Chapter 2

"I have to leave. Can you stay with Liam? I'm not sure how long this will take," I murmur distractedly while grabbing my purse.

"Of course. I'll be there as soon as I can get my mother to watch him," Ethan replies, but his words barely register over the ringing in my ears.

My mind is a fog as I kiss Liam goodbye and step out into the evening. The car door slams shut behind me, and I grip the steering wheel, my thoughts spiraling into the past.

Growing up, I was the invisible child. The afterthought. My father adored Isabella—his golden girl, his perfect princess. My mother doted on Nathan, her precious son. And me? I was just Sophia. The one who never quite fit.

No matter how hard I tried—straight A's, debate team, piano recitals—I was always on the outside looking in. A ghost in my own family.

Then, nine years ago, the fragile threads holding us together snapped entirely. Nathan barely spoke to me after that. My father made his disdain clear with icy silences. My mother only reached out when absolutely necessary. And Isabella? Her last words to me still echo in my nightmares: You're dead to me. I have no sister.

Now, as I drive toward the hospital, my hands are steady. My father's been shot. Shouldn't I feel something? Grief? Panic? Instead, there's just... numbness.

What do you feel when the man who spent a lifetime rejecting you is dying? How are you supposed to react? Is it wrong that my chest is hollow?

The hospital looms ahead, its fluorescent lights too bright against the twilight. I park, take a shuddering breath, and walk inside.

"I'm here for William Sterling. Gunshot victim," I tell the receptionist.

"Relation?"

"His daughter."

She types briskly. "ER. They're prepping him for surgery. Down the hall, through the emergency doors. Your family's already there."

The hallway stretches endlessly. My pulse thrums in my throat.

He'll survive. He has to.

Not for me. For Liam. My son is the only one who ever looked at me like I mattered.

The ER doors swing open. Victoria and Nathan sit hunched on plastic chairs. My mother's sundress is streaked with blood. Nathan's jaw is clenched, his knuckles white.

"Mom. Nathan," I say quietly.

Victoria's face crumples. "They shot him twice—right outside our house. One bullet hit his lung, the other his kidney. They're taking him into surgery now."

I want to touch her. To offer comfort. But my hands stay at my sides.

"He's strong. He'll pull through," I lie.

The gurney rolls out moments later. My father looks frail beneath the hospital lights. Victoria rushes to him, sobbing as he weakly brushes her cheek. Nathan leans in, listening to whispered words I'll never hear.

Then, just before they wheel him away, my father presses something into Victoria's palm. A note? A photograph? Her wail follows him down the hall.

We wait. Hours crawl by. I fetch coffee. Pace. Sit. Stand.

When the surgeon finally appears, his grim expression says everything.

"We did everything we could. I'm sorry."

Victoria's scream is raw, primal. Nathan catches her as she collapses. They sink to the floor together, shattered.

My father is gone.

And with his death comes one certainty: Isabella will return.