Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

I sacrificed over twenty years of my life for the Vance family, even giving my own blood to keep Natalie alive.

Yet, after all of it, my parents dismissed me with nothing more than a one-way ticket to Vancouver.

They even stole the fact that I had dragged Ethan out from beneath the earthquake rubble with my bare hands, wrapping my life-saving grace into a pretty little bow and handing it to Natalie to win her favor.

Once upon a time, I kept waiting for them to finally see me.

Now, I'm done waiting.

This time, I'm leaving the Vance family for good—and I'm going to make sure everyone who wronged me pays the price.

Seraphina's POV

Heavy rain drummed against the window when they summoned me to the study.

I stood before the large mahogany desk, my eyes locked on the plane ticket resting on its polished surface—destination: Vancouver, departing in a week.

"The flight is booked. You leave next week," my father said, leaning back in his leather chair with complete indifference.

My mother sat nearby, nursing a cup of coffee. She didn't even bother looking up at me.

"Why?" I asked.

"Don't play dumb." Father frowned, pure annoyance tightening his face. "Natalie and Ethan are getting engaged soon. Having you hang around here isn't appropriate."

Not appropriate.

I had lived in the Vance house for more than twenty years, yet no one had ever cared whether my life was appropriate.

From the day I was born, I existed for a single purpose: to be a tool—a walking, breathing blood bag on standby, ready to be drained whenever Natalie needed spare parts.

I stared down at my name printed on the boarding pass. Seraphina Vance. Yet in this household, I was never a person—just a shadow cast behind my older sister, Natalie.

Silence thickened in the study.

Father waited for my tears, and Mother braced for my begging. After all, every time something like this had happened over the years, I would cry, scream, and drop to my knees to beg for scraps of affection.

This time, I just quietly stared at the ticket, then nodded gently.

"Okay."

A single word.

Father blinked, caught off guard. Mother's hand trembled, coffee sloshing over the rim of her cup.

"What did you say?"

"I said okay," I replied, lifting my chin. My gaze was unnervingly dead. "I'll go."

Mother opened her mouth as if to say something, but swallowed her words instead.

She shot Father a bewildered look. I could read their thoughts: When did this submissive, obedient second daughter turn into such a stranger?

Father stared hard at me, trying to sniff out any hint of an impending breakdown or hidden resentment. He found nothing.

My face was as calm as stagnant water, void of any ripple.

"Fine," Father said, looking away with a faint trace of relief. "Glad you finally came to your senses. Pack your bags, but don't take too much. Natalie said—"

"I know," I cut him off smoothly. "Natalie's things aren't something I deserve."

I turned and walked out of the study, my footsteps silent on the hardwood floor.

The lightbulb at the end of the hallway had been burnt out for ages, and no one had ever bothered to fix it. Walking through that patch of darkness, my mind drifted back through the years.

I was only eight when Natalie came down with a severe fever and needed an emergency transfusion. Mother dropped to her knees outside the hospital room, crying and pleading with me: "Phina, you're her little sister. You have to save Natalie. You were born to protect her, don't you understand?"

Of course I understood. I had known it since the day I gained consciousness.

Natalie had Rh-negative blood, and so did I. Whenever she needed a transfusion, the Vance family's immediate instinct was to bleed me dry.

Back then, I was too young to know what being a "spare part" meant. I only knew that when I was sick, nobody cared, but when Natalie caught a mild cold, the entire world revolved around her. I once asked my parents why. Their answer was brutally simple:

"You're the younger sister. Natalie will always be more important than you."

As I grew older, the reality of my life crystallized. I understood why Natalie got designer dresses while I wore her cut-down hand-me-downs; why she went to elite private prep schools while I was tossed into a run-down public school; why I was always the one getting beaten whenever something went wrong.

The answer was always the same: Because you're the spare.

Wasn't I their daughter, too?

I stepped into my room and gently clicked the door shut. The space was dim, illuminated only by a tiny desk lamp. This room had originally been a utility closet; they had only allowed me to move in here once I started high school. The window faced the back alley, leaking whenever it rained and freezing into an icebox in the winter.

I began to pack.

Truthfully, there wasn't much to take. Just a few outfits, all worn-out discards from Natalie. The jewelry, the bags, the decor—not a single thing in this room truly belonged to me.

I dragged out an old suitcase, folding a few changes of clothes and setting my documents inside. My movements were methodical and calm, as if this were just another mundane chore.

I didn't even notice when the tears started falling. By the time I snapped out of it, a teardrop had already splashed across the navy cover of my passport, blooming into a small, dark stain.

I wiped it away with the back of my hand and kept packing.

It was fine.

It really is fine, I told myself.

There had never been a place for me in this house anyway. Leaving was for the best; at least I would finally have peace.

Outside, the downpour raged louder. I shoved the packed suitcase under my bed, lay down, and stared blankly at the ceiling.

During the earthquake years ago, I had been trapped in the ruins under a torrential storm just like this one. Three whole days, and nobody came looking for me. I thought I would rot in that pitch-black hell, but I survived—and I dragged a dying boy out with me.

That boy was Ethan Hayes.

Right before slipping into unconsciousness, he had gripped my hand tightly and whispered, "I swear I will find you... I'll pay you back for this."

He promised he would never forget the sound of my voice, or what I looked like.

And what happened after that?

My parents told Ethan that his savior wasn't me—it was Natalie.

After that, Ethan catered to Natalie's every whim while treating me like scum on the bottom of his shoe.

After that, I waited ten agonizing years, only to be handed a plane ticket to Vancouver and told, "Having you hang around here isn't appropriate."

I shut my eyes, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

Whatever. I'm done waiting.

In this lifetime, I'm never waiting around for anyone ever again.