Thirteen years old.I sat on the edge of the mattress in my dark bedroom, staring eagerly at the closed wooden door. My small hands were folded tightly in my lap. My stomach let out a quiet, hollow ache.It was my thirteenth birthday. My father, Dario Vitiello, had strictly forbidden me from having cake. He monitored every single ounce of food I consumed, forcing me to survive on tiny portions of plain salad and dry chicken to ensure I remained thin, perfect, and completely under his control. He treated me like a porcelain doll waiting to be sold to the highest bidder.But Bianca had promised me a gift.Bianca was my nanny. After my mother was murdered right in front of me, Bianca had stepped into the massive, terrifying void of my life. She was the one who brushed my hair, tended to the bruises my father left on my arms, and held me tight when my silent, soundless panic attacks suffocated my chest. She was the only warmth in the freezing Vitiello estate.She had whispered that she wa
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