Chapter 1

The heavy iron gate groaned open, a sound I thought I' d only ever hear in my nightmares. After three years, the gray, lifeless world behind me was finally gone. The sunlight felt foreign on my skin, too bright, too warm. I stood there in the clothes they gave me, thin and worn, my body a map of scars hidden beneath the cheap fabric. My hands were trembling, not from cold, but from a bone-deep exhaustion that sleep couldn' t fix.

A sleek, black Bentley pulled up to the curb, so out of place against the grim backdrop of the prison that it felt like a hallucination. The driver, a man in a crisp suit I didn' t recognize, got out and opened the rear door for me.

"Miss Miller, Mr. Bennett sent me to pick you up."

His voice was polite, but his eyes held a flicker of something else. Pity? Disgust? I was too tired to care. I slid into the plush leather seat, the silence inside the car a deafening contrast to the constant noise I had grown used to.

"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice hoarse from disuse.

"The Bennetts are hosting a celebration at the Grand Astoria Hotel," he replied, his eyes fixed on the road. "For Miss Chloe."

The name felt like a physical blow. A celebration. Of course. For Chloe. The car sped away, leaving the prison behind, but I felt like I was still trapped.

The Grand Astoria was a palace of crystal and gold. Music drifted from the grand ballroom, a sound of joy that felt alien to me. The driver led me to the entrance, and the scene inside stole the breath from my lungs.

There she was, Chloe Bennett, my adoptive sister, standing in the center of the room in a dazzling gown, a radiant smile on her face. My adoptive brother, Ethan Bennett, stood beside her, his gaze full of adoration. And next to him was Noah Sterling, the man who once promised me a lifetime of love, now holding a champagne flute and toasting to Chloe' s success. They were a perfect picture, the golden family of the city.

And I was the ghost at the feast.

Whispers followed me as I stood in the doorway. "Is that Sarah Miller? The one who went to jail?" "She looks terrible." "I can't believe the Bennetts even let her come."

Ethan finally saw me. His smile faltered for a second before he replaced it with a mask of strained concern. He walked over, Noah trailing behind him.

"Sarah, you' re out," Ethan said, his voice low. "You should have called. We would have picked you up."

"Your driver did," I said, my voice flat.

Noah avoided my eyes. "It's good to see you, Sarah. You look... tired." He glanced back at Chloe, who was now looking our way, her smile tightening. "We' re all so proud of Chloe. Her new album is a huge hit."

The album. My songs. The ones I wrote in my cell, the words I bled onto paper, now being sung by her.

"Three years," I said, the words tasting like ash. "I spent three years in that hell for a crime I didn't commit. For her."

Ethan' s face hardened. The fake concern vanished, replaced by a cold righteousness. "You owed her, Sarah. Chloe almost died because of that accident. Your career was over anyway. Giving her your songs and taking the blame was the least you could do. It was your responsibility."

"My responsibility?" I laughed, a raw, broken sound. "I was framed. You know I was."

Noah finally looked at me, his eyes filled with a pity that was worse than hatred. "Don't do this, Sarah. It's over. Chloe has been through so much. She has panic attacks, nightmares... she needs our support. We can't let her be dragged down by the past."

My past? My life? The years stolen from me were just an inconvenience to them, a footnote in Chloe' s story of fabricated suffering.

I was an orphan, found on the steps of a church. The Bennetts adopted me when I was five. For fifteen years, I was their daughter. Ethan was my protective older brother, the one who taught me to ride a bike and helped me with my homework. He was my rock.

I met Noah in college. He was charming, kind, and he loved me for who I was, not for my connection to the wealthy Bennett family. He promised me a future, a home, a family of our own. I believed him. I gave him my whole heart.

Then, when I was twenty, Chloe appeared. The Bennetts' biological daughter, who they thought had died in a hospital fire as a baby, was found alive. She had been raised in poverty, a story of hardship and struggle that instantly captured everyone' s sympathy.

My world tilted on its axis. Suddenly, I was the outsider, the replacement. I tried to be a good sister, to help Chloe adjust. I gave her my clothes, my room, my allowance. I taught her everything I knew about music, my one passion, my dream. She was a quick learner. Too quick.

She started by stealing small things-a piece of jewelry, an idea for a song. Then the lies began. She told the family I was bullying her, that I was jealous. She would have "accidents," fainting spells, and panic attacks whenever I achieved something. Ethan and Noah, consumed by guilt over her "lost" childhood, always took her side. "Be patient with her, Sarah. She's fragile."

The final blow came three years ago. Chloe, driving my car while drunk, hit a pedestrian. It was a serious accident. To save her burgeoning music career, a career built on my stolen melodies, she begged me to take the fall.

Ethan and Noah cornered me. "Just for a little while, Sarah," Ethan pleaded. "We' ll get you the best lawyers. It will be a short sentence. Chloe can't have a criminal record. It would destroy her."

"Think of it as paying back the family for everything we've given you," Noah added, his voice smooth and persuasive. "Once you're out, we can get married. We can start fresh."

I was a fool. I agreed. They promised to visit, to write, to support me. The visits stopped after the first month. The letters dwindled to nothing. The sentence was not short. Three years in a place where kindness was a weakness and survival was a daily battle. I was beaten, starved, and left with scars, both visible and invisible.

Now, standing in this glittering ballroom, I saw it all with horrifying clarity. They hadn't just abandoned me; they had erased me.

Chloe glided over, her arm linked through Noah's. She looked at me, her eyes sparkling with malicious triumph. "Sarah, you' re here! I' m so glad you could make it. I was so worried about you." She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. "Did you enjoy your time away? I hear the food is terrible. But don't worry, I' ll be sure to send you a check. For old times' sake."

The crowd murmured, seeing her "kindness," her "forgiveness." They saw a saint comforting a sinner.

I couldn't breathe. The music, the laughter, the clinking glasses-it all merged into a roar in my head. I turned and fled, pushing through the crowd, ignoring Ethan' s call of my name. I stumbled out into the cold night air, gasping for breath, the pain in my chest so sharp it felt like my heart was tearing in two.

I ran, not knowing where I was going, until I found myself back at the Bennett mansion, the place I once called home. My old room, of course, had been completely redecorated for Chloe. My things-my books, my photos, my awards-were gone. In their place were Chloe's platinum records and fashion magazines.

I went to the small guest room at the back of the house, the only space left for me. It was cold and dusty. My few belongings from prison were in a single cardboard box on the floor.

My phone, a cheap burner they had given me upon release, buzzed. A text from Chloe. It was a picture of her and Noah, kissing, with the caption: "He' s all mine now. Everything you had is mine."

Another text followed. A video. It was from a year ago, inside the prison. It showed two inmates dragging me into a dark corner, the sounds of their laughter mixing with my muffled screams. A video I never knew existed. How did she get this?

The door opened. It was Ethan. He looked at my pale face, the phone still clutched in my hand. He didn' t ask what was wrong. He didn't offer a word of comfort.

"Chloe is upset," he said, his voice hard. "You ruined her party. After everything we' ve done for you, is this how you repay us? By making a scene?"

I just stared at him, my mind numb.

"She's fragile, Sarah. The accident, the fame, it's a lot of pressure. I won' t let you hurt her again. From now on, you stay away from her. You stay out of sight. Is that clear?" He didn't wait for an answer. He just turned and left, closing the door behind him, plunging me back into darkness.

I slid down the wall, the cold seeping into my bones. My body started to shake uncontrollably, a delayed reaction to the years of trauma. I was having a panic attack, my lungs burning, my vision blurring. I fumbled for the glass of water on the nightstand, my hand knocking it over. It shattered on the floor. I crawled towards the broken pieces, a wild, desperate thought flashing through my mind.

Maybe ending it all was the only way out.

But as my fingers brushed against a sharp shard of glass, my phone rang. An unknown number. I ignored it. It rang again. And again. Annoyed, I swiped to answer, my voice a broken whisper.

"Hello?"

"Is this... Sarah Miller?" a man's voice asked. It was deep, warm, and held a strange note of urgency.

"Who is this?"

There was a pause, and then the man spoke again, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn't place. "My name is Alexander Hayes. I've been looking for you for a very long time. I think... I think you' re my sister."