Chapter 1

Today was a huge day for the Vance family.

Twenty-one-year-old Yael had just graduated with honors and smoothly secured her golden ticket into the town's most exclusive debutante social club.

Pink satin streamers draped across the entire living room, and my mother, Evelyn, decked out in a tailored, eye-watering gown, was boasting to the gathered neighbors and local socialites with her chin held high, showing off Yael's diploma.

"Just look at our Yael! She was born to belong to high society."

Evelyn's voice was refined yet shrill, brimming with an uncontrollable sense of smug pride.

My father, Richard, rocked an expensive suit, weaving through the guests and clinking glasses nonstop.

My older brother, Garrett, hovered around Yael, loudly boasting about the lavish Miami vacation the family had planned for next week to celebrate.

Raucous laughter and cheerful chatter echoed throughout the house.

Yet, on the sidelines of all this noise and excitement, sixteen-year-old me was slowly walking down the stairs, wearing faded, outgrown denim jeans and lugging a peeling, beat-up suitcase.

Not a single soul turned around to look at me.

In this house, I had always been an invisible ghost.

When I was five, the family threw a huge blowout party for Yael, completely forgetting that it was my birthday on the exact same day.

When I was eight, I suffered a violent asthma attack accompanied by a burning fever; Evelyn claimed I was "ruining the family mood" and dumped me alone on a ice-cold ER cot while the rest of the family boarded their flight to California for vacation as planned.

When I was fourteen, the $1,500 I had saved up from relentless odd jobs was blatantly confiscated by Evelyn, all so Yael could buy a designer swimsuit for her college sorority trip to Miami.

In their eyes, I was born a jinx—an embarrassing stain on their picture-perfect middle-class family. "Carly, you're blocking the way."

Garrett scoffed as he passed the stairwell holding two champagne flutes, shooting a disgusted glare at my shabby suitcase.

"On a huge day like today, you look like a homeless panhandler dressed like that. Stop making a fool of yourself in the living room and drag your ass back to the basement."

I paused and stared back cold at my so-called brother.

The old Carly would have cowered, looked down, and stammered out a pathetic apology. But today, I simply uttered two flat words: "Get out."

Garrett froze, clearly caught off guard that his usually meek, push-over little sister dared to talk to him like that.

Ignoring him, I dragged my suitcase straight through the bustling living room.

When the sound of my heavy footsteps drifted past Evelyn, she finally turned her head, her brows knitted tight in deep annoyance.

"Carly! Where do you think you're going with that trunk? The party's almost over—make sure you wash all the dishes in the backyard later. Don't even think about slacking off!"

I stopped right in front of the glass doors, turned around, and looked down at the woman who gave birth to me for the very first time.

"I'm not doing the dishes." My voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the living room chatter with sharp clarity.

The surrounding conversations ground to a halt instantly. A few neighbors glanced over in utter shock.

Evelyn couldn't keep her polite facade anymore; her eyes flickered with venomous fury as she hissed under her breath。

"What kind of episode are you throwing now? Today is Yael's big day—do you really have to embarrass the Vance family right now!"

"The Vance family's dignity?" A cold, mocking smirk played at the corner of my mouth.

"Evelyn, the only dignity this family has was built on my sixteen years of unpaid maid labor and every single cent you stole from me."

"You ungrateful, bratty child!" Evelyn trembled with rage.

Richard hurried over, frowning heavily as he chided, "Carly! How dare you speak to your mother like that? Apologize to her right now, then take that suitcase back upstairs to your room."

I looked at this bunch of hypocritical "family members," and the final sliver of warmth in my heart died out completely.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the front door key to the Vance residence.

Clink.

The metal key slammed onto the floorboards with a crisp, echoing strike, severing every absurd tie that bound me to this home over the past sixteen years.

I turned around, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the sunlight and wind without a single backward glance.

Parked outside was a slightly battered red pickup truck that had been waiting for a while. My best friend, Maeve, leaned out the window, flashing me a brilliant, radiant grin.

The old Carly Vance was dead.