Chapter 1

The diner stank of old grease and burnt coffee, a smell that clung to my clothes long after my shift ended.

I wiped down the last sticky table, my back aching.

Another twelve hours done, another seventy bucks before tips.

Most of it would go to Dad. David.

He wasn' t really broke, not in the way he pretended.

My mom, Karen, wasn't struggling alone after some messy divorce.

These were lies I was starting to see through.

I lived in a cramped room above a noisy bar in a part of town people avoided.

He lived somewhere else, supposedly.

But today, he was waiting for me outside the diner, leaning against the grimy brick wall.

"Sarah, sweetie," he said, his voice trying for warmth but missing by a mile.

"Rough day, huh?"

I just nodded, too tired to speak.

"Listen, got a bit of a situation," he started, already reaching for my hand, where I clutched my earnings. "Landlord's on my back again, you know how it is."

I knew. It was always something.

He pried the crumpled bills from my fingers, leaving me with a five.

"Thanks, kiddo. You're a lifesaver."

He patted my shoulder and walked off, whistling.

I watched him go, a familiar coldness settling in my stomach.

Then, something flickered in my vision, like words on a screen.

LOL, he's not even trying to hide it anymore.

I blinked hard. The text was gone.

Must be tired, I thought. Too many double shifts.

I walked home, the single five-dollar bill feeling useless in my pocket.

My room was small, the paint peeling. I ate a piece of stale bread for dinner.

The words appeared again, sharper this time, overlaid on the cracked wall.

Viewer123: She still doesn't get it? Her 'dad' is an actor.

RichGurlFan: This 'poor daughter' storyline is dragging. When do we see Jessie's new car?

My heart pounded. What was this?

I shook my head, trying to clear it.

TruthSeeker99: They're not divorced. Karen and David are living it up with Jessica in that mansion. This whole thing is a sick 'social experiment'.

Social experiment? Mansion? Jessica? My older sister, Jessie, who supposedly lived with some distant, wealthy aunt.

A cold dread washed over me.

The comments kept coming, a stream of them.

Cynic22: If she had any brains, she'd go to Oakhaven Estates. See for herself.

Oakhaven Estates. The richest part of the county, miles away. Gated.

I had to know.

The next morning, I skipped my cleaning job. I used my last five dollars for a bus ticket that got me close.

Then I walked for an hour, my cheap shoes rubbing my heels raw.

The gates to Oakhaven Estates were huge, black iron. A guard sat in a booth.

I couldn't just walk in.

SmartAlec45: Duh, service entrance. Or just wait for a car.

I found a less obvious path, a service road half-hidden by overgrown bushes.

My hands trembled as I pushed through.

Inside, the houses were enormous, lawns perfect. It was another world.

A comment flashed: RealFamilyMan: David's car is usually parked by the big oak near the fountain. House #17.

I walked, trying to look like I belonged, my cheap clothes screaming I didn't.

Then I saw it. House #17. It wasn't a house, it was a palace.

And parked in the curved driveway, next to a shiny new sports car, was Dad's beat-up truck.

No. It couldn't be.

Then I saw them.

On the sprawling veranda, laughing.

David, looking relaxed and well-fed, not the stressed, broke man I knew.

Karen, my mother, elegant in a way I' d never seen, holding a fancy drink.

And Jessica. Jessie. Glowing, dressed in expensive clothes, animatedly telling a story.

They looked like a perfect, happy, wealthy family.

My family.

The air left my lungs.

ProducerPet: See? She finally gets it. They picked her for the 'poorly raised' role because she was quieter, more 'manageable' as a kid. Jessica was always too much of a diva for the struggle narrative.

Manageable.

The word echoed in my head as I stumbled back, unseen, the beautiful, cruel truth burning itself into my mind. My whole life, a performance for strangers.