Chapter 1

The year I turned eighteen, my biological parents finally found me.

I thought I finally had a home, only to realize I was just a replacement for their adopted daughter, Trixie.

In my parents' eyes, she was the only one who mattered. The clothes, the food, the birthdays, and every resource went to her.

Even my biological brother, Xavier, protected Trixie at every turn, never once treating me like his actual sister.

On my eighteenth birthday, the family threw a million-dollar gala for Trixie. Not a single person remembered that it was my birthday too.

Years of resentment finally hit the boiling point.

I decided to quit this role as a backup daughter.

What they didn't know was that the talent I possessed was worth far more than their socialite status.

1

My name is Wren Vance. Before I was eighteen, I had no idea I was the heiress to a billionaire empire.

I grew up in the Southside slums. My foster parents ran a greasy spoon diner. Life was tough, but it was steady.

On my eighteenth birthday, a black Cadillac Escalade pulled up to our door. A woman in a designer suit stepped out, her eyes red as she looked at me.

"You are my daughter who was lost eighteen years ago," she said.

Just like that, I was whisked away to the Vance estate.

The first day I arrived, I felt the chill in the air.

A girl about my age was sitting in the living room―Trixie. She wore a custom-made silk dress and nibbled on imported fruit. When I walked in, she gave me a polite, plastic smile.

"Welcome back, sister," she said.

My biological mother grabbed my hand, her voice soft but her eyes calculating. "Wren, it's good to have you back. Trixie has been by our side since she was a baby. She's just as much our daughter as you are. You two need to get along."

I nodded, trying to fit in.

From that day on, I tried to learn how to be a Vance. I studied etiquette, fashion, and the endless rules of high society.

Everything was foreign to me. I didn't know which fork to use, I didn't understand gala protocols, and I had a thick Southside accent.

Every time I made a mistake, my mother would frown slightly. She'd turn to Trixie and say, "Trixie, dear, why don't you show your sister how it's done?"

Trixie always agreed with a smile, but her eyes held a sharp sense of superiority.

I slowly realized that in this house, Trixie was the real daughter. I was just a stranger who happened to share their DNA.

The hardest part was my older brother, Xavier.

He was four years older than me and the golden boy of the Vance family. From day one, he was Trixie's knight in shining armor.

"Don't take it personally if Trixie is a bit moody," he would tell me. "She's been spoiled since she was a baby. You need to be the bigger person and let her have her way."

No one ever told Trixie to let me have mine.

I endured it for a year. I said yes to everything, stepped back when told, and kept my head down.

I told myself that they had eighteen years of history with Trixie. It was natural they loved her more. If I just gave them time, they would eventually love me too.

But some things can't be fixed with time.

On my nineteenth birthday―which also happened to be Trixie's birthday―everything changed.

The Vances threw a massive gala for Trixie. They rented out the entire top floor of the Grand Azure Hotel.

Hundreds of guests were invited. There were custom gowns, million-dollar diamonds, and enough flowers to fill a park.

Not a single soul mentioned that it was my birthday, too.

My mother spent the whole morning helping Trixie get her hair and makeup done. My father bought Trixie a brand-new Porsche as a gift.

Xavier even rented a private island for an after-party, just for Trixie.

And me? I was invisible.

I stayed in my room all day. That evening, I walked down to the ballroom entrance and watched the shimmering lights and the clinking champagne glasses.

Trixie stood in the center of the stage in a white gown, surrounded by admirers. She looked like the happiest girl in the world.

My biological mother was clapping and beaming from the front row.

My biological father was clinking glasses with high-powered investors.

My own brother stood next to Trixie, helping her cut a five-tier cake.

No one even looked my way.

I retreated to my room, shut the door, and sat in the dark for a long time.

My phone was silent. Not a single birthday text.

The tears finally fell.

It wasn't because I was sad. It was because I finally saw the truth.

In this house, I wasn't even a shadow. I was a tool used to fill a hole in their conscience.

Their love, their money, and their attention all belonged to Trixie. I was just an extra.

Enough was enough.

Since they only recognized her, I was done playing the backup.