Chapter 1

My mother was thoroughly brainwashed by TikTok psychology. She claimed she had an "avoidant attachment style."

She insisted her soul only needed an "anchor partner"—someone who would constantly guide and indulge her.

If I said two fewer words at dinner, she’d accuse me of abuse.

"Don't you know I’m avoidant? Are you giving me the silent treatment to drive me insane?"

"You don't have an ounce of Mia's sweetness! Mia is always doting on me. You’ve worked your brain into mush at that stupid office!"

In that suffocating house, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Yet she insisted I was deliberately punishing her.

To cope, I adopted a little teacup poodle. Just as I was beginning to heal, my mother took the puppy and hurled him off our fifteenth-floor balcony.

"Nasty mutt! Yapping all day long! It was giving me a headache!"

I didn't scream. I didn't cry.

I simply canceled my sister’s allowance, froze my mother’s medical fund, and accepted a lucrative job offer out of state—one I had turned down three times just to look after her.

The moment my mind was made up, I booked my one-way ticket. My packed suitcase sat in the corner of my bedroom, ready to roll.

The image of my puppy’s broken body was still burned into my mind. Looking in the mirror, my eyes were terrifyingly bloodshot.

Brenda strolled in leisurely, holding a bowl of freshly washed grapes. With a calm smile, she said, "Dogs are filthy parasites anyway. Don't ever bring another one home, and I’ll consider letting you stay my good daughter."

I stared straight into her eyes, my entire frame trembling, but I couldn't utter a sound.

She curled her lip, shoving the bowl of grapes into my hands like some generous charity, then patted my shoulder. "Oh? Are you actually throwing a tantrum? Ever heard of respecting your elders? If you had half the loyalty Mia has, I wouldn’t have had to get rid of that animal! You know I have an avoidant attachment style. Giving me the cold shoulder proves you're an ungrateful viper who never cared about me."

"Besides, touching that disgusting creature ruined my manicure."

Always Mia. Always brushing past the wounds she carved into me to justify her cruelty.

I looked down at the grapes in my hands, turned the bowl over, and let them drop. One by one, I crushed them beneath my sneakers.

"You dare throw attitude at me?" Her eyes turned venomous, her lips twitching into an ugly smirk.

"Get on your knees and eat them off the floor, or get the hell out of my apartment. Did living here make you forget whose name is on the deed?"

"Don't forget, your dead father left this place to me. I let you sleep here out of pity, and I can throw you onto the street whenever I damn well please."

The air turned freezing, but her words were colder than any winter wind.

Except I didn't care anymore.

To hell with family. Let her histrionic younger daughter bask in this toxic dump alone.

I grabbed my suitcase handle and headed for the door. Brenda stuck her foot out, blocking my wheels.

"Think long and hard about this. Once you walk out that door, you could bash your head open begging to get back in, and I still wouldn't unlock it."

She wasn't sick of the empty threats, but I was exhausted from hearing them.

I yanked the suitcase forward with all my might. Caught off balance, her heavy body crashed sideways to the floor in a pathetic heap.

I didn't spare her a second glance. I kept walking.

"Chloe! You ungrateful bitch! From this day on, you can drop dead on the street and I won't lift a finger!"

I paused at the threshold, glancing back at her contorted, hateful face. "Deal."

"And when you die in a ditch, don't expect me to bury you."

She grabbed a ceramic vase from the entryway console and hurled it at my head with all her strength.

"How dare you curse your own mother! You worthless brat..."

I shut the door, leaving her shrieks muffled behind it. Once in the Uber, I dialed my landlord.

"Mrs. Vance, I’m terminating the lease on the downtown apartment. Today."

The woman’s voice turned shrill and abrasive. "What?! You're breaking the lease now? Do you have any idea how many tenants complained when your lunatic family threw that dog off the balcony last week?!"

"You owe me for the damages and the lost rent!"

The deed Brenda bragged about was a fake my father had printed out years ago to appease her ego. I had rented that place under my own name right after college, back when I was young, clueless, and easily manipulated into paying $200 over market rate while foolishly bringing Mrs. Vance baked goods every weekend.

When I discovered the truth, I tried to negotiate, but she had pointed smugly to the lease.

"Black and white, sweetie. You signed it. Don't like it? Break the lease and get out."

Back then, faced with her arrogance, I had backed down because Brenda was obsessed with living in a luxury high-rise.

Now, that lie was finally going to work in my favor.

"Save your breath, Mrs. Vance. My mother is still sitting inside. Why don't you go up and discuss the rent with her?"