Chapter 1

The memories hit me the moment I opened my eyes.

They weren't dreams. They were sharp, clear, and they hurt.

I remembered the cold gallery, the scent of fresh paint and betrayal. I saw my fiancé, Liam, standing beside my adoptive sister, Chloe. His arm was around her shoulder.

Between them, on an easel, was my masterpiece. The one I had poured my soul into for six months.

"A true genius," Liam had said, his eyes fixed on Chloe with adoration. "You, Chloe, are the artist I've been waiting for."

Chloe had smiled, a small, triumphant curve of her lips. She accepted the praise, the scholarship to the prestigious Northwood Art Academy, and the life that should have been mine.

They left me there, a ghost in the gallery of my own stolen dreams. My heart didn't just break, it was methodically dismantled by the two people I trusted most. I died from a subsequent illness, alone and forgotten, my name erased from my own work.

But now, I was back.

Eighteen years old, a month before the Northwood exhibition. Before the theft. Before the ultimate betrayal.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen lit up with his name: Liam.

I stared at it. In my past life, I would have snatched it up, my heart fluttering with excitement. He was calling to finalize the plans for our engagement party. An event my adoptive parents, the Wests, insisted on, a way to show off their connection to his wealthy family.

This time, I let it ring.

The buzzing stopped, then started again. He was persistent.

I finally answered, my voice steady and cold.

"Hello."

"Ava? Where have you been? I've been calling," Liam's voice was impatient, laced with the casual entitlement he always wore. "My mother is asking about the final guest list for the party. You need to get it to her by tomorrow."

I took a breath. "There's not going to be a party, Liam."

Silence on the other end.

"What do you mean? Don't be difficult, Ava. Everything is already arranged."

"I mean the engagement is off," I said, each word a stone dropping into a still pond. "We're done."

I hung up before he could respond.

It felt good. It felt like breathing for the first time.

An hour later, there was a furious pounding on my apartment door. I knew it was him. I had moved into this small place to focus on my art, away from the stifling atmosphere of the Wests' mansion where Chloe was treated like a princess.

I opened the door.

Liam stood there, his handsome face twisted with anger and disbelief. He wasn't just a golden boy from a rich family, he was considered the catch of our town, and he knew it.

"What is this, Ava? You break up with me over the phone? After everything my family is doing for you?"

"Doing for me?" I asked, my voice flat. "Or doing for the West family's business connections?"

He flinched. "That's not fair. I chose you."

"Did you?" I said, looking him straight in the eye. "Or did you choose the idea of me?"

He seemed genuinely confused, his anger faltering for a second. He was so used to getting his way, to people agreeing with him, that my resistance was like a foreign language.

"This is about Chloe, isn't it?" he suddenly sneered, his arrogance returning. "You're jealous."

"Jealous of what?"

"Her talent! Her spirit!" he declared, his voice rising. "She has something you don't, Ava. A fire. A raw, natural genius. I saw her preliminary sketches for the Northwood submission. They're breathtaking."

My sketches. He was talking about my sketches that Chloe had "borrowed" to get his opinion.

"Chloe is special," he continued, looking down at me as if I were a speck of dust on his expensive shoes. "She's going to be a world-famous artist. You... you're a good technical painter, I guess. But you lack that spark. My family sees it. Everyone sees it."

The words were meant to crush me. In my past life, they had. They had fed my insecurities, made me believe I was second-rate, that I needed him to be whole.

Now, they were just noise.

I didn't get angry. I didn't cry. I simply looked at him, at this shallow man who I once thought was my world.

"I'm glad you think so highly of her," I said calmly. "It makes this easier."

His face contorted. He couldn't understand my lack of reaction. He needed me to be hysterical, to beg.

"So that's it? You're throwing away our future because you can't handle your sister being more talented than you?"

"I'm not throwing anything away, Liam," I replied, my hand on the doorknob. "I'm reclaiming my future. I'm going to focus on my portfolio for Northwood. On my own."

I started to close the door.

"You'll regret this, Ava!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the hallway. "You'll come crawling back when you realize what you've lost!"

I closed the door, the click of the lock sounding like the final word in a long-finished argument. Leaning against the wood, I didn't feel sadness or loss.

I felt free.