I was a normal girl, at least until life threw me into the system. Orphaned young, I’d never known love or family. My escape was always singing. At the orphanage, my voice was my only constant, the one thing I could count on. But as I got older, I gave up hope. After turning 10, I accepted the fact that no one would adopt me. But then, a miracle happened. A family heard me sing and, just like that, I was adopted.

It was overwhelming at first—black limousines, a mansion, everything I’d never dreamed of. They were kind, at least. I had my own room, everything I could ever need. But something was off. It felt too new, too wrong. And then there was Alexander Sterling. He was my age, and—well—perfect. Handsome, confident, and sharp. My new "brother."

But I quickly realized he didn’t want me there. He hated me, like I was a burden he was forced to bear. It was humiliating at school when he avoided me like I didn’t exist. So I lied. Told everyone I was just some new student. But things shifted. I started to settle in, even if the tension between us stayed thick.

One night, in my room, I sang “No One Mourns the Wicked” from Wicked. I wanted to be Glinda in the school play but lacked the confidence to try out. As my voice filled the space, I didn’t notice him. He was behind me. Before I could turn, his hands gripped my waist. His voice, husky and too close, whispered in my ear:

“You’ll never get away from me, little sister.”

The words sent a shiver down my spine, confusion mixing with something else, something unsettling.