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My actor parents made me sign an agreement to hide our relationship. They were afraid I'd ride their fame into the entertainment industry. So I clawed my way up from the bottom, and during a stunt scene high above the ground, I fell. The impact left me barely breathing, and I called them with shaking hands, begging them to come sign the surgery consent forms. They ignored me. When I finally got through, my mother's voice was cold. "Don't try to use this little stunt to force us to go public. You've been scheming since you were a child. You think we don't know you by now?" I survived, but barely. And while I was fighting for my life, my sister wrapped up her final day of shooting. I saw her post on social media—she stood in the center of the crew, glowing, and my parents beamed beside her. They introduced her to everyone as their beloved daughter, their pride and joy. The caption read: [Leading lady on screen, our little princess at home.] I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I didn't beg them to see me anymore. Instead, I drafted a severance agreement, signed it, and walked away.