Chapter 1
At my graduation party, I watched my father slip something into my champagne.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t run.
I just stood there, my smile frozen on my face, and made sure the truth would come out before anyone else could get hurt.
I’m Natalie Brooks.
That night was supposed to be the happiest of my life.
Instead, it became the night I learned exactly what kind of monster I’d been calling “Dad” for twenty-two years.
The graduation ceremony earlier had been perfect.
My classmates cheering so loud my ears rang.
My professors shaking my hand, calling me “the most promising student of the year.”
My mother dabbing at her eyes with a silk handkerchief, so proud she could barely speak.
But the after-party was at our family estate.
And that meant one thing I couldn’t escape.
My little sister, Madison.
The golden child.
The one my father Richard adored like she hung the moon and stars.
The one he’d never once looked at with anything less than total worship.
And me?
I was the afterthought.
The daughter he tolerated.
The disappointment.
I was standing near the silver champagne trays, laughing at something my best friend had said, when I felt it.
Eyes on my back.
Not warm.
Not proud.
Cold.
Calculating.
I turned just enough to see him out of the corner of my eye.
Richard Brooks.
My father.
Standing ten feet away, pretending to adjust his cufflinks.
But he wasn’t looking at his sleeves.
He was watching me.
His face blank, his eyes sharp as shards of broken glass.
My stomach dropped so fast I thought I might be sick.
That wasn’t the face of a father proud of his graduating daughter.
That was the face of a man planning something.
I watched, my breath caught in my throat, as he glided toward the champagne table.
The servers had set out the flutes hours earlier.
And right there, front and center, was the one with my name handwritten on a tiny gold card.
The one Richard had personally demanded be prepared separately.
“My eldest daughter deserves something special,” he’d told the staff, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Everyone had smiled.
Everyone had thought he was finally being nice to me.
I knew better.
His hand slipped into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket.
He pulled out a tiny folded paper packet.
No one was looking.
The other guests were talking, laughing, dancing.
The servers were busy passing hors d’oeuvres.
With one quick, practiced motion, he tore the packet open.
A fine white powder poured into my champagne.
It dissolved instantly, leaving no trace.
My hands started shaking so hard I had to clasp them together behind my back to hide it.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a fist trying to break out.
Was it a prank?
Some sick, twisted lesson he’d decided I needed to learn?
But Richard Brooks didn’t do pranks.
He did punishment.
Quiet.
Secret.
Thorough.
He stepped back, adjusted his jacket, and melted into the crowd like nothing had happened.
No one had seen.
No one but me.
I waited ten long seconds.
Then I walked toward the table.
Slowly.
Forcing my lips into a bright, natural smile.
Pretending the world wasn’t crumbling beneath my expensive heels.
I picked up the glass.
The one meant for me.
I could feel his gaze from across the ballroom.
Heavy.
Waiting.
Watching to see if I’d drink.
I lifted the flute slightly, tilting it toward him in a silent, polite toast.
Just enough to make him think I was about to bring it to my lips.
That was when Madison appeared.
She materialized out of nowhere, her pink silk gown swirling around her, her blonde hair cascading in perfect waves over her shoulders.
She threw her arm around my shoulder and laughed that loud, bright, attention-grabbing laugh she used whenever she wanted the room to look at her.
“Congratulations, Nat!” she squealed, squeezing me so tight I almost dropped the glass. “Finally graduated, huh? Took you long enough!”
She was glowing.
Perfect dress.
Perfect hair.
Perfect life.
Daddy’s favorite.
Always.
Something inside me snapped in that moment.
It wasn’t anger.
It wasn’t revenge.
It was cold, crystal-clear clarity.
I kept smiling.
Bright.
Warm.
Nothing wrong here.
I turned to her, pressing the poisoned champagne flute into her free hand before she could pull away.
“Madison,” I said, my voice steady and sweet. “You should have this. You’ve always been the one who supported me most.”
Her eyes lit up.
She loved being praised.
She loved being given things meant for me.
She didn’t hesitate.
She didn’t question it.
She just lifted the glass to her red-painted lips and drank.
All of it.
Every last drop.
May you like
I watched her swallow.
And across the room, through the crowd, I saw my father’s face go white.
