MY MOTHER ASKED WHAT MY ILLNESS HAD TO DO WITH THEIR VACATION AT MY HOUSE, SO I STOPPED ARGUING AND TOLD HER, “THEN COME”—AND WHEN SHE STEPPED OUTSIDE HER CAR, SHE COULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT SHE SAW.

Around two o'clock in the afternoon, just as my parents’ luggage was being loaded into the back of their dented sedan—which Drew had managed to sneak past them and park at the edge of the property—my phone rang.

It was Gretchen.

I stared at the screen, watching her name flash alongside a high-definition photograph of her tear-streaked face. For a long moment, I considered letting it go to voicemail. Then, curiosity won. I swiped to answer and put it on speaker.

“Maya! You psycho! You absolute monster!” Gretchen shrieked the second the line connected. Her voice sounded like she had been screaming into a pillow for twelve straight hours. “Julian won't answer my calls! His parents are refusing to speak to me! The wedding venue just cancelled our deposit because they heard about the scandal! You ruined everything!”

I took a slow breath, keeping my tone detached and clinical.

“Gretchen, I didn't ruin your wedding. Your own pathological need to invent a fictional aristocratic pedigree ruined your wedding.”

“I just wanted a nice place to get married!” she sobbed, the tough-girl facade completely crumbling into pathetic whimpering. “If the Sterlings knew we grew up in a split-level suburban tract house with a dad who sells used insurance policies, they never would have looked twice at me! You had a multi-million-dollar mansion sitting out here like a hidden palace! Why couldn’t you just share it for one weekend? Why did you have to expose us?!”

“Because,” I said softly, the weight of every suppressed childhood memory hardening into steel, “you didn't want to share a home, Gretchen. You wanted to steal an identity. You wanted to build your entire future on top of a lie, using my blood, sweat, and survival as your stage props.”

I paused, listening to her ragged breathing on the other end of the line.

“Consider this a blessing in disguise, sis,” I added smoothly. “Better to find out Julian’s family is superficial now, before you legally tie yourself to people who only value you for what’s written on a fake architectural portfolio.”

Click.