It was Chelsea who took the car out at three in the morning, high on adrenaline, and left a man dead on the asphalt. But it was my fiancé—the man I was supposed to marry in three days—who stood in my living room and asked me to take the fall. I gripped the delicate lace of my wedding dress, my knuckles turning white, staring at him in utter disbelief. Zachary lit a cigarette, his face a mask of chilling composure. “Chelsea is pregnant, Norma. It’s mine.” He took a slow drag, the smoke curling between us. “She won’t survive prison. But you… you’re different. You’re strong. You can handle it.” My hand flew up before I could think. The slap echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room. They made sure the trap was airtight. Zachary and the Marks family fabricated the evidence together. No matter how many times I screamed the truth to the detectives—that I wasn’t even in the car, that I had been asleep in my bed—nobody believed me. The paper trail they created was flawless. My biological mother, Margaret, wept as she grabbed my hands, her tears wetting my wrists. “Norma, please. Just take the plea. You can’t let Chelsea’s life be ruined… she’s so fragile…” Zachary stood by the window, his voice low and muffled, refusing to meet my eyes. “It’s only a year, Norma. Just plead guilty. When you get out, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” The day the heavy steel doors of the penitentiary slammed shut behind me was the exact same day Zachary and Chelsea walked down the aisle in a lavish society wedding. By the time I was finally released, the Markss had officially scrubbed my name from the family registry. To the world, the real heiress did not exist. I had nowhere to go but back to the old, grease-stained roadhouse grill my adoptive parents had left behind. It was late one evening when a sleek, black luxury sedan pulled up to the gravel lot of Barlow’s Grill. Zachary stepped out. He stared at me, his eyes burning with an intense, demanding glare. “Why didn’t you contact me when you got out? Are you still holding a grudge?” I shook my head slowly, keeping my voice level. “I stopped holding grudges a long time ago.” I turned back to the grill, flipping the seasoned skewers over the glowing coals, letting the smoke rise between us. He strode over, his polished leather shoes tracking dirt onto the concrete, and grabbed my wrist. “Norma, look at yourself. You’re throwing your life away in this dump. Have you completely forgotten your dreams? The piano?” I looked down at my hand—at the twisted, scarred knuckles and the faint, permanent tremors. I let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Who was it that destroyed those dreams, Zach? Do you really not know?” … I yanked my arm out of his grip and went back to tending the grill. “Norma!” his voice flared with sudden, unearned anger. I frowned slightly, genuinely puzzled by his fury. Since the day I walked out of those prison gates, I hadn’t bothered a single soul. I hadn’t knocked on the Markss’ front door. I hadn’t called him. I had vanished into the background, just as they wanted. Why was he still so angry with me? “Hey, can we get the check?” a customer called out from a nearby table. “Be right there,” I called back. I gestured for Phoebe to keep an eye on the grill, wiped my hands on my apron, and walked over to the table. “That’ll be thirty-eight dollars. Card or tap is fine right here.” Once the customers left, Zachary stepped into my path again. “Come back with me. Look at yourself—what are you even doing here?” I ignored him, walking straight past him back to the heat of the grill. “It’s been five years, Norma. Are you still punishing us? I get it, you’re angry that we asked you to take the fall. But it was only a single year.” My hands froze over the metal grates. A year? The air felt thick in my throat. I had spent five agonizing years behind those concrete walls. They hadn’t even bothered to check how long my sentence actually was. To them, my life was just a minor detail to be swept under the rug. But as the cold realization washed over me, I found I didn’t even have the energy to argue. “Are you finished, Mr. Crawford? Because I have a business to run, and you are disrupting my customers.” His temper flared, hot and demanding. He turned to the handful of diners sitting under the string lights. “Everything is paid for! Everyone, leave. Now!” A few people recognized his face from the local business news. Whispering among themselves, they quickly gathered their coats and slipped away. He was exactly the same—entitled, arrogant, completely indifferent to the lives of ordinary people. There was no saving tonight’s business. “Phoebe, you can head home early,” I said quietly. She looked at me, her eyes filled with worry. “Norma, are you sure you—” “I’m fine. Go on home.” I bent down to start clearing the tables, wiping away the grease and ashes. Zachary stood a few feet away, pulling out his phone. “I found Norma,” he said into the receiver. “Yeah. I’ll text you the address.” Before I could finish packing up the patio chairs, a sleek black town car pulled up to the curb. Drew stepped out, slamming the door. He walked toward me with a cold, severe expression, looking down at me the exact same way he did whenever he used to lecture me at the family estate. “Who are you trying to embarrass with this little act?” he sneered. “Do you want the entire city of Seattle to know that a Marks heiress is flipping burgers at a roadside shack?” “Get your things. You’re coming home right now.” I stopped wiping the table and looked up, meeting his eyes. Years ago, a look like that would have made me tremble. I would have looked down at my shoes and whispered, I’m sorry, Drew. I’ll do better. But that girl was dead. “Mr. Marks, have you forgotten?” I asked, my voice deadly calm. “I was formally written out of the family. I am no longer a Marks.” He flinched slightly, his rigid posture softening just a fraction. “The press was brutal back then. We had to distance the company from the scandal, otherwise the stock would have tanked. It was just a business decision.” He sighed, his voice dropping an octave. “Chelsea has been eaten alive by guilt these past few years. She misses you, Norma.” A hollow laugh escaped my chest. I honestly couldn’t tell if he was incredibly naive or just willfully blind. Chelsea only had to squeeze out a single tear, and Drew would believe whatever lie she spun. “I like my life here,” I said, resuming my packing. “Please leave.” Drew’s face darkened again. “You’re wasting your life in this place.” His eyes drifted past me, scanning the small, empty diner. “Where are your adoptive parents anyway? Why aren’t they helping you?” I froze, the damp rag slipping from my fingers. They didn’t even know. They had no idea my adoptive parents were dead. Before I went to prison, I had literally knelt on the marble floor of their foyer, begging them to look after the Barlows. They had looked down at me and given me their solemn word: Don’t worry. As long as you keep your mouth shut in court, we’ll make sure they are taken care of. And like a fool, I believed them. But during my second year inside, both of them passed away within months of each other, broken and alone. My eyes stung with sudden, fierce tears. “Get out!” I choked out, my voice raw. “Both of you, get the hell off my property!” Just as the words left my mouth, a sweet, melodic voice floated from the edge of the parking lot. “Norma!” My entire body went rigid. I would recognize that voice if I were deaf and blind. Chelsea. I remembered the very first day I walked into the Marks mansion. She had greeted me with that exact same high-pitched, sisterly affection. Chelsea had slid her arm through mine, her lower lip trembling with practiced guilt. “Norma, I’m so, so sorry. I spent eighteen years living the life that should have been yours.” Margaret had watched us with soft, tearful eyes, wrapping her arms around both of us. “You are both my daughters. You both belong here.” They had showered me with beautifully wrapped gifts. I had unwrapped them one by one, my heart swelling with a naive, desperate hope that I had finally found a real family. Three months later, I won first place at the International Chopin Competition. Standing on that brightly lit stage, clutching the gold medal, my eyes immediately searched the crowd for Zachary. He had walked toward the stage holding a massive bouquet of white roses, his smile brighter than the stage lights. “Norma, you were magnificent,” he had whispered. Chelsea had jogged up to us, linking her arm in mine and tilting her head as she looked at him. “Who’s this, Norma?” “This is my boyfriend, Zachary,” I had introduced him, unable to hide my pride. Chelsea had offered a warm, polished hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Norma’s sister, Chelsea.” Zachary had shaken her hand politely. After that, she became a permanent fixture in our lives. At first, Zachary would complain to me, teasingly grumbling that our dates always had a third wheel. But then things began to shift. I remember us sitting at a seafood restaurant downtown once. He ordered a plate of blackened sea bass. I had looked at him, surprised. “Since when do you eat fish? I thought you hated it.” “Chelsea likes it,” he said casually. I had laughed off, thinking nothing of it. But from that night on, his conversations slowly became peppered with her name. I didn’t care back then. I genuinely believed he was just trying to be a supportive brother-in-law. Looking back now, I see how blind I was. What a joke it all was. Then came the day I received the email. The Symphony Management Group wanted to sign me for a multi-city national tour. My hands shook so hard I could barely hold my phone. I wanted to scream the news from the rooftops. But Chelsea had stopped me, her hand warm on my arm. “Norma, let me go with you to meet the promoter first. Just to make sure everything is legitimate.” She smiled, her eyes sparkling. “We can announce it as a surprise at Mom’s birthday gala the day after tomorrow.” “Okay,” I had agreed, trusting her completely. The promoter had booked a suite at a luxury hotel downtown. But standing outside the heavy mahogany door of the penthouse suite, a sudden wave of unease washed over me. “Chelsea, maybe we should reschedule,” I muttered, taking a step back. “This feels off.” “Don’t worry, Norma. I’m right here with you,” she said softly, and before I could protest, she pressed the doorbell. The door clicked open. A heavy-set, slick-looking middle-aged man stood in the entryway, a glass of scotch in his hand. “Come on in,” he said, his eyes lingering on us. The man sat on the plush leather sofa, patting the spot right next to him. “Sit down, girls.” I stayed on my feet, my muscles tense. He smiled, a greasy, predatory grin. “You know, if you play your cards right, we can get this tour booked by next week.” My stomach turned. I grabbed Chelsea’s hand, my voice sharp. “We’re leaving.” But she didn’t budge. She slowly pulled her hand from mine, staring at me with a cold, blank expression. “It’s not time yet, Norma.” Before I could process her words, a violent crash erupted from the hallway outside. In a flash, Chelsea sprang into action. She clawed at her own hair, yanked hard on the collar of her silk blouse, tearing the fabric open and sending buttons scattering across the hardwood floor. Then, she stumbled blindly toward the entryway. Thud! The suite door was kicked off its latch. Zachary, Drew, and several of our family’s security guards burst into the room. Chelsea threw herself sob-wracked into Zachary’s arms, her shoulders shaking violently. “Zach… Drew… Oh god, I don’t want to live like this… Please don’t blame Norma, she didn’t know…” Before she could finish her performance, her eyes rolled back, and she “fainted” in his arms. Drew crossed the room in two strides. Before I could breathe, his hand cracked across my face. The force of the blow threw me to the floor, my cheek burning, my ears ringing with a deafening hum. “How could the Marks family raise such a vile, disgusting creature?” Drew roared, his face contorted in disgust. “You sold out your own sister to a predator just to get a damn concert tour?” I cradled my bruised face, staring up at him in absolute shock. “I didn’t! That’s not what happened! She tore her own clothes—” “Shut up!” Drew cut me off, his eyes filled with pure loathing. Right then, the slick promoter dropped to his knees, pointing a finger at me. “It was her! She set the whole thing up! She paid me to do it!” He pulled out his phone, waving a screen full of text logs and wire transfer receipts. The profile picture on the screen was mine. But I had never seen this man before in my life, let alone messaged him. Zachary stood in the corner of the room, silent. He didn’t say a single word. He just stared down at me, his eyes cold and heavy with absolute disappointment. When we returned to the estate, I was locked in the family’s private library, forced to kneel on the cold hardwood floor under the stern portraits of our ancestors. Three days later was my mother’s birthday gala. The moment the library door unlocked, Chelsea was waiting for me in the hallway. The tears from three days ago were entirely gone. She leaned in, her voice a low, venomous whisper: “You should have never tried to steal what belongs to me, Norma.” Margaret met us at the top of the stairs, sighing heavily. Her eyes held nothing but disappointment. “Norma, please. Do not cause any more scenes tonight.” I dug my fingernails deep into the palms of my hands, swallowing the lump in my throat as I followed her into the grand ballroom. Whispers immediately rippled through the crowd. “Is that the long-lost daughter?” “I heard she’s a prodigy. Won the gold medal at the Chopin competition.” “The Markss really hit the jackpot…” Chelsea turned to me with a bright, sweet smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Norma, why don’t we play a duet for Mom?” But halfway through the performance, my throat began to constrict, my skin burning as hives erupted across my arms. Someone had coated the piano keys in peach fuzz—an allergen they knew would trigger a severe, anaphylactic reaction in me. I collapsed onto the keys. When I opened my eyes in the sterile white room of the hospital, only Zachary was sitting by my bedside. Not a single member of the Marks family had mattered enough to show up. My chest felt tight, a dull, aching sorrow settling deep in my bones. Zachary drove me back to the estate in silence. When the car pulled up to the grand iron gates, he stared out the windshield for a long moment, before leaving without saying a word. I pushed open the heavy front doors. Laughter floated down from the living room. Chelsea was curled up on the sofa next to Margaret, whispering something that made everyone laugh. It was a picture-perfect scene of a happy, intact family. Drew glanced up at me, his tone dry and dismissive. “If Chelsea hadn’t stepped in and finished the piece for you, you would have made a complete fool of the family tonight.” “The keys were covered in peach fuzz,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “I had an allergic reaction. Someone did it on purpose.” He let out a cold snort. “Who are you trying to fool? The doctor already called. He said it was just a minor panic attack. You were faking it because you couldn’t handle the pressure.” I opened my mouth to defend myself, but the words died in my throat. There was no point. The next afternoon, the family’s estate attorney arrived. “According to the late Mr. Marks’s trust,” the lawyer announced, sliding a folder across the mahogany table, “since Chelsea Marks is not of biological descent, her share of the family trust is nullified. The inheritance must be transferred immediately to Norma Marks.” Drew set his teacup down, his face indifferent. “They are both daughters of this house. It shouldn’t matter whose name is on the paper.” “Legally, sir, Chelsea has no claim to these assets,” the lawyer replied firmly. Once the shares were transferred to my name, Chelsea went quiet for two months. During that time, Zachary was attentive. He took me to gallery openings, classical concerts, and eventually, at our engagement party, he dropped to one knee, promising me a lifetime of devotion. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to believe that the storm had passed. Until the afternoon Drew threw a paper check violently into my face. Drew stood over me, his chest heaving with rage. “I actually thought you had changed, Norma. I thought you were trying to be a decent human being. But you’re even more venomous than before.” I looked down at the slip of paper on the floor. It was a personal check for five million dollars. My signature was forged flawlessly at the bottom. “Since you love buying people off so much, let’s see how much trouble you can make when you’re broke,” Drew sneered, tossing a thick document onto the desk. It was a trust fund transfer agreement. I looked up at him, my throat tight. “What is this?” He let out a harsh laugh. “You really are a sociopath, aren’t you?” He pulled a digital voice recorder from his pocket and pressed play. My own voice filled the quiet room: Chelsea, here’s five million dollars. Take it and get out of this house. There is only room for one daughter in this family, and it’s me… The recording was so perfect, the vocal inflections so precise, that if I hadn’t known the truth, I might have believed it myself. “This isn’t me,” I whispered. “I was at the Barlows’ house all day today. I never left.” “Of course they’d cover for you,” Drew snapped. “Those people would lie for you in a heartbeat.” “Sign it.” “I didn’t do this! Why should I sign away what my grandfather left me?” He didn’t bother arguing. He simply gestured to the two guards standing by the door. They stepped forward, grabbing my arms and pinning me rawly against the mahogany desk, forcing my hand to sign the transfer agreement. When they finally let me go, I looked at my family—at the people who shared my blood—and felt nothing but a vast, freezing void. I turned and walked out of the house. Outside, a torrential Seattle downpour was washing over the driveway. I dialed Zachary’s number nine times. Each call went straight to voicemail. I took a cab to his townhouse, but the windows were dark, the driveway empty. I stood in the pouring rain for what felt like hours, my clothes soaked through, before my feet took me to the only place that had ever felt safe: the Barlows’ modest suburban home. My adoptive mother, Diane Barlow, opened the door, her face pale with concern. “Norma? Sweetheart, what happened? Where is Zachary?” I couldn’t speak. The dam inside me broke, and I collapsed into her arms, sobbing hysterically. “Mom, I don’t want to go back there… They hate me… They don’t want me…” I poured my heart out, crying until my ribs ached. Diane held me close, gently rubbing my back just like she did when I was a little girl. “Then don’t go back, baby. You don’t ever have to go back. This will always be your home.” In the middle of the night, the buzz of my phone woke me. I blinked against the harsh light of the screen. It was an image message from Chelsea. Two hands, fingers tightly intertwined. I recognized the silver watch and the scar on the thumb instantly. It was Zachary’s hand. Below the photo, a single text: You have great taste in men, sis. But he’s mine now. With shaking fingers, I saved the photo to a secure folder. Over the next two days, she sent more. Every single day, a new photo. I stared at the collection of images on my screen. In three days, I was supposed to walk down the aisle to marry Zachary. I quietly saved every single one. I hoped he would appreciate the wedding gift I was preparing for him. But at four in the morning, a violent pounding on the front door shattered the silence. Zachary stood on the porch, his eyes bloodshot, several of the Marks family guards looming behind him in the shadows. “Norma,” he said, his voice raw. “Chelsea was in an accident. She… she hit a pedestrian. The man didn’t make it.” I leaned against the doorframe, staring at him, my heart completely numb. “And?” “The family is calling the police. Chelsea can’t go to prison, Norma. She’s pregnant. With my baby.” “So?” He took a deep, trembling breath, unable to look me in the eye. “Take the fall for her. If you confess, with our lawyers, you’ll only get a year or two. I’ll pull strings from the outside to get you out early.” I looked at him, and a cold, hysterical laugh escaped my lips. This was the man who had promised to protect me. The man who swore he would love me forever. “And if I say no?” Zachary lowered his eyes. The silence stretched between us, heavy and threatening. “The Barlows are getting old, Norma,” he murmured softly. “It would be a shame if… something happened to them while you were busy fighting this.” “You bastard…” On the morning I was supposed to wear a white wedding gown, I was escorted into a prison cell instead. On my very first night in the state penitentiary, three inmates dragged me into the blind spot of the showers. One of them clamped her hand around my jaw, forcing my head back. “Chelsea sends her regards,” she whispered. “She said you won’t be needing these anymore.” They pinned me down. One by one, they bent my fingers back until the bones snapped, slowly grinding my knuckles into the concrete floor. From that night on, the hands that had once flown effortlessly across black and white keys, the hands that had won international acclaim, could no longer hold a pen without trembling. Five years. How fast time passes when your soul is dead. I let out a long, slow breath, my gaze shifting across the three people standing in my parking lot. “The grill is closed,” I said, my voice empty of emotion. “Please leave.” I turned to walk back inside. Behind me, a loud thud echoed. Chelsea had dropped to her knees on the damp gravel. “Norma, please!” she sobbed, her face buried in her hands. “I know I ruined your life. You can hit me, you can scream at me, I’ll take it. But Mom has been so sick since you went away. Please, just come home and see her. Just once.” I paused, but I didn’t turn around. “Maybe that’s just her penance,” I said softly. I remembered the day I returned to the Markss. Margaret had held our hands, smiling warmly, promising that we were both her daughters. But she had never loved me. Not really. Chelsea was always her favorite, the golden child who could do no wrong. “Norma, do you even have a heart?” Drew yelled, his voice cracking with anger. My heart died five years ago in a dark shower stall, I thought. I didn’t answer. I walked into the small apartment behind the grill, locking the door behind me. On the mantelpiece, the framed photos of Diane and Thomas Barlow sat side by side, draped in black ribbon. I lit a stick of incense, placing it in the small brass holder before them. I pulled out the worn, folded letter my adoptive mother had left for me before she passed. My sweet Norma, I’m so sorry I couldn’t wait for you. But you must keep living. Don’t be afraid. I’m watching over you from the stars. A single tear escaped my eye, dripping onto the yellowed paper, blurring the ink. “I will, Mom,” I whispered. “I promise I’ll keep living.”
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