Chapter 1

I floated.

That' s the only word for it.

The grand ballroom of the Fairmont Copley Plaza buzzed below me, a sea of expensive dresses and tailored suits.

Champagne flutes clinked.

Laughter, too loud, bounced off the crystal chandeliers.

My wedding.

Well, it should have been my wedding to Ethan Astor.

Now, it was his wedding to Olivia Miller, my replacement.

The "real" Miller heiress.

I watched them at the head table, Olivia in a white gown that probably cost more than I' d seen in my entire life before the Millers adopted me.

Ethan, handsome and smooth as ever, had his arm around her.

He leaned in, whispered something.

Olivia smiled, a small, hesitant thing.

She looked overwhelmed.

I didn' t blame her.

From a small town in Maine to this Boston society circus.

It was a lot.

Guests murmured.

I could hear them, even from up here, near the ornate ceiling.

"So much better for Ethan, isn' t she?" a woman with a diamond choker said to her companion.

"Olivia is a true Miller. Sarah was always... difficult."

"Ungrateful, I heard."

"And that scandal before she died. Awful. Such a relief for the Millers, really. And for Ethan."

Scandal.

That' s what they called it.

Ethan' s carefully doctored photos of me, splashed across the internet.

Me, looking cheap, promiscuous.

The Millers, my adoptive parents, Mr. and Mrs. Miller, publicly disowned me then.

Said I' d brought shame to their name.

My few things, clothes, some books, a worn teddy bear from before, they' d had Maria, the housekeeper, throw them out.

Like trash.

I wondered if Maria had hesitated. She was always quiet, but sometimes her eyes were kind.

Now, here they all were.

Celebrating.

Mr. Miller looked proud, toasting his "real" daughter.

Mrs. Miller dabbed her eyes, a picture of maternal joy.

The same joy she' d shown when they first brought me home from the orphanage.

It didn' t last.

Especially not after Olivia was found.

Their biological daughter, lost for years, suddenly reappeared.

And I, Sarah, the adopted one, became an inconvenience.

A placeholder.

Ethan had called me that.

I died a few weeks ago.

Alone.

In a place no one here would ever visit.

They said it was an overdose.

Another mark against the "troubled" Sarah.

No one knew about the Lupus, the pain that ate me alive, the exhaustion.

No one knew I was just tired.

So, so tired.

Now, I just watched.

A ghost at their feast.