Chapter 1

The penlight moved away from my eyes.

"Name?"

I shook my head.

The doctor closed the chart and turned to the middle-aged couple standing by the hospital bed.

"Cognitive functions are intact. CT's clean."

The woman stepped forward immediately. "Then why doesn't she recognize us?"

The doctor glanced at me.

"Dissociative amnesia with severe PTSD."

The man in the tailored suit frowned. "You're sure?"

"She needs immediate psychiatric follow-up upon discharge. No high-stress environments. Don't trigger her."

The man didn't ask anything else. He just looked down and signed the paperwork.

I stole a glance at the signature.

Edward Ashford.

I would later learn that he was my father.

Once everyone followed the doctor out into the hall, only a nurse named Rita remained to remove my IV.

She glanced toward the door, then suddenly slipped a business card into my palm.

I froze.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. "If you get scared. Call it."

"...Why?"

She paused.

"Call it anytime."

I didn't understand, but my fingers closed tightly around the card anyway.

The "home" was a sprawling estate on Manhattan's Upper East Side.

The moment the car parked, a girl with bouncy brown curls rushed out to greet us. Her smile was sickeningly sweet. "Sis, you're finally back."

She looped her arm through mine.

A second later, hidden beneath my sleeve, her manicured nails dug viciously into my flesh.

I flinched, a jolt of pain shooting through me.

She looked up at me, her sweet smile never wavering. "I'm Lila. Your sister."

I immediately dropped my gaze. "...Thank you."

Inside the living room, a tall, blond man stood up from the sofa. He stared at me for a few heavy seconds.

"Eleanor. Really outdid yourself this time."

I shrank back half a step.

He snatched a stack of papers from the coffee table and hurled them at me. They scattered across the floor.

"Police reports. ER discharge. Psych evals." He glared. "These fake too?"

My throat tightened. "I... I don't remember."

He let out a short, harsh scoff. "Of course you don't."

He took a step forward. My entire body locked up, and I backed away until my spine hit the wall.

His expression darkened. "Always the victim. Now we're doing amnesia?"

Lila hurried over with a glass of water, playing the peacemaker. "Harry, stop. You're scaring her."

She stood right next to me.

The next second, she tilted her wrist. The entire glass of ice water splashed over my chest.

Before the glass even hit the floor, my body reacted. I dropped to my knees, throwing one arm over my head in a defensive crouch, while my other hand frantically scrubbed at the damp carpet.

"Sorry... sorry, I'll clean it, I'm so sorry..."

I was hyperventilating, my entire body trembling uncontrollably.

The living room went dead silent for two seconds.

"Enough." Harry's voice was tight. "Look up."

I didn't dare.

"Eleanor. Look at yourself."

I slowly raised my face.

"You're doing this on purpose. Putting on this freak show to make us feel guilty, aren't you?"

"I'm not..."

"We sent you to a treatment center three years ago," he said, staring at me, his voice dropping. "We can do it again."

Treatment center.

A heavy, gray iron door slammed shut in my mind.

Whistles. Pitch blackness.

And a voice whispering right into my ear: Your parents don't want you anymore.

I frantically ducked my head again, my hands scrubbing at the already dry carpet, unable to stop the compulsive motion.

Lila suddenly crouched beside me. She leaned in close, her voice dripping with sugar.

"See that, Sis?"

"Even if your brain really is broken..."

She let out a soft, mocking giggle.

"They still don't believe you."