Chapter 1

I'd agreed to my rich grandpa's suggestion to immigrate abroad, but I was still trying to find the right moment to tell my parents.

For three days straight, they were busy taking their adoptive daughter, Norah Sterling, shopping, to the movies, and out to meals, leaving me not a single second of their time.

So I had to beg them to show up at the courthouse and sign the emancipation papers.

My dad didn't even ask what it was about. He just signed and walked off without a word.

My mom, on the other hand, snapped at me impatiently, "Norah's 18th birthday is in three days. Don't you dare wreck it. You're a pain in the ass and not half the daughter she is."

Seeing how eager my parents were to leave, a wry smile crossed my face.

Three days: Norah's birthday, and my zero-hour to ghost this family for good.

*****

I slid the emancipation forms across the counter.

My dad caught them with one hand, eyes still on his phone. Pen hit paper before he even read the header.

The clerk blinked and asked, "Sir, do you know what papers you are signing? You sure you don't want to review it?"

My dad didn't look up. A lazy scrawl, a clatter of the pen, and he was gone, footsteps echoing down the courthouse hall as he'd just autographed a grocery receipt, not his own kid's freedom.

He was already at the elevator when his voice snapped back. He said, "Why bother reading? It's just more crap. Waste of my morning. I still gotta haul Norah to the mall for her purse."

The clerk did a double-take. She looked at my name "Remy" on the papers, realizing it had nothing to do with "Norah."

I gave her an apologetic shake of my head.

My dad hated me long before today. His showing up to scribble his name was already a miracle. Asking him to read it? Not a chance.

My mom followed right behind my dad. She shot me a frosty, warning glare and said, "Remy, Norah turns 18 in three days. Don't you dare ruin her party. Try being half the daughter she is instead of a 24/7 pain in the ass."

I nodded blankly, feeling like someone was jabbing needles into my heart. After hearing this a million times, I should be numb to it, but it still stung.

After we left the courthouse, my parents stood by the car, both cooing into the phone in the sweetest voices.

My mom said, "Norah, be good, okay? Just stay right there and wait for us. We'll be there in a minute."

When they saw me walking by, my mom's eyes turned icy. She hung up and shot me a look. She said, "Your dad and I have something important to take care of. Be sensible and go home by yourself."

I stood there in silence, watching their backs as they walked away.

It wasn't like this was the first time. I'd gotten used to it.

I turned around and headed in the opposite direction. Maybe being alone wasn't so bad after all.

*****

Norah moved in with us when I was seven.

Her dad was our family driver, responsible for picking me up from school and taking me wherever I needed to go.

Back then, my dad's startup was blowing up, but he'd pissed off some local sharks. They yanked seven-year-old me off the street to scare him.

Norah's dad died in the crash while he was out searching.

I made it out alive, but Norah's dad never came back.

My dad pinned his death on me. He said it was all my fault that I got kidnapped, since I was always not behaving and running off and getting myself kidnapped. And it was on me that Norah's dad died trying to save me.

So, in his eyes, I was supposed to spend the rest of my life paying for it, making it up to Norah.

After that, my parents officially adopted Norah and even changed her last name to ours.

Norah was six months older, so they handed her the "big-sister" crown and told everyone she'd been "boarding overseas" to dodge any adoption gossip.

I hadn't even gotten over the trauma of being kidnapped before I was forced to accept a new sister. Overnight, she got my parents, my room, and my life.

After that, my parents started spoiling Norah rotten, all out of guilt for her. Meanwhile, their attitude toward me just got colder and colder.

Then, my parents told me they were swamped and skipped my parent-teacher night. Next door, I caught them clawing for the last chair in Norah's class.

My mom had told me more times than I could count, "Remy, Norah's dad died because of you. But since you were just a kid, we can't really punish you.

"So don't ever forget what you owe Norah. You should spend your life making it up to her."

Norah drank the Kool-Aid. After years of my parents pouring poison in her ear, she loathed me on sight. She strutted through the halls yelling, "If I'm here, Remy stays out; same rule applies to dogs."

I honestly didn't know what to do anymore. Everyone kept saying it was my fault someone died; even I started to wonder if maybe it really was on me.

I knew, deep down, that wasn't the real story. I was just a seven-year-old kid. My dad went too far with his business, pissed off the wrong people, and I was the one who got caught in the crossfire.

So why did it all end up on me?

Everyone kept blaming me, so I just kept my head down and did whatever they wanted, living with guilt all the time.

Until half a year ago, when I got a phone call.