Ace of Hearts, and you get the medicine."

To survive, I hid an extra Ace of Hearts in my sleeve.

But my brothers caught me. They crushed my fingers under their boots, kicked my EpiPen away, and locked me in the sub-zero basement freezer.

They had no idea that was the last time I would ever beg them for help.

My throat felt like it was clogged with burning, crushed glass.

My airway was swelling and closing up at a terrifying speed.

Clutching my neck in agony, I fell to my knees on the polished marble floor, gasping desperately for air.

But nothing came.

The lack of oxygen turned my face a dark, suffocating purple, the veins on my forehead bulging violently.

"Medicine... please... give me..."

With the last of my strength, I reached out and grabbed the hem of my father, Arthur’s, expensive suit pants.

Today was my twentieth birthday. It was also Olivia's.

Just ten minutes ago, Olivia had hand-fed me a piece of her "specialty" birthday cake.

I have a severe, lethal allergy to peanuts.

Even a single crumb of peanut dust could trigger anaphylactic shock.

And my entire family knew this.

Arthur looked down at me from his towering height. There was no pity in his eyes, only deep, cold disgust.

He slowly pulled a gold-rimmed deck of cards from his pocket and fanned them out across the coffee table with a sharp slide.

"You know the rules of this house, Tori."

"If you want something, you rely on your luck."

"Draw the Ace of Hearts, and the EpiPen is yours. If not, you’ll just have to tough it out."

I was the biological daughter of the Sterling family, lost and raised in the slums for eighteen years.

When they finally brought me back two years ago, I thought I finally had a family.

But on my very first day, Arthur established this ridiculous rule.

He said the Sterling family didn't raise useless leeches. He said luck was a form of strength.

My clothes, my allowance, even my three daily meals—everything had to be decided by drawing a card.

I accepted it, weeping silently, hoping to please them.

But for two whole years, no matter how I drew, that Ace of Hearts seemed to actively evade me. I never held it once.

Meanwhile, Olivia—the girl who had stolen my life for eighteen years—somehow drew the Ace of Hearts with perfect, suspicious precision every single time.

She won the master bedroom that belonged to me. She won my parents' affection. She even won the right to go to the hospital when I was sick, leaving me to suffer in my room.

"Come on, Tori. Draw your card."

Olivia, wearing a custom-made designer gown, clung affectionately to our eldest brother, Julian’s, arm.

She blinked her innocent, doe-like eyes, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

"If you don't draw it, you'll have to lie on the floor all night again, just like last time."

The air in my lungs was almost completely gone.

My vision began to blur, and the only sound in my ears was my own violent, wheezing gasp.

I knew that if I didn't get that epinephrine shot right now, I would die on this floor.

And this time, I wanted to live.

My hand trembling violently, I reached toward the cards on the table.

The moment my fingertips brushed the back of the deck, I used every ounce of my remaining strength to slide a card from my sleeve into my palm.

It was a discarded card I had picked up by the road a few days ago.

The Ace of Hearts.

I flipped it over. The bright red heart, the sharp letter A.

"It’s... the Ace of Hearts..."

I gasped out the words, my eyes clinging to the emergency medicine box on the table.

All I had to do was grab that pen, stab it into my thigh, and I would live.

I reached out, my fingers inches away from the box.

Smack!

A large, heavy hand slammed down, grabbing my wrist so hard I heard my bones creak.