Chapter 1

My sister, Honora, told me I killed our family in a car crash. Our parents and my adopted brother, Aloysius, were dead. She said it was all my fault.

She told me I had a debt of blood and ruin to repay.

For eight years, I worked three jobs, my body aching from sixteen-hour days. I lived in a tiny, damp room, ate the cheapest bread, and sent every single penny I earned to her.

The money was for one thing: to buy back our family's lake house. It was the symbol of the life I had destroyed, the one place I thought I could find forgiveness.

After eight years of sacrificing my health and my youth, I finally saved enough.

I went to the house, ready to atone. But when I peered through the window, my world stopped. My parents were there, alive, holding champagne glasses. And sitting between them, smiling, was Aloysius-the boy who was supposed to be dead.

They were celebrating his birthday. Then I heard my mother speak.

"It's also Jesse's birthday today," she said casually. "We've punished him for five years. Don't you think it's time we bring him back?"

Honora's smile vanished. "No. We agreed on seven years. Not one day less."

Hidden in the shadows, I clutched the medical report in my hand. Their cruel game was about to be cut short. I was already dying.

Chapter 1

The phone call came on a Tuesday. A police officer' s voice, flat and official, told Honora that her family' s car had been found at the bottom of a ravine.

Her parents were dead. Her brother, Aloysius Beck, was also dead.

The only survivor was Jesse Kennedy, the brother she never wanted.

Honora found him at the hospital, sitting on a bench with a vacant look in his eyes. She walked straight up to him and slapped him across the face. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway.

"This is your fault," she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "All of it."

That was the beginning. Honora blamed Jesse for everything. She blamed him for the crash that killed their parents and the imposter son they had loved more than their own. She blamed him for the collapse of the Kennedy family business, which crumbled without their parents' leadership.

She told him he had a debt to pay. A debt of blood and ruin.

To atone for a sin he didn' t commit, Jesse worked. He took on three jobs, his body aching from sixteen-hour days. He was a janitor at night, a dishwasher during the lunch rush, and a construction worker on weekends. He lived in a tiny, damp room, ate the cheapest bread, and sent every single penny he earned to Honora.

The money was for one thing: to buy back their family' s lake house. It was the one place filled with happy memories, or so he thought. It was the symbol of the life he had destroyed. For eight years, he sacrificed his health, his youth, his entire being for that one goal.

Finally, the day came. He transferred the last payment to Honora' s account. He had enough. He could finally see the house again, the place he had bled for.

He took a bus to the lake, his heart a nervous drum in his chest. As he walked up the familiar gravel path, he heard laughter. It was a sound he hadn't heard in eight years.

He peered through the large living room window. And his world stopped.

His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy, were there. Alive. They were smiling, holding champagne glasses. And sitting between them, beaming, was Aloysius Beck, the boy who was supposed to be dead.

Honora stood beside them, her face, usually a mask of cold fury when she looked at Jesse, was soft with a warm smile.

A birthday cake with lit candles was carried into the room. As everyone began to sing, his mother looked around the room.

"It' s also Jesse' s birthday today," she said, her voice casual, almost an afterthought. "We' ve punished him for eight years. Don' t you think it' s time we bring him back?"

Honora' s smile vanished.

"No," she said, her voice sharp and cold as ice. "We agreed on ten years. That will teach him not to ever suggest sending Aloysius away again. Not one day less."

Outside, hidden in the shadows, Jesse clutched a medical report in his trembling hand. The words blurred through his tears. He started to laugh, a broken, hollow sound that was more like a sob.

"But, Honora," he whispered to the glass, to the family that was never his. "I' m dying soon."

A sharp pain shot through his head, so intense it made him gasp. It felt like a railroad spike being driven into his skull. He fumbled in his pocket for the small bottle of cheap painkillers, his hands shaking so badly he could barely get the cap off. He dry-swallowed three pills, leaning against the rough bark of a tree, waiting for the agony to subside.

The front door swung open, and Honora stepped out. Her eyes, which had been warm just moments before, were now filled with a familiar venom as they landed on him.

"What are you doing here?" she spat.

She didn't wait for an answer. She strode toward him and slapped him again, just as she had eight years ago in the hospital.

"You dare to show your face here? After everything you' ve done?"

He didn' t have the strength to speak, to defend himself. The truth was a physical weight in his throat, choking him.

"Get on your knees," she commanded, pointing to the muddy ground. Rain had started to fall, cold and miserable. "You will kneel here until morning and think about your sins."

He wanted to refuse, wanted to scream at her, to show her the paper in his hand that proved their entire charade was for nothing. But his body was a traitor. His legs gave out, and he sank to the ground.

"You ruined us, Jesse," she said, her voice dripping with the false narrative he had believed for so long. "You killed our family. You destroyed our business. You took everything from us."

He looked up at her, the rain mixing with the tears on his face. He finally understood. It wasn't about a car accident. It was never about the business. It was punishment. Punishment for being born. Punishment for existing in the same world as Aloysius Beck.

The pain in his head returned, a blinding wave of white-hot agony. He squeezed his eyes shut, his breath catching in his throat. He was going to die here, kneeling in the mud, for a crime that never happened, for a family that never wanted him.

He saw Honora' s expression flicker for a second. A hint of something-was it concern?-crossed her face as he swayed.

"What' s wrong with you?" she asked, her tone clipped.

Before he could answer, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen, and her face immediately softened.

"Aloysius," she answered, her voice all warmth and affection. "Yes, I' m coming right back."

She turned and walked away without a second glance, leaving him alone in the growing storm.

The world tilted. A wave of nausea rose in his stomach, and he retched, a thick, coppery taste filling his mouth. He looked down and saw the dark stain of blood on the muddy ground.

He collapsed completely.

Honora heard the sound. She turned back, her face contorted in disgust.

"You' re pathetic. You even managed to ruin the lawn."

She grabbed him by the collar of his thin jacket, her grip like steel, and dragged his limp body back to the gravel driveway, a place designated for his punishment.

"Stay here," she ordered, dropping him onto the sharp stones. "And don' t move."

He lay there, the rain washing the blood from his lips, as the lights of the lake house glowed with warmth and laughter, a world away.