Chapter 1

ELISHA’S POV

One year ago today, I lost my daughter, Carrie. 

She hadn’t been born yet… it didn’t matter. I knew it was a girl, and I knew I’d name her Carrie. 

In the quiet, pastel pink and mint green nursery, I sat on the rocking chair and folded her clothes. 

Again. 

For the hundred-millionth time. 

As if it would dull reality and make my fantasy come alive.

The sharp ring of the doorbell startled me. I glanced at the tiny onesie slipping from my fingers and stood quickly. 

Anthony probably forgot his key again.

I hurried down the stairs and swung open the front door, ready to tease my husband for his memory, ready to pretend everything was fine.

But Anthony Möller wasn’t alone.

My sister Natalie stood beside him, glowing like sunshine. “Hey, sis. Anthony invited me to crash here for a while!”

She didn’t wait for an answer, breezing past me into the foyer as Anthony trailed behind, lugging two massive duffel bags that he dropped heavily onto the floor. He didn’t meet my eyes.

How long was “a while”? 

Why was she here? 

My throat tightened. 

How could my husband bring home the woman who killed our baby? 

Natalie spun around, grinning with false sweetness. “So? Where’s my room?”

The question lingered between us like poison. 

I watched as Anthony motioned for the butler to pick up his bags and show Natalie the guest rooms. 

Natalie was my parents’ biological daughter. She had gone missing twenty years ago, which devastated our mother. On the brink of taking her own life, our father adopted me from an orphanage. 

As some sort of replacement. 

They named me Elisha… Elisha Montgomery. 

I was raised by a wealthy family in a wealthy neighborhood and had a life most people only dream of. Good parents, a loving brother, a great school, all the bags, shoes, cars, and vacations a girl could dream of. 

And we spent most of our time with the Möller family. Together, our families had several businesses and practically owned the city we lived in. 

I believed I was the happiest, luckiest little girl in the world. 

But two years ago… Natalie came back. Every DNA test confirmed that she was, indeed, my parents’ real child. 

Cameras flashed outside the mansion gates. Reporters buzzed with excitement, chasing the tragic fairytale reunion: “Missing Montgomery heiress found after twenty years.” 

My mother sobbed into Natalie’s shoulder like she’d never stopped waiting for this moment, while my father stood behind them, too stunned to speak, his hand trembling on the staircase railing. 

The Möllers stood by my parents in solidarity, thrilled and relieved that we were finally reunited. 

I stood in the back as the relentless barrage of questions hit both families. 

But I wasn’t upset about that. After all, Natalie deserved her moment. 

But things didn’t exactly go back to normal after that… 

Soon enough, I became an afterthought. First, it was like I didn’t exist. Then, it became like I was a nuisance. A burden. 

I was being tolerated, while Natalie was being endlessly celebrated. Any new family photos that were taken after her return, my grandparents insisted I stay out so they could capture the “real” family. My mother would only shoot me an apologetic glance, but never come to my defense. 

Nobody did. 

It made me feel like I was a thief. Someone who snuck in, stole someone’s life, and was now just around because she couldn’t be thrown away. 

Even Anthony, whom I had married years before, was technically promised to her by the Möllers. 

Out of guilt, I tried to spend time getting to know her. My long-lost sister. Nat. When she was showered with love and praises, I joined in. I was just happy to have a sister. 

But she didn’t feel the same way about me. 

She had little inside jokes with Anthony. Her compliments to me were always backhanded, making comments about my clothes, my hair, or my body. I’d find the gifts I gave her in the trash. She started taking over any rituals or routines I had with my parents—tea time with my mother, playing golf with my father. 

Bit by bit, she pushed me out of existence. 

I snapped back to the present as Anthony came up behind me, his arms slipping around my waist. 

“You’ve seemed so down lately,” he murmured softly. “I thought having your sister here might cheer you up.”

Sister. 

The word felt like window dressing on a trash can. 

I moved out of his embrace, turning to look at him. “Did you forget what today is?”

His expression darkened momentarily, then smoothed again. “It’s been a year. Isn’t it time we all moved on?”

Easy words for someone who hadn’t bled. 

A year ago, I suffered a miscarriage, three months into my pregnancy. 

All because Natalie bumped me from the top of the staircase in Anthony’s parents’ home. 

She’d cried convincingly. Everyone believed her tears, even Anthony. They all saw it as a tragic, horrible accident. 

But I still remembered the cold triumph flickering in her eyes just before it happened. The smug smile she gave me as her hands stretched out in front of her, and I tumbled downward. 

Anthony had never cared for the child; it hardly pained him. It hardly affected anyone in the family. 

I was left alone in my grief. Left alone to mourn. 

All because Natalie decided an unborn baby wasn’t as important as her being the center of attention with the Montgomerys and Möllers.  

Nat walked back to where we were, smiling ear to ear. “I love the room! I’m hitting the pool until lunch. Anthony?”

He smiled. “Pool sounds great.”

I watched them disappear together, Natalie chattering away, Anthony listening with focus and softness I had never seen. 

It stung more than it should have.

I turned, heading back upstairs. I wanted solitude, the nursery, quiet grief.

But Natalie’s voice sliced through the quiet again as she popped around the corner, blocking my escape.

“Hey!”

I turned around to look at her questioningly, not caring to hide my annoyance. 

“Anthony said you should help set up my room!” she said brightly. 

We had people for that—staff who were paid to handle these things. But Natalie didn’t want efficiency; she wanted me humbled.

“Sure,” I said softly, swallowing my pride. “I’ll handle it.”

She flashed another bright, empty smile, vanishing toward the pool.

I made my way to the guestrooms and saw the maid already setting up. Quietly, I helped her lay the sheets flat and put the duvet on. 

After finishing up, I stepped onto the balcony for fresh air. Just one quiet breath before returning to my grief.

The air was thick with summer heat, tinged with the sharp scent of chlorine and coconut sunscreen. Laughter echoed from the pool, distant and shrill, as sunlight flickered through the trees in golden patches. The stone railing burned warm beneath my palms. A soft breeze stirred my hair, but it didn’t cool me. 

Nothing did. 

I stared at the sky until it blurred, the world moving on around me while I stayed frozen in that one moment—falling, bleeding, breaking.

But from the patio below, Natalie’s voice drifted up, clear as crystal, her words a dagger straight into my heart:

“So… if my sister weren’t around… you would’ve married me, right?”