Chapter 1

"Someone help her—she's not breathing right!"

Lena's wine glass shattered against the hardwood, red spreading like a wound across the white tablecloth. Her hands clawed at her throat, nails leaving welts, and the wet gasp that came out of her didn't sound human. I was already half out of my chair when Eleanor's voice cracked through the room like a whip.

"You." Her finger pointed at me, steady as a blade. "You did this."

"What? No—I didn't—"

"She's been staring at that glass all night," Eleanor said, louder now, performing for the room. "Everyone saw. After everything we've given you, after everything you've taken from this family—"

"Mom, I didn't touch her wine."

Dr. Chen was already at Lena's side, two fingers pressed to her wrist. His face told me everything before he spoke. "Pulse is thready. Pupils blown. Call 911. Now." He looked up, scanning the table, and his gaze snagged on my glass—untouched, still full to the rim. "Nobody drink anything else."

The silence that followed was worse than the accusation. I watched it travel: my aunt's hand tightening on her napkin, my cousin sliding his chair back an inch, Eleanor's eyes narrowing in triumph. And my father—my father, who taught me to ride a bike, who once carried me three blocks when I scraped my knee—stared at his plate like it held the only words he had left.

"Dad." My voice came out small. "Tell them."

He didn't look up.

I hadn't touched my wine because I'd watched Lena pour it herself, watched her smile as she did. But that smile was gone now, her face slack and pale against the floor. And no one in this room would ever believe me.

Not after ten years of them choosing her.

The sirens were getting closer.