Chapter 4

I stayed frozen by their door, the blood on my hair turning stiff and cold. Their words echoed in my head, but it was the next part of their conversation that ripped away the last thread of my old life.

"You just have to remind her what's important," my mother said. "It's for Kevin. You know how much he means to us. To you."

There was a heavy silence, and then my father's voice, low and rough. "He's my son, Susan. My only son. Of course, I'll do anything for him."

My son. The words didn't make sense. Kevin was my aunt's son. My father's nephew.

"I know," my mother replied, a strange mix of resignation and bitterness in her tone. "I've known for years about you and his mother. I've raised him like he was my own, even when she couldn't. He's the son I could never give you. So, Chloe has to do this. For her brother."

The world tilted on its axis. Kevin wasn't my cousin. He was my half-brother. The product of an affair between my father and his own sister-in-law.

Suddenly, my entire childhood snapped into sharp, painful focus. I remembered all the times I had craved my father's attention, only to watch him toss a football with Kevin for hours. I remembered my mother saving the best piece of chicken for Kevin, while I got the dry, overcooked wing. Their favoritism wasn't just a preference; it was a choice rooted in a deep, ugly secret. I was the daughter of the wife he was stuck with. Kevin was the son of the woman he'd wanted.

I thought back to middle school, when I won the regional science fair. I was so proud. I came home with a big blue ribbon, expecting a smile, a "good job." Instead, my father barely glanced at it.

"That's nice," he'd said, his eyes on the television. "Kevin needs help with his car. Go give him a hand."

I remembered when I first got my high school acceptance letter from the advanced program. My mother had frowned.

"Are you sure you want to do that, Chloe?" she had said, wringing her hands. "It's a lot of work. Maybe you should just get a job at the diner after school. We could use the money."

They never wanted me to succeed. My success was a reminder of what I could become, of a life beyond their control. My intelligence wasn't a source of pride for them; it was a threat. They had tried to hold me back, to keep me small and manageable, so that when the time came, I would be easy to sell.

All the years of trying to earn their love, of making myself smaller to fit into their world, of believing their excuses and their emotional manipulations-it was all a waste. It was a lie built on a foundation of betrayal. The love I felt for them, the desperate, childish need for their approval, curdled inside me. It turned into something cold, hard, and sharp.

I pushed myself away from the door, my movements silent and deliberate. I went back to my room, not to cry, but to think. The girl who wanted her parents' love was gone. She had died on the kitchen floor. The person who was left was someone they didn't know. Someone who had been pushed too far.

They had a plan for my future. A prison disguised as a marriage. But now, I had a plan of my own. They wanted to sell me to save their family. I was going to burn their family to the ground to save myself. My fight for freedom wasn't just a wish anymore. It was a promise.