Chapter 1

Today was my birthday. My stepsister, Tiffany Stone, stood before me, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. In her hands, she held my mother' s cherished vintage record. It was the last thing I had left of her.

"Happy birthday, Chloe," she said, her voice dripping with poison.

Then, with a sharp, deliberate motion, she shattered it on the marble floor. The vinyl exploded into a thousand black shards. Not satisfied, she stomped her stiletto heel directly onto the center of the album cover, grinding our mother' s smiling face into the floor.

A tremor went through my body. I saw red. For the first time in my life, I slapped her. The sound echoed in the silent room.

That night, they came for me. A black van, no license plates. They dragged me from my bed and took me to an abandoned warehouse on the city outskirts. The air was thick with the smell of rust and decay.

For over twenty-four hours, they tormented me. They smashed my hands with a cold metal pipe, the sound of my own bones cracking filled the empty space. They did the same to my feet. Pain was a constant, roaring fire inside me.

Then came the gasoline. They poured it over me, the chemical scent burning my nostrils, the liquid cold against my skin before the agony started. I screamed until my throat was raw.

"You shouldn' t have offended Miss Tiffany," one of them rasped, his voice a low growl. "She' s the darling of the Sterling family. They don' t like it when their favorite toy is upset."

The Sterling family. The most powerful, untouchable family in the city. And this was all for Tiffany.

I was fading, the world turning into a blurry nightmare. But then I remembered. Dr. Ethan Sterling, my personal therapist, the only person I trusted. He had woven a tiny distress beacon into my hair during one of our sessions. "If you' re ever in real danger, press this. I will always come for you," he had promised.

My broken fingers fumbled through my sticky, gasoline-soaked hair. I found it. A tiny, hard button. Hope, small and fragile, flickered inside me.

Just as I was about to press it, a voice crackled through a kidnapper' s walkie-talkie on the floor.

"She' s unconscious? Keep her alive, but don' t actually kill her."

The voice. I knew that voice. It was calm, professional, and full of authority. It was the voice of Dr. Ethan Sterling. My blood ran cold. The man who promised to save me was the one orchestrating my torture. He was the eldest son of the Sterling family.

My finger froze over the beacon. The hope died, replaced by an abyss of despair. I let my hand fall, the world going black.

I woke up to the sterile stench of disinfectant. The bright lights of a hospital room burned my eyes.

Ethan sat by my bedside, his brow furrowed in a mask of concern. "Chloe, why didn' t you call for help? I was so worried."

Before I could answer, the door burst open. My father, his face purple with rage, stormed in. He slapped me hard across the face, the sting bringing tears to my eyes.

"You selfish brat!" he yelled. "Do you know what you' ve done? Tiffany missed the biggest fashion show of her career because she was so worried about you!"

He accused me of staging my own kidnapping just to get attention.

Tiffany fluttered into the room behind him, her eyes filled with fake tears. "Chloe, I was so scared. How could you do this to us?"

My stepmother, Brenda, wrapped an arm around Tiffany, her face a picture of feigned sympathy. "Don' t cry, sweetie. She' s always been like this, so dramatic."

My half-brother, Liam, stood by the door, his expression one of pure disgust. "You' re pathetic, Chloe. Always trying to ruin things for Tiffany."

They all stood there, a united front of accusation. My own family. I looked at their faces, one by one, and a cold clarity settled over me. They would never see me. They would never believe me.

"I will not apologize," I said, my voice hoarse but steady. "I will never apologize for defending my mother' s memory."

My father' s face contorted with rage. He raised his hand again. "I' ll beat you until you learn to submit!"

Ethan stepped between us, his hands up in a placating gesture. "Mr. Davis, please. Let' s not escalate this."

He turned to me, his eyes soft, but his grip on my arm was like iron. He subtly forced me down, pushing my injured body to its knees on the cold hospital floor.

"Apologize, Chloe," he said, his voice a low, commanding whisper. "You were in the wrong."

My heart, which I thought couldn' t break any further, shattered into dust. I looked up at the man I had trusted, the man who had ordered my torture, now forcing me to kneel before my abusers.

My world didn' t just collapse. It ceased to exist. Tears streamed down my face as a wave of blackness pulled me under.