Chapter 2

The moment those words left my mouth, my parents' sobbing stopped on a dime.

Every single person in the room stared at me like I'd grown a second head.

Mom pulled herself out of Dad's arms. She pointed a shaking finger at me and exploded.

"You ungrateful brat!"

"Your sister died protecting you! And this is what you say?!"

Dad's eyes were bloodshot. "That's your own sister! Her body isn't even cold yet, and you're already trying to wash your hands of this?"

Marcus didn't say a word. He just glanced over at Victor.

Victor's massive palm slammed down on the table like a gunshot.

"Debts are debts! Pay up or I'll crack open that casket and drag her corpse through the streets!"

He grinned—a predator's grin—and moved toward the casket, shoving it like he was about to pry it open.

"Don't you dare—!"

Dad lunged forward like a madman, blocking Victor with his entire body.

Mom pounded on my chest, her fists wild and desperate, gasping for air between sobs.

"You're a monster! Vivian loved you so much, and for a few dollars, you'll let them desecrate her body?"

"We gave you everything growing up! Paid for your Ivy League tuition, put the house deed in your name, and this is how you repay us? You're a wolf in sheep's clothing!"

The relatives couldn't take it anymore.

"Clara, your parents spent so much on you. The least you can do is help them out."

"She's already gone. What's the point of hoarding money now?"

"Your sister went out of her way to drive you to work every day. Don't be so selfish!"

They didn't know the truth.

Vivian didn't "drive me to work." That car was mine—I bought it. She said she'd be my chauffeur, took the keys, and never gave them back. I even had to pay for gas.

And the whole "sacrificed her education for me" story? A total lie.

The truth? Vivian took the college entrance exam twice and scored under 200 both times. I got into an Ivy League school on a full ride.

My parents had been bragging for years about their "smart eldest daughter." When the scores came out, they panicked.

So they spun a new story: the family could only afford to send one kid to college, and Vivian "selflessly" gave up her spot for me.

They threw me a graduation party, but handed Vivian all the gifts and money people had given me in cards.

I had to work a summer job just to pay for my own textbooks.

"Your sister doesn't have a degree. Life's harder for her out there. You really want to fight her over a few bucks?"

"We've always been fair. You got the fancy education. Naturally, your sister gets more financial support."

And that house "in my name"? They bought it for Vivian—using up my first-time homebuyer benefits in the process.

They claimed they treated us equally. But every single decision had been rigged in Vivian's favor.

No wonder she had the guts to fake her own death and scam me.

"That car was mine to begin with! She never—"

Crack.

Mom's hand whipped across my face before I could finish.

Then, still crying, she pulled out her phone and transferred $70,000 to Victor on the spot.

"Take this seventy thousand for now! We're not deadbeats. No matter what, we pay our debts!"

"Clara won't own up to it? Fine. We will!"

At the exact same moment, my phone buzzed.

Account balance: $0.00.

My brain went white.

I remembered—a few days ago, Mom said she didn't have money for online shopping and insisted I link my card to her account.

That seventy thousand? That was every dollar I had saved.

"That's MY money!" I shrieked, lunging forward to stop her.

But Dad grabbed me by the arm and flung me backward. My forehead cracked hard against the lacquered edge of the casket.

"You're obsessed! That money came from your mother's phone! We're paying your sister's debt with our money!"

"You've always been a schemer. Now you're even claiming your parents' money as your own?"

"You heartless leech! You cost us our jobs when you were born, and now you've killed Vivian! I wish I'd never had you!"

My head throbbed. White noise filled my ears.

But I heard it.

A faint, muffled laugh coming from inside the casket.

Vivian was laughing at me. Just like she always had. This family had never wanted me.

I looked up, red-eyed, ready to blow the whole thing wide open—to scream that Vivian was faking it.

But then my gaze landed on something.

Dad's wrist.

A leather bracelet engraved with Vivian's initials.

I'd seen that design before. Marcus used to have one exactly like it.

And now, as I stared, the two of them exchanged a look. Then both turned to stare at me.

Boom.

It hit me like thunder splitting fog.

My parents had known all along.

They were in on it from the start—co-conspirators with Marcus, bleeding me dry from every angle.