Chapter 2

My sister was beautiful, with big eyes and smooth skin. We were blood-related, but you'd never guess it.

She started modeling when she was still in diapers, earning good money and soaking up everyone's attention like a little sun goddess.

I'd heard it more times than I could count. "If only Tracy had been born first... there'd be no need for Yara."

Even our names made it clear who mattered.

When Tracy was born, my parents tore through baby name books, even consulted a fortune-teller to make sure she had the perfect name, one that promised her happiness, success, and good luck.

Me? They just randomly named me Yara because I never mattered to them.

During the divorce, they both clung to one of Tracy's arms and nearly came to blows over her custody.

"Tracy, honey, come with Mommy. I'll buy you the prettiest princess dress and take you abroad!"

"Don't listen to your mother. Daddy loves you most. I already bought you a new house!"

They bickered while the judge awkwardly took my hand and asked, "So... who wants custody of the elder daughter?"

Both of them stepped back. One mumbled something about financial strain, the other claimed they weren't nurturing enough.

In the end, Tracy went with Mom. She nearly grinned from ear to ear.

Dad, furious, slapped me across the face. "You cursed thing! I should've drowned you the day you were born!"

Mom just stood there laughing. "Hit her harder! Kill her if you want, saves you the trouble of raising her."

So I curled up into a tight ball and kept my mouth shut.

I learned early—no talking meant fewer beatings.

But when my stepmother came into the picture, things started changing. She brushed my hair, made me breakfast, and walked me to school. She even bought me new clothes. For the first time in years, my fingers weren't cracked and bleeding from winter frost.

Mom's side of the family didn't take it well. "She's just pretending," Grandma sneered. "All stepmothers are gold-digging witches. Mark my words. She's just after that man's money."

Once, I defended Ella, my stepmom. Grandma grabbed her cane and whacked me across the legs. "Ungrateful little brat! That woman's only been here a few days, and you've already forgotten your real mother? No wonder nobody wants you!"

Another time, Ella took me shopping, and I wandered off. A car hit me. I had five stitches in my scalp. When I opened my eyes, the woman who hadn't texted me all year was bawling beside my bed.

"Oh, my poor daughter! It's all my fault. I'm so sorry..."

I shoved her away. She looked startled for a second, then turned on Ella. "You bitch! You dare hurt my child? Think you can just steal my family? You better explain yourself today, or I swear..."

Her whole clan was with her, yelling and spitting, demanding answers. I stepped in front of Ella.

"I tripped. It wasn't her fault."

Mom wrapped her arms around me, twisting me toward the crowd. Her perfume clung to my skin like poison.

"Look what she's done! She's traumatized the child so bad she's lying for her!"

I shook her off. "Are you done performing? What are you filming for this time?"

Her expression froze. She glanced around in a panic and noticed that the photographer was long gone.

It was all for show. Tracy had recently caught a talent scout's eye, and Mom couldn't risk the public seeing her as a neglectful parent.

She wanted to use Ella as a scapegoat to boost her own image. Too bad I wasn't playing along.

"I've just been busy lately... You know I still care about you," she mumbled.

"Yeah? Then you can pay my hospital bill. It's six hundred bucks."

She twisted her fingers, started crying about how hard it was raising Tracy alone and how heartless I was for asking. But sunlight caught the emerald bracelet on her wrist, glittering like it had its own spotlight.

Ella had stayed quiet the whole time. Then she stood, took the bill, and smacked it against Mom's face.

"I paid it. Now get out."

Mom shut up real fast.