Chapter 1

I was shoving my passport into the old leather carry-on when the bedroom door creaked open.

Sophia stood there, leaning against the frame.

She wore a white dress that probably cost more than my last two months' rent. A shopping bag from a high-end jewelry store dangled from her fingers. She just got back from her trip.

With Mark Peterson.

"What are you doing, Ethan?" she asked, a playful smile on her lips.

Her voice was light, like this was a game.

"Packing," I said, not looking at her. I focused on zipping the bag. My knuckles were white.

She glided into the room, the scent of expensive perfume filling the space. It was a new one. One I didn't recognize.

"Don't be like that," she cooed, setting her bag on the pristine white comforter. "You're not still mad, are you?"

I didn't answer. I just moved my bag off the bed and onto the floor.

Her smile tightened. Her eyes flicked from my face to the bag, then to the passport I had just tucked away.

"A passport?" She let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "Are you really that dramatic? Running away?"

She walked over and reached for my bag, her movements casual, entitled.

"Stop," I said. My voice was flat, dead.

She paused, her hand hovering over the leather. "What's gotten into you?"

"I'm leaving, Sophia."

"I know you're leaving," she said, her tone like she was talking to a child. "We're going to my mother's for dinner. Did you forget?"

"No. I'm leaving you."

She stared at me for a long moment. The playful light in her eyes died, replaced by a cold, calculating look I knew all too well.

Then she laughed. It wasn't a happy sound. It was sharp and condescending.

"Oh, Ethan. Stop pretending. You're just trying to get my attention because I went on vacation with Mark."

She thought this was a tantrum. Another one of my quiet, sad episodes that she could fix with a kiss or a condescending pat on the head.

I picked up my bag and walked towards the door. My hand closed around the cool metal of the doorknob.

"I know your sister isn't really sick," she said, her voice suddenly sweet, syrupy. "It's all for show, isn't it? To make me feel guilty."

My blood ran cold. I stopped, my back to her.

"But it's okay," she continued, her voice getting closer. "I'll even pay for a wedding. We can get married. That will make her feel important, won't it? That will make everything better."

I didn't turn around.

She didn't know.

She couldn't possibly know.

Lily was dead.

And from the moment my sister took her last breath, my decision was already made.

Sophia was a ghost to me now. A memory I needed to erase.

Her offer of a wedding wasn't a lifeline. It was an insult to Lily's grave.

I turned the knob.