My Family Left Me for Dead

"I want the necklace that woman's wearing!"

A sharp shriek cut through the room.

I followed the source of the screeching and saw my younger sister, Serena Carter, pointing at the sapphire necklace around my neck. She clung to our parents, whining, "Dad, didn't you say you'd get it for me as a birthday present?"

My father, Derek Carter, beamed at her indulgently. "Easy there, Serena. I'll get it for you."

My mother, Heidi Langford, gazed at her with doting affection. "You wear the necklace far better than she ever could."

The three of them stood there in ill-fitting formalwear, completely out of place among the elite gathered at the event.

Serena stomped to me in her heels. "Hey, I want that necklace on your neck! Name your price."

I ignored her, gently swirling the champagne in my glass.

Her face flushed red, her voice turning shrill. "Are you deaf? I'm talking to you! My dad already promised me that necklace. How dare you not give it to me, you thief!"

I finally looked up at her, a cold smile tugging at my lips. "Thief? Did you personally see me steal it?"

Serena faltered for a moment before growing even more arrogant. "Based on how you look, the only way you can afford the necklace is by stealing it! Do you know how much that necklace costs? There’s no way you’d be able to afford it even if you sell yourself on the black market!

"If you're smart, you'll take it off and give it to me now—or else!"

At that moment, my parents walked over as well. Derek handed me a business card. "Miss, I'm Derek Carter, author of the bestselling book "Desert Tears." My daughter likes this necklace very much. Name your price. We'll buy it off your hands."

Heidi chimed in from the side, her tone laced with condescension. "That's right, we're not short on money. A young girl like you shouldn't be wearing something so valuable—it's not safe. Why not sell it to us and use the money to buy something else?"

I looked at their rehearsed performance, the way they played off each other, and felt nothing but ridicule.

Ten years ago, I had been severely dehydrated, my lips cracked and bleeding, too weak even to cry. I had begged them for a sip of water—just one sip—but right in front of me, they poured that last life-saving bottle into Serena's pot of desert rose.

"You've got a strong will. You can hold on a little longer!"

"This flower is delicate. Without water, it will really die!"

They had carried that pot away without looking back, leaving me alone on the scorching sand dune to die. And now, standing here, basking in the fame and fortune bought with my death, they wanted to use money to take everything that belonged to me.

Seeing that I didn't respond, Serena reached out to grab it. "Talking to you is a waste of time! Give it to me!"

My gaze turned cold as I stepped aside.

Her hand missed, and she stumbled forward, nearly falling.