Chapter 1
Kidnapped at three and returned home at eighteen, she finally believed she belonged somewhere.
But what awaited her wasn't family love; it was the endless scheming of the fake heiress who'd lived with them for fifteen years, the cold disgust in her brother's eyes, and a dismissive, "You're nothing but a thankless stray."
All because the fake heiress "broke her leg," she didn't even get a chance to explain herself before her own brother dragged her straight to Verdant Hill Mental Health Facility, the scariest place in town.
Two years. Seven hundred and thirty days.
She was loaded with tranquilizers, electrocuted until she lost consciousness, forced headfirst into toilets, and left to starve in pitch-black rooms until she began hallucinating; she nearly died.
Everyone thought she'd rot there, but she walked out alive.
When she came back to the Ralph family, she wasn't that timid girl anymore, no more tiptoeing around, serving tea, or trying to please everyone.
If anyone dared mess with her stuff, she'd wreck all their treasures. If they wanted her dead, she'd drag them straight to hell with her.
They said she was crazy.
Yeah, she was crazy.
*****
They were the ones who turned that little girl, desperate for family, into what she was now.
In the end, everyone who wronged her got their karma, and those who owed her ended up on their knees, sobbing and begging for forgiveness.
But she just turned around and walked away, never once looking back.
After all, when she had clawed her way out of hell, she didn't care for the sunlight that finally decided to show up.
The windshield wipers swept across the glass, smearing the rain outside into a hazy veil. Zora Ralph sat in the passenger seat, a deep brown scar on the back of her hand, a mark left from last winter, when an attendant at Verdant Hill Mental Health Facility burned her with a stun gun. Sometimes she'd just stare at that scar, thinking that in two years, she'd ended up with more scars than all the stars she'd ever counted in her eighteen years.
"Zora," Winston Ralph called softly.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, glancing sideways at her. His suit cuffs were rolled up, and there was still ink smeared on his forearm from signing papers at Verdant Hill Mental Health Facility. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but finally just said, "When we get home... whatever happens, don't let it get to you. I got your back."
Zora stayed silent, head bowed, her lashes lowered as she stared at the scar on the back of her hand.
The rain outside hammered against the window, sharp and relentless, just like the rattling sound of attendants pounding on her door in the dead of night at Verdant Hill Mental Health Facility.
She never told Winston she'd stopped having nightmares a long time ago.
It wasn't that she'd healed; she'd simply learned to live with it.
The Ralph family had been searching for her for fifteen years.
She was kidnapped at three, spent two years in an orphanage, and then was "adopted" by a couple, but they just treated her like free labor. She'd eaten leftovers from trash cans and slept on cardboard under bridges. When the Ralph family finally found her at eighteen, she learned for the first time that she actually had a home.
But when she finally returned, there was no place for her anymore.
Jane Ralph, the adopted daughter, had stolen Zora's place for fifteen years, pampered by the Ralph family's two sons as if she were their little princess. Meanwhile, Zora, the real daughter, was treated like a stranger in her own home.
Zora had tried. She really had.
She tiptoed around, always trying to please, keeping her head down and avoiding eye contact. She'd serve tea and water to Jane, listen to her call her "sis" in that syrupy voice, and then watch as Jane tossed her freshly washed clothes onto the floor and "accidentally" stomped on them a couple of times.
After just three months, Jane orchestrated a whole scheme. She claimed Zora had people bully her and pushed her down the stairs, breaking her leg.
Her big brother, Jacob Ralph, didn't even let her get a word in before he personally dragged her to Verdant Hill Mental Health Facility. Before leaving, he even told the director, "Keep her in line. Don't let her out to hurt anyone again."
Behind the scenes, Jane secretly paid the director over a million dollars to make sure Zora got "special treatment."
Seven hundred and thirty days.
Electroshocks, drugged up, locked in pitch-black rooms, getting jumped by other patients, attendants dunking her head in toilets.
She went from crying and trying to defend herself, to going silent, and finally she fought back and made sure every bully in Verdant Hill Mental Health Facility learned to fear her. The director was terrified she'd end up killing someone, so he practically got on his knees, bawling and begging the Ralph family to take her back.
She didn't come back hoping they'd welcome her.
The black Bentley pulled up in front of the Ralph villa. Warm, golden light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a gentle glow over the rain.
This was where her blood family lived.
Zora pushed open the car door, popped up a black umbrella, and stepped into the rain. Her washed-out cotton dress stuck to her legs in the wind, her ankles so delicate they looked like they might snap at the slightest pressure. Still, her steps were steady, each one firm as she made her way up the red carpet to the door.