Chapter 1
The day my sister Ava Lane came home, she smelled of cheap soap. She shrank behind our mother, completely out of place in this glittering mansion.
Bella Lane stood draped in couture, every inch the pampered princess. This fraud had stolen Ava’s identity for over ten years, her gaze dripping with malice as she sized Ava up.
I knew her cushioned life was finally done—Bella's lavish years were ending, and my own fight was only starting. I'd spent a full decade waiting for this moment.
Starting now, I would write everything down. A plan for revenge. A last will and testament. I was going to drag the impostor who had stolen Ava's life, and the rotten family standing behind her, straight into the grave.
The living room was so heavily air-conditioned that I coughed into my hand before I could stop myself, that familiar rot stirring deep in my chest.
Ava stood at the edge of the expensive rug, her cloth shoes peeling apart at the seams, jarring against everything around them.
She twisted the hem of her shirt, restless, dirt still caked under her nails. The life she'd come from had left its mark on her, and it showed.
"Mom, is this the 'surprise' you promised?" Bella descended the stairs in a slow glide, her silk dress whispering against the marble.
She stopped three steps away from Ava, made a show of fanning the air in front of her nose, her brows knotting in disgust. "She reeks. Like something that hasn't been washed in weeks. I can feel a headache coming on."
Our mother sat on the cold, sharp-lined sofa, a porcelain cup cradled in both hands. She didn't even lift her eyes. "She's here now. Let her stay. The rules can be taught in time." Her voice was flat, utterly indifferent.
Ava's face turned ashen. She stood frozen in the center of the hall, trembling like a prisoner stripped naked before a jeering crowd.
Her eyes reddened, tears welling up and clinging to her lashes, but she bit down hard on her lip, refusing to let them fall.
I gripped the banister and made my way down, one unsteady step at a time. When I reached her, I pulled a pack of tissues from my coat, faintly bitter with the smell of medicine, and pressed them into her hand.
Her fingers grazed my knuckles—ice-cold.
"Don't be afraid. I'm your brother." I kept my voice gentle, harmless. Then I slipped a brand-new phone, still in its box, into her hand. "A welcome gift. My number's already saved. If anyone gives you trouble, come find me."
Bella let out a contemptuous little snort and headed upstairs. Our parents dispersed without another word, as if the person they'd brought home wasn't their own flesh and blood, just a broken piece of furniture they'd picked up somewhere.
Late that night, I closed the door. A violent cough doubled me over. When it passed, I opened the yellowed diary and pressed the pen to the page, the nib scratching angrily against the paper.
[June 15, 202X. Ava is back. Bella's arrogance runs even deeper than I imagined. Our parents are as cold as ever.
[Good. The first step is to earn the key to Bella's trust. I want to watch that perfect face of hers shatter on the way down.]
*****
At the weekend family dinner, the air was thick with truffles and top-shelf wine, but even that couldn't cover up the dead silence at the table.
Bella wore a custom white strapless gown—the one she'd be debuting at her eighteenth birthday the following week, worth six figures easy.
She was giggling, batting her lashes at Dad as she begged for the matching pearl set. Under the table, she ground the sharp heel of her stiletto into Ava's worn cloth shoes.
I watched Ava's body go rigid, tears spilling before she could stop them. She clutched the tablecloth, a muffled sob escaping her.
"Why are you so clumsy?" Dad said, setting down his fork with a crisp, icy clink against the plate.
This was the moment.
I grabbed the glass of deep red Cabernet beside me, faked a cough, and jerked my arm hard. Half the wine arced through the air and splashed across Bella's pristine white dress.
The red bled into the silk like an open wound, shockingly vivid against all that white.
Bella shrieked, jumping to her feet, staring at her dress in disbelief. "My dress! Ethan, you—"
"I'm sorry, Bella." I let my face go pale as I grabbed a napkin and started dabbing at the stain, making it worse with every frantic swipe. "It was Ava. She kicked me. My hand slipped."
Ava looked up at me in shock, her lips trembling. "I... I didn't..."
"Shut up!" Mom's palm came down flat on the table. She pointed a finger in Ava's face. "You feral little brat! You've ruined your sister's dress. Do you have any idea what that costs? Get back up to your attic. Now."
Ava covered her face, crying as she ran upstairs, the insults echoing behind her.
After dinner, I knocked on Bella's door. She was still fuming in front of the mirror, shredded tissues piled at her feet.
I handed her an elegant jewelry box. Inside lay a limited-edition sapphire necklace, paid for with the money my grandfather had left me.
"Bella, my hand slipped earlier. I was scared Mom and Dad would blame me. I'm just the family invalid, so I pointed it at Ava. Don't be mad at me." I kept my voice low, eager to please.
She eyed the glittering necklace, her fury melting into greedy satisfaction. With her lacquered nails, she patted my cheek, condescending. "Alright, sick boy, you know how to play the game. That little peasant totally deserved to take the fall for us."
I left her room, ducked into the shadows, and pulled out a wet wipe, scrubbing the spot she'd touched until my skin was raw.
In my diary, I wrote:
[She took the bait. She's already complaining to me about how Mom and Dad are giving Ava too much, and before bed she let it slip that our mother is secretly transferring shares into her name.
[She's an idiot. A brainless little counterfeit. She thinks she's holding something over me, but she doesn't realize the noose she's tightening is around her own neck.]