Chapter 1

The hospital room was cold, the air thick with the smell of antiseptic that failed to cover the scent of sickness. My brother, Leo, looked so small in the hospital bed, his chest rising and falling with a shallow, labored rhythm that I felt in my own lungs. Wires snaked from his small body to a machine that beeped a steady, fragile beat, a sound that had become the soundtrack to my life. The doctors said his heart was failing, a rare condition they spoke about in low, serious tones.

They also spoke about an experimental surgery, their words dripping with cautious optimism and ending with a number that made my stomach clench. A number so large it felt like a wall I could never climb.

I was an artist, or I used to be. My canvases and paints now gathered dust in a corner of our small apartment, a place I could barely afford. My father, a brilliant architect, had left us with nothing but his name and a portfolio of dreams. And me. He left me to care for Leo.

I scrolled through the news on my phone, my thumb moving numbly over the screen. A headline caught my eye. "Julian Vance Unveils a New Architectural Marvel: The Skyline Spire." A picture showed a man in a tailored suit, his smile sharp and confident, standing before a towering glass-and-steel building that scraped the clouds. I knew that smile. And I knew that building.

My breath caught in my throat. The building was a perfect replica of my father' s final design, a groundbreaking project he called "Helios." He had obsessed over it for years, pouring his soul into every line and curve. It was his masterpiece, unpatented, a work of trust he had shared only with his most promising apprentice, Julian.

The article was full of praise for Julian' s "vision" and "genius." It mentioned a grand unveiling ceremony happening tonight at the base of the tower. Rage, hot and sharp, burned through the fog of my exhaustion. He had stolen it. That ruthless, greedy man had stolen my father' s legacy and was building an empire from it, while my father' s son was dying in a hospital bed.

I had to go. I had to confront him.

I kissed Leo' s forehead, his skin cool and clammy. "I'll be back soon," I whispered, though he couldn't hear me. "I promise."

The party was a sea of flashing cameras and champagne glasses. I felt out of place in my worn jeans and thin jacket, a ghost haunting a celebration I had no part in. I pushed through the crowd, my eyes fixed on the man of the hour. Julian was surrounded by reporters, his voice smooth and practiced as he accepted their praise.

Finally, I broke through the circle. "Julian."

He turned, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second when he saw me. Recognition flickered in his dark eyes, followed by a cold, hard dismissal. "Amelia. What a surprise. I didn't expect to see you here."

"This design," I said, my voice shaking but loud enough to carry over the murmur of the crowd. "This is my father' s. You stole it."

The reporters' heads swiveled toward me. Microphones were suddenly pointed in my direction. The flashes from the cameras were blinding. Julian' s face hardened, his affable mask dropping away to reveal the cold ambition beneath.

"Your father was a great mentor," Julian said, his voice laced with false sympathy that made my skin crawl. "He was so proud of my progress that he gifted me this design before he passed. He wanted to see me succeed."

"That's a lie!" I shouted, desperation clawing at me. "He would never give it away! We need-"

"She' s clearly distraught," Julian said, cutting me off and addressing the reporters. He placed a hand on my shoulder, a gesture that looked comforting but felt like a vice. "The loss of her father has been very hard on her. She' s confused."

His words were a public brand, marking me as unstable, a hysterical girl consumed by grief. The crowd' s eyes were on me, a thousand points of judgment. I saw pity in some, but mostly, I saw dismissal. They believed him. The powerful, successful mogul. Not the desperate girl in frayed denim.

As he spoke, something strange happened. For a fleeting moment, as his eyes met mine, the confident mask slipped again. I heard a voice, not his spoken one, but a frantic, internal whisper that seemed to echo in my own mind. She knows. How does she know? Did he tell her? No, he wouldn't. He couldn't have. It was gone as quickly as it came, leaving me reeling and disoriented. His public smile was back in place, but the look in his eyes was pure ice.

He steered me away from the cameras, his grip on my arm bruisingly tight. "You shouldn't be here, Amelia. Go home."

I stood there, frozen, as he turned his back on me and walked back into the light of the cameras, leaving me in the shadows. I tried to hold my head high, to maintain some shred of dignity, but my shoulders slumped under the weight of a thousand stares. I was alone, humiliated, and utterly defeated.

I saw him later, across the glittering lobby. A beautiful woman with perfectly styled blonde hair and a diamond necklace was on his arm. She laughed at something he said, her head tilted just so. It was an intimate, practiced gesture. He smiled down at her, a picture of success and happiness. The sight was a physical blow, shattering the last of my fragile hope. He had everything. My father' s dream, the money, the life. And I had nothing.

Whispers followed me as I made my way to the exit. "That's the daughter, isn't it?" "So shameless, trying to ruin his big night." "Probably just after money." The words were like stones, pelting me from all sides.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from my aunt, my father's sister. "I saw you on the news feed. How could you embarrass the family like that? Julian has been very generous to us. Don't cause trouble."

Betrayal twisted inside me, sharp and bitter. Even my own family had abandoned me for Julian' s money and influence.

I stumbled out into the cold night air, leaning against the rough brick wall of an alley. The adrenaline faded, leaving behind a hollow ache. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and a familiar, sharp pain flared in my chest. I pressed a hand to my mouth, a cough rattling my frame. When I pulled my hand away, I saw a smear of bright red blood on my palm. It wasn't just Leo who was sick. I was too. And I was running out of time.