LOGINThree years ago, my husband, my parents, and my adopted sister faked their deaths to test whether I had married into the DeLuca family for love or for power. They cut off my money, took my home, and left me and my son with nothing. Three years later, they came back. My husband stepped out of a black Rolls-Royce, looked down at me, and said, “Evelyn, you passed the test.” What he didn’t know was that my son was already dead. And I was dying too.
View MoreMy mother broke first.She slapped Livia so hard the sound cracked through the room.“How dare you?” she screamed. “We took you in. We raised you. Evelyn called you her sister.”Livia pressed a hand to her burning cheek and smiled through the blood at the corner of her mouth. “Did she? Or did she just pity me?”My father looked at her with flat disgust. Whatever softness he had once reserved for her was gone. “From this moment on, you are no longer a Moretti.”That should have mattered. It didn’t.Livia only looked past him at Lucian. Even now, with the room in ruins and her lies stripped bare, she still wanted the same prize.“I made mistakes,” she whispered. “I know that. But I can fix this. I can be what she was for you. I can learn her voice, her manner, the way she dressed. Lucian, look at me. I’m still here.”“Not for long,” he said.He crossed the room, took her jaw in one hand, and studied her face with quiet revulsion. Then he drew the knife from his jacket and cut from cheekb
Cornered, Livia stopped pretending.The fear went out of her face first. Then the weakness. What was left underneath was something colder and uglier than I remembered.“Yes,” she said. “It’s true. So what?”My mother reeled back as if she had been struck.Livia laughed once, a brittle little sound. “Do you know what it’s like growing up in a house where the real daughter gets everything by birthright? Her face on the society pages. Her name in every room. Her future arranged before she was old enough to drink. I got your charity and your guilt. She got the bloodline.”“You had our name,” my mother shot back. “Our money. Our protection.”“And none of it made me her,” Livia said. “I was always second. The adopted girl. The extra place setting.”She looked at Lucian then, and there it was—the thing she had wanted all along.“Then she married into the DeLuca family. She got the city, the penthouse, the bodyguards, the title, you. Why shouldn’t I take something back?”My father found his vo
The DeLuca machine moved fast.By morning Lucian had a stack of files thick enough to choke on: offshore transfers routed through Moretti holding companies, footage from a clinic that should have burned its cameras, a falsified postoperative report in Livia’s name, and a preserved tissue sample from my father’s transplant that matched my DNA.He stood in a conference room above the private wing with the dossier spread across the table while his consigliere walked him through it line by line.I had been abducted the night before the surgery.A doctor on Moretti payroll had taken my kidney.Livia had paid for a staged scar and a forged recovery chart.My father had received my organ and spent five years thanking the wrong daughter.The room stayed quiet when the briefing ended.Lucian braced both hands on the table and bowed his head. “Years ago. She told me Livia had something to do with it.”He went straight to Livia’s room.My parents were there, of course. My mother sat by the bed, s
Maybe Lucian heard something in his own voice. Maybe he saw too much relief in Livia’s face. Whatever it was, he left her room not long after and headed down the hall to mine.The bed was empty.He stopped short. “Where is she?”The nurse he grabbed looked as if she had been waiting for this question and dreading it. She led him to the surgeon’s office instead.“I tried to speak to the family after the operation, but none of you stayed long enough to hear me.”Lucian’s jaw tightened. “Where is Evelyn?”“She died on the table.”He stared at her.He was quiet for a moment. “No,” he said. “That’s not it.”“She went into arrest during the procedure. We could not bring her back.” The surgeon’s tone hardened. “She was critically ill before she ever came into my OR. One kidney. Advanced metastatic cancer. Severe anemia. Organ stress. Malnutrition. Her chart reads like a slow execution. Did anyone in your family actually review her file?”He looked as though she had slapped him. “She was talki






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