Chapter 1

When my sister won the Annual Hit Song Award, the broadcast camera panned to our parents in the front row.

The host smiled warmly. "Mrs. Miller, your daughter is phenomenal! Any parenting secrets you'd like to share with us?"

My mom couldn’t hide her pride. "A daughter should always be raised like a princess. Spare no expense, both emotionally and financially. She deserves only the best."

Sitting in front of my tiny laptop screen, I looked down at my worn-out, thrift-store hoodie and felt a cold pit in my stomach.

Later that night, when Mom walked through the door, I quietly asked her why she had never raised me like that.

She brushed past me with pure disgust. "Taylor, you're twenty years old! Stop throwing childish tantrums just to beg for attention."

She forgot that in this house, I had never once dared to ask for anything.

My younger sister, Chloe, practically livestreamed her entire way home holding that shiny gold trophy. When her phone camera briefly caught my figure standing in the hall, she quickly jerked it away.

"Oops! Almost bumped into someone!" she giggled into the screen.

"No, silly! That’s just a distant relative staying in our guest room!"

She shot me a warning glare, cradling her trophy like a newborn as she headed up to the second floor.

I watched her back, turning around to speak to Mom, but Mom had already slipped into the master bath.

Dad was glued to his phone, booming with laughter to his business partners. "Yeah, our Chloe’s just that talented! Of course, of course, we poured everything into her from day one. High-caliber kids cost money, but she's worth every single cent!"

Passing by me, he barely glanced in my direction before frowning. "We’ve got guests dropping by this week. Make sure you don't walk around looking like a homeless beggar."

I balled my hands into tight fists. "Then... what if I just move out?"

He hung up, scrolling on his screen without looking up. "Whatever. Do what you want."

A bitter smile touched my lips. Twenty years. After twenty long years, I finally had my answer: they truly didn’t love me. They didn't care at all.

Compared to Chloe, I was nothing more than a ghost.

Now that I could finally leave, I couldn't pack my bags fast enough.

I walked right out the front door, leaving behind the house where I had lived for a decade.

When I was born, their business was just taking off. They were so busy that on the second day of my life, they dropped me off at my aging grandma's countryside house.

Years later, after Grandma passed away, I was brought back to them. Chloe was only one year younger than me, yet she had grown up in their arms every single day.

The first day I arrived, Chloe was nestled in Mom's lap wearing a gorgeous, custom designer dress. She looked me up and down like a spoiled princess, then sneered and turned away.

Mom simply pointed a finger toward the drafty attic stairs and sent me away.

I lived in that attic for ten years.

When Chloe had private piano lessons, I bit my fingernails in the corner.

When Chloe had ballet coaching, I was outside playing in the mud alone.

When Chloe brought home a regional music trophy, I proudly brought home an Academic Improvement Award from school.

Mom and Dad threw a massive party, inviting dozens of guests to brag about Chloe's genius. Meanwhile, my certificate was knocked onto the floor by some running kid and trampled into shredded mud.

Nobody noticed me. They only saw me crying in the corner, clutching the torn paper. Eventually, the maid dragged me away to calm me down. She helped me tape it back together, but my name had already been rubbed away.

Afterward, my parents scolded me for making a scene and embarrassing them. When a guest asked who I was, Mom didn't hesitate for a second: "Just a poor cousin's kid from the countryside."

Ever since then, I became nothing more than a freeloading distant relative in their eyes.

Moving out felt completely natural.

I didn't own much anyway—just two battered suitcases.

As I wheeled them downstairs, Mom was walking out of her room with a face mask on.

She didn't ask where I was going with luggage. She just barked, "Don't take the trash out so late! The wheeling noise is annoying!"

"Got it," I whispered, walking out into the night without looking back.

Before stepping out, a tiny, foolish part of me still hoped she would call after me and ask where I was going so late.

She didn't.

I laughed at myself. In that family, I was invisible. Utterly worthless.

I rented a small, rundown studio apartment near the edge of town for a few hundred bucks a month. The subway station was right downstairs, making it easy to hunt for jobs.

I was still in college, and my parents had never sent me a single dime of allowance.

Even my tuition was covered entirely by my hard-earned scholarships.

They seemed to forget they had another daughter who needed money to survive, never once asking if I had enough to eat.

During my hungriest year, I practically lived off the free broth in the campus cafeteria. I’d linger around until everyone cleared out, searching for uneaten leftovers from other students' trays.

People snickered and called me a bottomless trash can behind my back. I never dared to get mad. They were right; that was exactly what I was.

Besides, if I snapped, they wouldn't let me take their scraps anymore.

It wasn't until college, when I finally started picking up odd freelance gigs, that I could afford three proper meals a day.

Every time Mom saw me, her lips curled in disgust. "Taylor, why do you always look so miserable and pathetic? Stop walking around with us in public. It’s downright embarrassing!"