Watching My Fake Sister Dig Her Own Grave

At four, they shattered both my legs. At six, they ruptured my left eardrum. At seven, they took my right eye—said I'd earn more sympathy begging blind.

My billionaire parents spent a decade searching for me. When they finally brought me home, the girl who'd been living my life grabbed my wrist hard enough to bruise.

"Try to take what's mine," she hissed, nails digging into my skin, "and I'll break whatever's left of your legs."

I glanced down at her manicured fingers.

Seemed like overkill.

I unclipped both prosthetic legs and let them drop. My empty pant legs hung limp.

Mom and Dad went white.

My brother Reid stormed over, leaned down to my ear, and warned me not to piss Serena off again.

I pointed at my ear, all innocent, and shouted loud enough to shake the chandelier: "SORRY! LEFT EAR'S DEAF! CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

He staggered back two steps, staring at me like I'd just crawled out of hell.

That evening, they threw a welcome dinner. Two hundred guests, all there to witness my "miracle reunion."

I wore the dress Mom picked—pale blue silk, long sleeves, high collar. Covered every scar. Serena wore white. Of course she did.

Halfway through dinner, Serena stood to give a speech, voice trembling just right. "I know tonight is about celebrating Wren coming home. I'm so grateful she's safe. I've always known I was just... keeping her place warm. Now that she's back where she belongs, I just want to be the best sister I can be."

Thunderous applause. Someone was crying.

Serena walked toward me, arms open. I stood on my prosthetics and met her halfway. She hugged me tight.

Then she stumbled.

Grabbed my sleeve to steady herself—

The fabric ripped.

Shoulder to wrist.

The room went silent.

Burns. Knife scars. Cigarette marks. Some faded white, some still pink. Not an inch of unmarked skin.

Reid was heading over with Mom and Dad, ready to tear into me.

They stopped.

Mom made a sound I'd never heard before. Then she and Dad were pulling me into their arms, both of them shaking.

"Who did this?" Dad's voice cracked. "Tell us. We'll make them pay."

Serena backpedaled fast. "I didn't do this. Don't you dare try to blame me—"

"She's right," I said. "It wasn't Serena. It was the people who took me."

Reid stared at me. "You just let them do this to you?"

"Fighting made it worse." I kept my voice flat. "I learned that early."

No one spoke.

The guests filed out. Mom and Dad stepped away to make calls, voices low and urgent. Reid stood by the window with his back to me, saying nothing.

Serena appeared at the top of the stairs. "Let me help you up."

"I'm fine."

"I insist." She came down and linked her arm through mine like she was doing me a favor.

At the foot of the stairs, she leaned in close. "Don't think playing pathetic gets you anything. They love me. Not you."

I didn't answer.

She started up with me anyway.

Halfway up, she let go.

"Goodnight."

Something caught my ankle.

I pitched forward. Reached for the railing—caught it for half a second.

Didn't try again.

I tumbled down. Two sharp clicks. My prosthetics flew off—one hit the wall, one rolled across the foyer floor.

I stopped at the bottom.

The stumps had torn open. Blood soaked through the bandages.

It hurt.

"Wren!" Mom's scream cut through the house.

Footsteps running. Voices overlapping.

My vision blurred. The last thing I saw was Serena on the stairs behind me, face drained of color.

Then everything went black.