The first time I came home, my adopted sister killed herself. The second time, my brother killed me. He did it in the old family crypt, the air thick with the smell of dust and decay. He was screaming, his face twisted with grief. “Bella would still be here if you hadn’t come back! You took her from me!” His hands were strong, the blade of the hunting knife cold against my throat. I remember the gush of warmth, the sudden, shocking inability to breathe, and the sight of my parents watching from the doorway, their faces blank with a kind of horrible relief. The wrong daughter died, their eyes said. Then, I opened mine. And I was back on a Greyhound bus, the Georgia pines blurring past the window, on my way to meet them for the very first time. 1 The bus hissed to a stop. My foster mom, Sarah, gently shook my arm. "Clara, honey. We're here. This is Savannah." My eyes snapped open. I saw the familiar Spanish moss dripping from ancient oaks, the cobblestone square. The Azalea Room. The name on the restaurant awning sent a jolt of ice through my veins. This wasn't possible. A moment ago, my brother, Preston, had sliced my throat. The pain, the cold spreading through my limbs as I bled out on the stone floor… it was real. I could still feel it. Preston’s voice echoed in my memory, a raw, ragged sound. "Why did you have to come back? After all these years, why couldn't you just stay lost?" he'd sobbed over my body. "You killed her! It's your fault Bella is dead! Give me back my Bella!" At Bella's funeral, my own parents had turned on me, their voices dripping with venom. "It should have been you. If you had never been found, our sweet girl would still be with us." The irony was suffocating. They were the ones who hired the private investigator. They were the ones who wanted this reunion. Bella was the daughter they chose. I was the one they lost. Kidnapped from a crowded festival when I was five. They mourned, they felt guilty, and then they moved on. It was Preston’s idea. "Mom, Dad," he'd said, "Clara's gone. Let's go to the children's home. We can find another little girl." So they went to St. Jude's Home for Children and adopted an orphan who looked a little like me. They named her Isabella—Bella. They showered her with the love, the apologies, and the future that should have been mine. I, meanwhile, was passed from one hell to another until I finally escaped and ended up on the streets. That’s where Sarah found me. A young widow with a son, Leo, just a year younger than me. She didn’t have much, but she took me in. Life with her wasn’t fancy, but I was never cold, never hungry. I was loved. An art teacher in our small town saw I had a knack for drawing and took me on for free. In return, I cleaned his studio. My whole life, I documented in a sketchbook—the dark moments, the small joys. It was my way of holding onto myself. When I was nineteen, my birth parents, Richard and Eleanor Beaumont, finally found me. They arranged this reunion lunch. Here. At The Azalea Room. The memory of the knife was so sharp it made me gasp. Sarah and I stepped off the bus. The air was thick with humidity and the sweet scent of magnolias. The Beaumonts were one of Savannah's oldest families, their money stretching back generations. The restaurant was closed for their private event. A snooty waiter took one look at our simple clothes and tried to turn us away. The manager, a man with more sense, rushed over. "I'm sorry, we're closed for a private party for the Beaumont family." I stepped in front of Sarah. "We're here for that party. Richard Beaumont is expecting us." The manager’s eyes widened as he studied my face. "My God," he whispered. "You have Mrs. Beaumont's eyes. You must be… the lost daughter?" I just nodded. "Can we go in now?" "Of course! Right this way, Miss Beaumont!" He led us personally. As we walked up the grand, curving staircase, I turned to Sarah. "Mom, did you bring my sketchbook?" "Right here, honey." She handed me the worn leather-bound book. "Safe and sound." I opened it. Page after page of my life, drawn in stark charcoal and pencil. Bella had her own collection, I remembered. Not drawings, but professional photographs. A gallery wall in the Beaumont mansion filled with glossy 8x10s of her birthday parties, family vacations, a perfect life, perfectly captured. It was a Southern tradition, documenting life's big moments. My sketchbook was the version no one wanted to see. Last time, on this day, Bella had fled the lunch in tears. She’d gone home, locked her door, and swallowed a bottle of pills. When my parents brought me to their mansion, full of forced cheer, their housekeeper ran out, wailing, "It's Miss Bella! She's taken pills! She's not breathing!" They’d screamed for the best doctor in Savannah. "Whatever it costs! Just save our little girl!" But it was too late. Next to her body was a note and that stack of glossy photos. "Mom, Dad, Preston… thank you for giving me a beautiful life. But now the real daughter is back, and it's time for me to give it all back to her. If there's a next life, I hope I can be your real daughter…" They had wept, holding those pictures of their perfect family. Preston flew home from college and sat with her body all night, his voice a broken whisper. "I'm here now, Bella. I'm here. Why'd you do it? You should have told me. I would have protected you. I'll make it right, Bella. I swear, I'll get revenge for you. Just you wait." They all blamed me. My return was her death sentence. And so, it became mine, too. I shook off the memory and squeezed Sarah’s hand as we reached the top of the stairs. The manager knocked on the private dining room door. It swung open, and there she was. Eleanor Beaumont. Tears welled in her eyes. "My child! My Clara!" She rushed forward to embrace me. I took a small step to the side. She stumbled, catching herself on the doorframe, a look of confusion on her face. "Clara, it's me," she said, her voice trembling. "It's your mother." Richard Beaumont stood behind her, his face a mask of guilt. "Clara, you've suffered so much. We're here now. We'll make everything up to you. Come home." I looked past them, to the girl standing in the corner, dressed in a silk dress that cost more than our monthly rent. Bella. Her face was a perfect portrait of scorn. I brought my gaze back to the Beaumonts. "I didn't come here to go home with you. I came to tell you I'm staying with my family. The Fosters." The shock on their faces was almost satisfying. Even Bella looked surprised. Sarah, bless her heart, was horrified. "Clara, no! Your real parents can give you a better life!" I squeezed her arm. "Mom, I'd rather be poor in a home full of love than rich in a house full of ghosts. You raised me. You loved me. Now it's my turn to take care of you." Tears filled Sarah's eyes, this time from pride. Eleanor looked from Sarah to me, a flash of envy in her eyes. "Clara, we will, of course, reward your foster mother handsomely." Richard signaled to an assistant, who brought forward a heavy briefcase. "Mrs. Foster, please accept this as a small token of our gratitude." Sarah waved her hands frantically. "Oh, no, I couldn't. Taking Clara in was the best thing that ever happened to me. She's a wonderful daughter. I don't need any money." My heart swelled. I took my sketchbook and pushed it into Eleanor's hands. "You gave birth to me, but you didn't raise me. You missed everything. But I know parents feel what they feel. So here. This is my life. Now you have something to remember me by." With that, I took Sarah’s arm and walked away. On the bus ride home, Sarah tried to reason with me, afraid I was making a mistake I'd regret. But my mind was made up. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and I was going back to the Beaumonts. But on my terms. Not now. "Mom," I said, changing the subject. "I got paid for that last commission from Sterling & Co. When we get home, let's go to the bookstore. Leo's studying for the bar exam, he could use some new review books." Sarah sighed. "Clara, honey, you do too much for us. His shelves are already overflowing! You need to save your money for yourself." She hesitated. "The Beaumonts..." "Mom. Don't," I said, my voice firm. "Their money, their world... it's not a safe place to be." She nodded. "You're stubborn, but you've got a good head on your shoulders. I trust you." Back in Savannah, Eleanor opened the sketchbook. She saw the drawing of a little girl with bruises on her back. A teenager working in a field. A young woman huddled in a doorway. The raw, brutal honesty of my life hit her like a physical blow. "My Clara," she sobbed. "What have they done to you?" Richard was speechless with rage and regret. Bella snatched the book away. "It's fake! She drew them to make you feel sorry for her!" The assistant, a man who happened to be an amateur artist, stepped forward. "Ma'am, with respect... the technique, the emotion... no one could fake this. These are drawn from memory. From life." Bella shot him a venomous look. "What did she pay you to say that?" He just shook his head. "The Fosters are dirt poor, Miss Bella. How could they afford a bribe?" Richard's face crumpled. He remembered. The festival. Preston, a spoiled seven-year-old, had thrown a tantrum, demanding they ride the Ferris wheel with him. They’d left me, just five years old, by the cotton candy stand, telling the vendor to watch me for a minute. When they came back, I was gone. They saw the man carrying me away, but in the chaos of the crowd, they lost us. They’d spent years blaming Preston, punishing him for his selfishness. And they’d poured all their guilt and misplaced love onto Bella. Now, as they flipped through the pages of my stolen childhood, they wept. "We're so sorry, Clara... you suffered so much..." Bella couldn't stand it. She ripped the sketchbook from their hands. "Stop it! She doesn't even want you! Why are you looking at this garbage?" With a furious scream, she tore the pages to shreds. Eleanor, her face still wet with tears, watched the pieces of my life flutter to the floor. The rage that erupted in her was something I’d never seen. She slapped Bella, hard, across the face. "What have you done?" she shrieked. "That was all we had left of her!" Bella had never been disciplined in her life. The slap stunned her into silence, then into a furious, hateful glare directed at the ghost of me. "You hit me? For her?" she sobbed, then turned and ran from the room. Richard sighed, rubbing his temples. "Eleanor, was that necessary?" The anger drained out of her, replaced by regret. "I don't know. Maybe when Preston gets home, he can take her shopping. Buy her some jewelry." Richard nodded. "Good idea. I'll tell him when he gets back from his trip." 2 A few days later, a luxury car pulled up to our small house. The Beaumonts, bearing expensive gifts. My art had started to sell under a pseudonym, and my jewelry designs were gaining notice. We weren't rich, but we weren't destitute anymore, either. I'd fixed up our house. It was clean and cozy, but to their eyes, it was a hovel. "It's so... small," Eleanor murmured, wiping away a tear. "And the humidity... Clara, you can't live like this." Sarah looked mortified. "If it's so awful, Mrs. Beaumont, you're free to leave," I said coolly. Eleanor looked wounded. Sarah shot me a warning look. "Your mother is just worried about you," Richard said, trying to smooth things over. "She hasn't been able to eat or sleep, just thinking about how to get you to come home." I forced a smile. "I'm happy here." They didn't believe me. "What is it you do, exactly?" Richard asked. "I design jewelry," I said. Eleanor's eyes lit up. "Jewelry? But... that's our business! Beaumont Jewels! Clara, you must come work for us." "Yes!" Richard jumped in. "Come to Beaumont's. I'll pay you double whatever Sterling & Co. is giving you!" Money I wasn't earning wasn't worth turning down. And this was the perfect way in. I pulled out my contract with Sterling. "They pay me per design, a buyout price. If you're willing to double this, I'll consider it." Richard glanced at the figure and his jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Done." "Alright," I said. "I'll be there tomorrow." They left, beaming. A moment later, Leo came home from his study group. When Sarah told him the news, his face darkened. "It's a trap, Clara. First the job, then they'll pressure you to move in. I don't want you to go back there." He looked at me, his expression stormy. "If you go back, I'm... I'm not speaking to you again!" He looked so earnest and upset, like a little boy. I reached out and pinched his cheek, just like I did when we were kids. "Don't be mad. You'll get wrinkles and no girl will want to marry a grumpy old man." Leo froze, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He batted my hand away. "Hmph. If I can't get a wife, it'll be your fault for pinching my face." "What's the big deal?" I laughed. "It's a huge deal!" he muttered, leaning in and whispering something in my ear so quietly I couldn't make it out. Then he turned and disappeared into his room, leaving me completely baffled. The next day at Beaumont Jewels, Bella was waiting for me, flanked by a furious-looking Preston, just back from his trip. He didn't even need an introduction. He put a protective arm around Bella and glared at me. "Don't think because you're blood you can push Bella around. I only have one sister, and it's her. Get out of here while you still can, or I'll make you regret it." The memory of his knife, the chilling feeling of my life bleeding away, washed over me. Richard walked in just in time to hear Preston's threat. "What did you just say?" he roared. "That is your sister! How dare you speak to her that way!" "Dad, Preston was just worried about me," Bella cooed, clinging to Richard's arm. Preston scowled and stormed out, dragging Bella with him. Later, I learned Richard took me through the history of the company. "Right now," he said, "Sterling & Co. is our only real competition in Savannah." I spent the day studying their designs, talking to the staff, even interviewing customers. That evening, I laid out a plan for him. "Give me two years," I said, "and Sterling & Co. will be a footnote." He was so impressed, he insisted I come to a family dinner that night. To further my plan, I agreed. At dinner, they brought up the subject of my marriage. "We owe you so much, Clara," Eleanor said. "The least we can do is find you a suitable husband." "I have no intention of getting married," I said flatly. They ignored me. "Wyatt Sterling," Eleanor mused. "Heir to Sterling & Co. He's handsome, well-educated. A marriage there would be a fine match for you." My head spun. They wanted me to marry the son of their biggest rival? Richard nodded. "Your mother is right. If that merger... I mean, marriage... were to happen..." Bella slammed her fork down. "Mother! You said you were going to arrange a meeting for me with Wyatt!" "We did, dear," Eleanor said gently. "But his mother... she said Wyatt didn't seem interested." "What does she know? She's just his stepmother!" Bella snapped. "Wyatt and I are perfect for each other. He's taking me to a concert tomorrow!" Eleanor backed down immediately. "Well, alright then. We'll stick to the original plan." She gave me an apologetic smile. "Don't worry, Clara. We'll find someone else for you." "Don't bother," I said, standing up. "I'm finished." As I left, Preston got up and followed me out. A moment later, Bella excused herself to "check on her brother." I was halfway down the block when I realized I'd left the book I'd bought for Leo at the restaurant. As I hurried back, I saw Preston and Bella arguing in a shadowed alleyway. I ducked behind a corner and listened. "Bella, that guy is a shallow playboy. He's not good enough for you!" Preston hissed. "Oh yeah? And who is? You?" Bella laughed, a bitter sound. "You have a fiancée, Preston! You're getting married at Christmas!" "That was an arrangement! It means nothing!" he shot back. "You are not marrying Wyatt Sterling! I won't allow it!" "My marriage is my parents' business, not yours!" That's when Preston snapped. He slammed her against the wall and kissed her, a desperate, hungry kiss. I shook my head. Gross. I'm going to need to wash my eyes out. Suddenly, a hand clamped over my mouth and pulled me back into the shadows. I started to struggle, but a familiar voice whispered in my ear. "Shh! It's me." Leo. When we were a safe distance away, I spun on him. "Leo? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be studying?" "Shouldn't you be just designing?" he retorted, his eyes flashing. "What happened to not going to 'family dinners'?" He looked hurt. "Liar." "It's complicated," I hedged. He snorted. "And what was that? Spying on people making out?" "I was not spying! I was... passing by!" He didn't look convinced. "Well, your brother is a real piece of work. And that adopted sister of yours is even worse." "You're not wrong," I sighed. "Let's just go home." In the weeks that followed, I produced hit after hit for Beaumont Jewels. Richard was thrilled. He saw me as his golden goose. His plan to acquire Sterling & Co. through marriage was still his primary goal. He and Eleanor were so blinded by greed, they couldn't see the obvious. Why would the Sterlings agree to give up their flagship company as a dowry gift without asking for Beaumont Jewels in return? It made no sense. But they pushed Bella and Wyatt together, oblivious to the trap being laid. 3 Bella and Wyatt's "courtship" moved quickly. To rub it in my face, she brought him to the showroom one afternoon. "You see, Clara?" she whispered triumphantly. "You'll never win. Mom and Dad are mine. Preston is mine. And Wyatt will be mine, too." "Congratulations," I said, not looking up from my sketchpad. "You can have them all." As Wyatt walked through the door, Bella suddenly stumbled backward and collapsed onto the floor, her eyes filling with tears. "Sister, why would you push me?" she cried. "I told you I don't want to fight with you!" I felt my fists clench. Wyatt rushed over and helped her up. I braced myself for his accusation, but instead, he looked at Bella with a cool, appraising eye. "You're pretty good at that," he said calmly. "But my stepmother has been pulling that same trick for years. You'll have to try harder." Bella stared at him, speechless, her face turning red with humiliation. Wyatt turned to me and smiled. "You must be 'Aria'," he said, using my pseudonym. "I've admired your work for a long time. It's a pleasure to finally meet the artist." He glanced at his watch. "It's almost lunch. Would you care to join me at The Azalea Room?" I politely declined. But later, as I was grabbing a quick bowl of soup at a small diner, Wyatt and Bella walked in. "Aria! What a coincidence!" Wyatt said, sliding into the booth across from me. "I'll have what she's having." Bella, ignored, finally exploded. "Clara, you shameless hussy! Wyatt is my fiancé! How dare you try to seduce him!" I put down my spoon. "Did anyone else hear a dog bark?" "Enough!" Wyatt snapped, frowning at Bella. "Are you blind? She was here first. I followed her. And since when are we engaged? We've gone out a few times. I've paid for everything. Don't go making up stories." He looked at me. "Aria, for the record, Miss Beaumont and I are barely acquaintances." I didn't care. It was obvious why he was interested in me. The day after the disastrous reunion, the Beaumonts had planted a story in the local paper about their long-lost daughter returning. Everyone in Savannah knew who I was. I had the Beaumont name, plus a talent Bella could only dream of. For the heir of Sterling & Co., I was the far more valuable asset. Bella's face was crimson. "Barely acquaintances? Is that what you call what we did last night?" she shrieked. I blinked. Was she really airing their dirty laundry in public? Even if it worked and shamed him into marrying her, he'd resent her forever. She was sacrificing her reputation for a man who clearly didn't respect her. "Fine, Wyatt. Just fine!" she sobbed, then shot me a look of pure hatred. The waiter brought Wyatt's soup, steam rising from the bowl. In one swift motion, Bella grabbed it and threw it at my face. I dodged. The hot liquid splashed all over Wyatt's arm and expensive shirt. "You crazy bitch!" he yelled at her. I calmly paid my bill, asked the waiter for another bowl of soup, walked over to the still-fuming Bella, and poured it directly over her head. She was so stunned, she didn't even move. "Bella," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "I always pay my debts. You come after me again, and I promise you, it won't be soup next time." Then I walked out. That afternoon, she showed up at the studio, Preston in tow. "Preston, she poured soup on me! In front of everyone! You have to make her pay!" Preston's face was thunderous. "Clara! Get over here and apologize to Bella!" He turned to his sister, his voice softening. "You go get a pot of hot tea, Bella. You can do the same thing to her. I'm right here. No one will touch you." "Are you insane?" I said. "She threw it at me first! She should be apologizing to me!" "I don't care! You must have provoked her," he snarled, his hand resting on the hilt of the ornamental dagger he sometimes wore on his belt. "I'm not going to say it again. Get on your knees and apologize." "I could say it a hundred times, and my answer would still be no." I took a deep breath, playing my part. "I don't understand, Preston. I'm your real sister. Why do you hate me so much?" "My sister?" he sneered. "You're not worthy." "It was because of you that I was kidnapped," I said, letting my voice tremble. "I thought when I came back, you'd be sorry. That you'd ask for my forgiveness." His face contorted with rage. "Sorry? I have nothing to be sorry for! Do you know how many times Mom and Dad beat me over that? How many years they blamed me?" He laughed, a chilling sound. "Honestly, Clara, I wish you had died out there. I wish you'd ended up one of those crippled beggars on the street!" "You're a monster," I whispered, letting tears well in my eyes. He grabbed my arm and threw me to the floor. "You wanted to come back so badly? Fine. I'll make sure every day of your life here is a living hell." As he loomed over me, I kept my eyes on his twisted face, but in my peripheral vision, I saw what I was waiting for: the corner of a tailored suit jacket, just outside the doorway. Bella came rushing in with a steaming teapot, a triumphant smirk on her face. "This is boiling hot, Clara. Say goodbye to that pretty face. You deserve this!" "STOP!" Richard Beaumont's roar echoed through the studio. Startled, Bella dropped the teapot. It shattered on the floor, splashing boiling water all over her feet. She screamed in agony. Preston rushed to her side, but Richard grabbed him and slapped him so hard he stumbled. "You monster! How could you treat your sister this way?" "Dad, it's not what it looks like!" Preston stammered. "We were just... inviting her to dinner!" "Liar!" Richard was shaking with fury. "I heard everything! You resented us all these years! You wished your own sister dead!" Preston's face went pale. "You were outside? You heard...?" He whirled on me. "You! You set me up! You knew he was coming!" I shook my head, looking innocent. "I report to Mr. Beaumont at this time every day. I'm not a mind reader. How could I possibly know he'd come looking for me?" Richard nodded, buying it completely. "Don't you dare try to blame her!" he bellowed, slapping Preston again. "I have no son! Get out of my sight! Get out!" As Preston carried the shrieking Bella out of the studio, he shot me a look over his shoulder. A look that promised murder. I knew then, with absolute certainty, he was a madman. But this time, I would be ready. This time, he would be the one who wouldn't walk away.
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