Chapter 1

"Chloe, how long are you going to keep this up?" My mom's shrill voice cut through the door.

Downstairs, the house was packed with guests for my brother's engagement party.

But I locked myself in my room.

The door was flung open, and my mom's cursing stopped abruptly.

She stared at me lying on the bed, her eyes widening in shock.

"Chloe?" Her voice faltered.

It felt like a thousand hands were churning and clawing at my insides.

I curled up on the bed, cold sweat soaking through my pajamas and clinging to my skin.

Downstairs, the crowd and the music were deafening. Each beat felt like a hammer slamming into my nerves.

Today was my brother Michael Grant's engagement party.

It was also the day I planned to end it all.

The door shook under my mom's furious pounding, and her voice tightened with anger. "Chloe! All the guests are here. Do you know how ridiculous you look hiding in your room? Get out here right now!"

I struggled to open my eyes, staring up at the ornate crystal chandelier above. The light pierced my vision, making my eyes ache.

So noisy.

Couldn't they let me leave in peace?

I didn't have the strength to respond. Even moving a finger felt impossible.

The pain in my stomach twisted even harder, and a wave of nausea shot straight up my throat. I scrambled to the edge of the bed and hurled myself toward the trash can, dry heaving.

Nothing came out. Just the sour taste of bile burned in my mouth.

Mom went on, "Still playing dead? Is it just because Michael's the star today and you can't handle it? Are you acting out to grab everyone's attention?"

My mom's voice grew even more shrill. She was clearly at her limit.

She said, "Listen up, Chloe. Today is Michael's big day. If you dare mess this up, you'll no longer be my daughter!"

The door swung open with a click as my mom used the spare key.

My mom stood there in an expensive purple dress, perfectly made up and well-maintained, but her face was twisted with anger and disgust.

When she saw me hunched over the edge of the bed, pale as a ghost, her fury only grew stronger.

She snapped, "What kind of stunt are you pulling now? Are you starving yourself just to spite me?"

She grabbed my arm and yanked me up from the bed with surprising force.

She dragged me around like a ragdoll, and my frail body slammed into the bedpost, sending another jolt of pain through me.

"Mom..." I tried to speak, my voice barely a whisper. "I feel terrible."

"Feeling terrible, huh?" She sneered, jabbing her finger right at my face. "You just can't stand seeing Michael happy, can you? He's always been better than you, always more mature.

"Now he's marrying Lane Group's heiress, and our family's about to level up. Is your jealousy driving you crazy?"

That was not true. I was not jealous.

I wished I could tell her that, but I couldn't even muster the energy to argue.

Just then, Michael walked in.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored white suit, standing tall, looking sharp and impossibly handsome. He totally owned the spotlight today.

His brows furrowed as he took in the chaos of the room and saw how miserable I looked.

"Mom, what's wrong?" Michael asked.

"Go ask your wonderful sister!" Mom jabbed her finger at me, complaining to Michael, her pride and joy. "She's ignoring all the guests downstairs and throwing a tantrum up here, acting all dramatic like she's on the verge of death.

"I swear, she just doesn't want you to be happy!"

Michael's eyes swept over me, cold and impatient.

He said, "Chloe, what's your problem now? Can't you be more sensible?"

His calm voice usually sounded reassuring, but right now, it felt sharper than a knife.

Be sensible.

Those were the words I heard most often growing up.

Because Michael was the genius, the family's golden boy, I had to be the sensible one, never making things harder for him.

I silently endured all my parents' favoritism and neglect, always trying to be the obedient daughter, the sensible sister.

But what did I ever get out of it?

Terminal stomach cancer.

On my twenty-second birthday, that was the day the doctor handed me my death sentence.

I looked at them, my mom and brother, the two people I should have been closest to in my life.

They stood there, flawless and full of energy in their fancy clothes, facing me, a creature twisted by illness, barely human. There wasn't a shred of pity in their eyes; all they saw was how I wasn't being "sensible".

A wave of sorrow and helplessness crashed over me.

All at once, I didn't see the point in explaining myself anymore.

Why bother explaining?

Tell them I was dying?

They'd probably just think I was making it up for attention, another lie to get them to notice me.

After all, in their eyes, I was always just the "drama queen", the attention-seeking troublemaker.