Chapter 1

My family accused me of betraying them, of nearly destroying the tech empire they had built from nothing.

As punishment, my father and two older brothers locked me in my room, leaving me without food or water until I confessed to a crime I didn't commit.

But when a medical condition flared and I began to suffocate, they dismissed my desperate screams for help as just another one of my "theatrics."

"She's just being dramatic," I heard them say through the thick oak door, right before they added extra bolts.

They were completely blinded by Ivy, the manipulative outsider I had welcomed as a sister. They chose her lies over their own blood, forgetting how I had secretly liquidated my own assets to save their company years ago.

I died alone, my last breath a desperate gasp in a house that refused to listen.

Then, I woke up.

Floating as a spirit above my own decaying body, I became a silent witness, waiting for the moment they would finally break down the door and be forced to see what they had done.

Chapter 1

Chelsea's POV:

I died. Not with a bang, but with a whimper, alone in a room that smelled of stale air and my own fear.

Then, I woke up. Not in a hospital, not in heaven, just... awake.

My body was still there, slumped against the wall, but I wasn't in it anymore. I was floating, formless, a silent observer in the very room they had locked me in. It was dark, stifling, exactly how I remembered it.

A flurry of footsteps echoed from the grand hallway outside. The heavy oak door, which had been my prison, rattled.

Laughter. Familiar, deep, and utterly devoid of the warmth I once cherished.

My father, Corbin, entered first, his expensive suit still perfectly tailored despite the late hour. His presence always seemed to suck the oxygen from a room, leaving only ambition in its wake.

Behind him, Emilio, my eldest brother, a carbon copy of our father's ruthless efficiency. His arm was wrapped around Ivy Winters' waist, guiding her gently into the opulent living room.

Then Erland, my middle brother, the tech genius, who usually preferred the solitude of his lab. He followed closely, his hand resting solicitously on Ivy' s lower back.

Ivy. She looked radiant, as always. Her red dress shimmered under the chandeliers, a stark contrast to the gloom of my former prison.

"Are you alright, my love?" Corbin asked, his voice thick with concern as he helped Ivy onto the plush velvet sofa. "That meeting was exhausting."

Emilio nodded, his eyes scanning Ivy' s face for any sign of distress. "You looked truly drained. This whole ordeal has been taxing on you."

"I truly am fine," Ivy murmured, her voice soft, designed to sound fragile. She leaned her head against Corbin's shoulder. "Just a little... unsettled. It' s been a stressful few days, hasn't it?"

Erland knelt beside her, his brow furrowed with genuine worry. "You should rest, Ivy. Perhaps a warm bath? You've been so strong through all of this."

My spirit, hovering near the ceiling, felt a cold, hollow laugh escape from where my lungs used to be. Strong? She was performing. They were blind.

A housemaid, Mrs. Gable, a kind woman who had served our family for decades, shuffled forward, her hands clasped nervously. "Mr. Gibson, sirs... about Miss Chelsea."

Corbin' s eyes, which had been doting on Ivy, snapped to Mrs. Gable. His face hardened. "What about her, Mrs. Gable?"

"She hasn't eaten in two days, sir," Mrs. Gable said, her voice trembling slightly. "And... she' s been calling out. Very weakly this morning, but still calling."

Emilio cut her off, his voice sharp like a whip. "That's enough, Mrs. Gable. Her theatrics are irrelevant."

Mrs. Gable flinched, her eyes dropping to the polished marble floor. She knew better than to argue with Emilio when he used that tone. He had a way of freezing the air around him.

"She' s just trying to get attention," Emilio continued, turning back to the others. His eyes held a dismissive glint. "It's what she always does when she doesn't get her way. She thinks if she causes enough trouble, we'll just give in and let her off the hook for betraying the family."

"Indeed," Corbin agreed, his jaw tight. "She clearly has no remorse."

Ivy, still nestled against Corbin, let out a soft, shaky breath. "Oh, Corbin. I just... I hope she understands the gravity of her actions. It's not about punishing her, it's about making her see the damage she's caused." She dabbed delicately at the corner of her eye, though no tears fell. It was a practiced move.

"Don't worry, my dear," Corbin soothed, stroking her hair. "She will. We' re doing this for her own good. She needs to learn responsibility." He shot a stern look at Mrs. Gable. "No one is to go near her. No food, no water, until she admits her wrongdoing and shows genuine regret."

Erland, who had been quietly checking his phone, frowned. "Her communication logs are completely empty. No outbound calls, no messages. Not even social media activity for the past three days."

"See?" Emilio scoffed, throwing his hands up. "The little sneak probably ditched her burner phone or found a way to bypass our block. Trying to cover her tracks, no doubt." His theory was always the worst-case scenario when it came to me.

Ivy sighed dramatically. "Perhaps she's truly upset, Emilio. It must be hard for her to face the consequences." Her voice was a purr of false sympathy.

"Upset?" Emilio laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "She's always been a drama queen. Anything to avoid responsibility. Unlike you, Ivy, who always handles things with such grace."

"She needs to understand," Erland added, his voice firm, "that this kind of behavior will not be tolerated. We built this company from nothing, and her recklessness threatens to tear it all down."

"She will remain confined," Corbin decreed, his voice cold and final. "No contact, no privileges, until she confesses. Until she understands the magnitude of her betrayal."

My spirit watched them, a phantom limb aching with a familiar pain. Magnitude of my betrayal? I wanted to scream, to lash out, but my voice was gone, my form intangible. The irony of their words was a bitter taste in my non-existent mouth.

I was nothing but a shadow, a witness to my own undoing.

It wasn't always like this. My parents, who had been Corbin' s first wife and my mother, passed away when I was very young. It left a void that even the vastness of the estate couldn't fill. Emilio and Erland, years older, had been my protectors then. My brothers, who once held my hand and told me stories, who chased away my imaginary monsters.

I wanted companionship. I yearned for a playmate, a sister.

That' s when Ivy Winters entered our lives. A distant relative of Corbin's new wife, a sophisticated woman who soon became Corbin' s girlfriend. She was charming, intelligent, and seemed to understand the complex dynamics of our family better than anyone. I, naive and desperate for a friend, welcomed her with open arms. I told her everything, shared my secrets, my art, my dreams.

Ivy, however, had other plans. She was a master of whispers, a weaver of subtle lies. Slowly, meticulously, she began to twist my words, to paint me as the volatile, irresponsible black sheep. She fanned the flames of my brothers' existing prejudices against my artistic leanings, making them see my sensitivity as weakness, my quiet nature as defiance.

The data breach. A catastrophic leak that threatened to bring down Gibson Tech. Ivy framed me for it, meticulously planting digital breadcrumbs that led straight to my name. My father, blinded by her flattery and his own obsession with image, saw me as the perfect scapegoat. My brothers, eager to protect their empire, believed every word.

The punishment was swift and brutal. Confined to my room, stripped of all communication, abandoned.

The room was not just dark; it was suffocating. The air grew thick, heavy with my own CO2. My chest tightened, a burning sensation clawing at my throat. My medical condition, usually manageable with proper care, was flaring. My breath hitched. This wasn't just theatrics. This was real.

I beat on the door, my fists raw against the unyielding wood. "Please! I can't breathe! I need help!" My voice was hoarse, ragged, a desperate cry against the silence.

I heard footsteps in the hall. "She's at it again," Emilio's voice, muffled through the thick door, was filled with annoyance. "Trying to get attention."

"Just ignore her," Erland replied, his tone weary. "She'll get over it."

"She's just being dramatic," Ivy's voice, saccharine sweet, cut through the wood. "Don't fall for her tricks, darlings."

"No!" I shrieked, my voice cracking. "It's not a trick! I'm really sick!"

But they only laughed. A cold, dismissive sound that echoed in the vast, uncaring house.

"She always does this," Corbin' s voice, a gravelly rumble of authority. "Trying to manipulate us. Don't worry, she'll calm down when she realizes we won't be swayed by her childish games. Lock the secondary bolts."

I heard the heavy thud of the extra locks. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The last shred of hope withered, dying inside me. The darkness pressed in, heavier now, thicker.

I slumped against the door, my vision blurring. The air was a suffocating blanket. My body convulsed, a final, desperate struggle.

Ivy's faint, triumphant smile. I saw it through the crack under the door, a fleeting glimpse of pure malice.

You truly are a monster, my spirit whispered, a silent accusation in the suffocating void. And they... they are your accomplices.