As You Wished, Your Perfect Daughter Will Never Rebel.

"Smash that goddamn guitar. Then go say hello to your sister Eve. We don't need that noise-making trash in this house."

That was the first thing my father Reginald Warden said when I walked through the door.

He stood in the center of our bright, spacious living room in his tailored suit, arms crossed, that familiar look of disgust etched into his face.

My mother Helen sat on the cream leather sofa with her tea, watching me like I was something she'd found stuck to her shoe.

Next to her was a blonde girl with perfect skin and an even more perfect smile. Eve—the daughter they'd adopted during my second year at Eden.

In the corner sat my old guitar. A red-and-white Fender Stratocaster. It used to be everything to me.

Three years ago, I'd bitten clean through Alex's arm trying to protect it. Dad had zip-tied my wrists and thrown me into a black van headed for the correctional facility.

"Understood," I said. My voice came out flat. Empty.

I walked to the basement, grabbed the sledgehammer from the tool rack, and came back upstairs.

Dad's eye twitched. He clearly hadn't expected me to just... obey. The old me would have screamed, thrown things, maybe set something on fire.

I stood in front of the guitar and lifted the hammer.

At Eden, guitars were torture devices. Every time I tried to remember a chord progression, the shock collar around my wrist would light me up until my muscles seized.

Six months of that, and my brain learned a new equation: music equals dying.

The hammer came down. Wood splintered.

Again. The body cracked. Strings snapped with a screaming metallic whine.

My knuckles went white from gripping the handle. My heart was trying to punch through my ribcage.

This used to be my whole world. But now every swing sent phantom electricity crackling up my arm, and all I could do was bite my tongue hard enough to taste blood and keep smashing.

Steady rhythm. Even force. Destroying myself one piece at a time.

When it was finally just splinters and wire, I set down the hammer and walked over to Eve, swallowing the copper taste in my mouth.

"Hello, Eve." I looked straight at her, kept my words per minute at exactly one-twenty like they'd taught me.

Eve stood up and opened her arms. "Welcome home, Melody. I've heard so much about you. I really hope we can be friends."

I stared at that flawless smile. My fingers twitched against my jeans.

Three years ago, they'd thrown me away like garbage to make room for this perfect replacement.

My nails dug into my palms. Can't lose it. Losing it means the isolation room with no lights.

I forced my face back to neutral and met her eyes.

"I need clear instructions. What exactly do you want me to do?"

The room went quiet. Helen set down her teacup with a sharp clink.

"Melody, what on earth is wrong with you? Is this how Eden taught you to behave?"

"At Eden we learned that language exists to receive and confirm orders. Emotional expression is unnecessary noise that must be eliminated." I stood perfectly still, hands flat against my thighs.

Dad's jaw tightened. He cleared his throat. "That's enough. Go wash your hands. Alex will be home soon and we're eating dinner."

"Yes, sir."

I turned and headed for the bathroom.

Dinner was laid out on the long mahogany table when Alex came in. He wore his prep school blazer with a debate team medal pinned to the lapel. When he saw me, he didn't even try to hide the disgust on his face.

"Three years and the psycho actually survived."

"Alex, language." Mom sliced into her steak, sounding almost pleased. "She seems much better now. The headmaster at Eden personally assured me she's been completely reformed."

"Right. I'll believe that when I see it." Alex pulled out his chair and sat down. Then he slid a dessert plate across the table toward me—crème brûlée covered in crushed macadamia nuts. "Eat up, Melody. Consider it a welcome home present."

Everyone stopped moving. They all knew.

When I was twelve, I ate half a macadamia nut by accident and my throat closed up so bad I spent three days in the ICU. After that, those nuts were banned from the house.

But I'd been gone three years. Long enough for them to stop caring.

And now Alex was using it to test me.

"Alex, don't you think that's a bit much?" Dad frowned but didn't move the plate. He wanted to see this too—wanted to know if they'd really broken his rebellious daughter.

I looked at the dessert. My stomach was already cramping.

At Eden, allergies weren't allowed. Allergies were weakness. Genetic failure.

I watched an instructor once force-feed a girl with a peanut allergy an entire jar of peanut butter. He told us that with enough discipline, the body could overcome any rejection response.

She died in solitary that night. He said it was because she wasn't obedient enough.

"Understood."

I picked up the spoon. Scooped a large piece. Put it in my mouth.

Sweet caramel and nut fragments spread across my tongue. I barely chewed before swallowing.

Second bite. Third. My movements were mechanical, measured. Like a machine processing waste.

Alex's smirk froze on his face. Dad's frown deepened. Eve was staring at me without blinking, and for just a second, something like a blue glow flickered in her eyes.

I finished the last bite. Set down the spoon. Folded my hands in my lap.

"Task complete. Further instructions?"

Nobody said anything.

Thirty seconds later, my body started shutting down.

My airway constricted. Hard. My throat made harsh wheezing sounds I couldn't control. Red welts erupted across my neck and forearms. The room started going dark at the edges. Tears I didn't ask for burned down my face.

But I stayed sitting upright.

"Melody?" Mom's voice went shrill. "Did you actually—what's wrong with you? Are you insane?"

"No one told me to stand up or ask for help." I could barely force the words out through my closing throat.

"Stop faking! You used to lose your mind if you even saw those nuts!" Alex was on his feet now, but when he got a good look at my purple lips and the way my eyes were starting to bulge, his voice cracked.

"Dad... I think she really can't breathe."

"Call 911! Now!" Dad shot up so fast his chair crashed backward.

I watched them panic through failing vision. Alex's fear. Mom's shaking hands. My heart was slamming against my ribs in pure animal terror, every instinct screaming at me to do something.

But I couldn't call for help. Eden's rules were wrapped around my brain like barbed wire—without a direct order, I didn't even have permission to survive.

Everything went black, and I let myself fall.