Chapter 2

Thea's POV

The Waldorf Astoria's penthouse ballroom blazed with crystal chandeliers.

My ghost slipped through the carved wooden doors without effort. Warm. Luxurious. The air thick with expensive champagne and French perfume.

A different world from the cliff where I'd died.

At the center of the ballroom, Aria stood in a white gown like something out of a magazine. Around her neck—the emerald necklace. The heirloom that's supposed to go to the eldest Sinclair daughter.

That was MINE.

"God, you're beautiful." Damien, sharp in his tailored tuxedo, gazed at her like she hung the moon. He slid a diamond the size of a quail egg onto her finger. "I'm the luckiest guy in the world."

Everyone clapped.

My father Richard beamed. Diana's eyes glistened as she showed off her "perfect daughter" to the crowd of socialites.

I floated beneath the chandeliers, watching it all.

That should've been me standing there. That necklace was mine. That man was mine.

But I felt... nothing.

"Diana, where's Thea?" A woman in pearls, wine glass in hand, leaned in. "She's really not coming to this?"

Diana's face went dark. She scoffed. "Don't even mention her. She called earlier with some bullshit about a car accident. Can you believe that? She can't handle Aria being happy, so now she's pulling stunts to get attention." Her voice turned sharp. "I should've left her in that foster home. God, what a mistake."

"Exactly, Mrs. Sinclair." Damien's sister Sarah chimed in, eager. "Thea's always been jealous. I mean, Aria got into Stanford AND she's with my brother—Thea's probably drunk in some dive bar right now."

"Enough." Damien raised his glass, disgust flickering in his eyes. "This is supposed to be a celebration. Let's not waste time on her." He paused. "I cut off her card. When she's done throwing her tantrum, she'll come back begging."

Come back begging?

I stared at Damien's smug face and laughed—a sound no one could hear.

Too bad, Damien. That card you cut off? It's in a biohazard bag now. Soaked in my blood.

Aria pressed into Damien's side, smiling.

Why wouldn't she smile? Just hours ago, she'd watched me storm out with the shredded Stanford letter I'd found in her drawer.

"Damien, don't..." Aria's voice dropped, wounded. "She's still my sister." She hesitated, biting her lip. "She's smart, really. She just—she's desperate to prove something, you know? Maybe I should've let her have it. The Stanford thing."

"Are you kidding me?" Damien pulled her closer, protective. "You EARNED Stanford. What's Thea ever done besides throw fits? Her grades are a joke."

I stared at him.

A joke?

Damien. You forgot, didn't you? Who stayed up late helping you study? Who aced every AP class?

Right. You don't know. Because Aria told you SHE wrote all that. Because Aria drugged my coffee the morning of finals.

And you just... believed her. No questions asked.

"Fine." Diana's voice was ice. "When she drags herself back tomorrow, I'll deal with her. And if she doesn't get on her knees and apologize to Aria, she's OUT. No inheritance, nothing."

I looked at my mother. The woman who gave birth to me—and destroyed me.

Mom. I'm never coming back to apologize.

Because right now, a medical examiner's cutting open your real daughter's chest.

The party hit its peak when they brought out the cake—massive, elaborate, ridiculous.

Damien and Aria held hands, cutting into it together. Cameras flashed. Recording the "perfect" family.

I drifted closer. Reached out. My hand passed straight through his chest.

"Go ahead," I whispered in his ear, though he couldn't hear me. "Celebrate. Laugh." My voice dropped. "This is the last good night you'll ever have."