While the psycho was torturing me, my dad, a hotshot detective captain, and my mom, a badass chief forensic pathologist, were busy at my sister Emily's big competition, cheering her on like proud parents of the year. The guy, an ex-con my dad had locked up ages ago, was out for revenge. He cut out my tongue and used my phone to call him. My dad answered, cool as ever. “Whatever this is, it can wait. Emily's competition is what matters right now.” Then he hung up without a second thought. The guy laughed, low and mean. “Wow. I really thought they'd give a damn about their real daughter. Looks like I grabbed the wrong one.” Hours later, my parents rolled up to the crime scene. They froze, staring at the mutilated body. The anger, the horror. It was all there as they cursed the killer for being a monster. But not once did it click. Not once did they realize the broken mess in front of them was me. Chapter 1 They found my body in an abandoned building. The construction workers who stumbled across me looked like they'd seen hell. One guy was dry-heaving in the corner while another fumbled to call 911 with shaking hands. My parents showed up in a rush, cutting Sophia Johnson's banquet short. “Mask up,” the trace expert said, his face grim as he waved them in. For all the crime scenes they'd handled, my dad, the legendary detective captain, and my mom, New York's star forensic pathologist, this one hit different. They froze, their eyes glued to the wreckage of what used to be me. The summer heat had done its damage. My body was swollen, my face barely human. Wounds crisscrossed every inch of me, and my head hung on by a sliver of skin. The smell? It hit like a gut punch. My mom hesitated, then pulled on gloves, her face a careful mask. For a second, though, her eyes softened. There was pity there, a look she'd never given me when I was alive. She knelt beside me, working silently, and slid a bloodied ring off my finger. The one I'd made for the family, a matching set. But because Sophia's didn't fit, it had turned into my fault. "Why do you always have to cause problems?" "Sophia's been with this family for eighteen years, Emily. She'll always matter more, even if you're our biological daughter." Those words had stayed with me, even though I told myself they didn't matter. Maybe I thought the ring would mean something now. That they'd recognize it. They didn't. My mom handed it off like it was just another piece of evidence. “Bag this,” she told her assistant, her voice clipped. I should've known better. I was never part of their world. Not really. My brother used to say otherwise. "They only adopted Sophia because they couldn't find you. You're their real daughter. Their favorite." But coming back didn't feel that way. I was a ghost haunting someone else's life, someone else's home. At the scene, my dad sighed and lit a cigarette, the flick of the lighter loud in the silence. “What do we have?” My mom peeled off her gloves, her tone all business. “Female, about twenty. Looks like her throat was slit. But there's evidence of long-term abuse. This wasn't quick. Killer was methodical, cruel. We need to get ahead of this before the media gets wind.” Dad took a long drag, the cigarette glowing in the dim light. He exhaled slowly, looking tired. “We'll handle it.” “The killer's still out there,” the trace expert reminded him. “You've got two daughters. Keep them close. Don't let them out alone.” “Sophia listens,” my mom said with a wave of her hand. “Emily? She's impossible to deal with.” The trace expert smirked like he'd heard it all before. My dad shifted, rubbing his shoulder. “Still bothering you?” the expert asked. “It's fine. I've got the plaster Emily bought me on,” Dad said, then stopped, his words trailing off like he'd just remembered I existed. Even their “problem child” noticed when they were hurting. The expert clapped him on the back. “Be easier on her. She's your real daughter, after all.” Dad shook his head, his mouth a thin line. “Sophia wanted Emily at her tennis match, but what did Emily do? Disappeared. Played dead. Sophia only got third place because she was distracted. Emily hasn't been home in days. She's probably out doing God-knows-what. It's different when they're not… you know.” His words hit harder than anything the killer had done. I wasn't avoiding home, Dad. I couldn't come back. The daughter you called selfish died the day you chose Sophia's tennis match over her. And now? I'm right here. At your feet.