Kamille's father and mother sat on a couch, their faces etched with forlorn expressions. His arm was around her shoulders as she sobbed into a tissue.

To an outsider, this seemed like a normal grieving family. To me, however, it was a performance. Grandma's death meant nothing to them; if anything, they were relieved.

Silently, I moved to the farthest corner of the room and sat on the couch. Father's phone rang. He answered, "What?"

Silence followed, then he stood, hung up, and threw the phone onto the couch.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Mother asked, rising.

"Bad news. Why now?" he exclaimed, crossing his arms and tapping his feet. "It's the lawyer! The hospital called; he was in an accident on his way here and is undergoing emergency surgery."

"He has no replacement to read Grandma's will?" Gabriel sneered.

Liz snorted and stood. "He's the only one with access to the damn will."

Her black piercings and neon pink wig clashed with the strong physique hidden beneath her black shirt and pants. This was Liz, the most volatile member of the Manor household—a professional fighter with a notoriously bad temper.

Father paced, stressing. "I have no time to wait for some incompetent lawyer!"

It was baffling that the lawyer's life was in danger, yet this was their only concern.

"Where's Ellen?!" Mother exclaimed. "We were supposed to be together!" She glared at me. "Don't you know where she is—?"

"I'm here!" The click of heels announced Ellen's arrival. "Mom. Dad."

"Good," Father snapped, extending his hand. "Where are the documents?"

"Right here!" Ellen said excitedly, giving me a nauseating smirk as she reached into her handbag. "Mom, shouldn't the lawyer be here by now? Why the delay?" She handed Father the papers.

Liz answered, "The lawyer's in the hospital. How fucking inconvenient. How am I going to know if Grandma left me an extra trust fund?"

"I was already daydreaming about renting a strip club for a week-long party," Gabriel chuckled.

"Too bad," Ellen said, raising her eyebrows. "I never liked him anyway. Once the will is read, we'll fire him. If he doesn't like it, he can join his employer in the grave!"

They laughed, but my heart ached. Father and Mother ignored them, engrossed in the documents.

"Kamille?" Father called.

I approached. "Yes, Dad?"

His eyes were cold and expectant. "Here. Take these. Since the will can't be ready today, we'll move to the next order of business."

I slowly took the papers. "What are these—"

Family Annulment Document.

Those words hit me hard. I stumbled back.

"What is this?"

"Can't you fucking read?" Liz snapped.

"We want you out of the family, Kamille. You were never a Manor. Grandma adopted you when you were a pathetic three-year-old. We were told to treat you like family, but now she's gone, so are you."

My mouth opened and closed. My mind reeled. The papers trembled in my hands as I searched their faces for a sign that this was a cruel joke. I found none.

"But… this is my family…" I whispered. "You're the only family I have…"

"We're not," Mother said firmly. "I only have three children. You're not one of them. Sign this and get out!"

"This can't be true! You can't do this to me!" I choked.

I'd lost my marriage. Now, my family. They never treated me as well as Grandma did; they always blamed me and framed me as a bully, even when I was the victim. But they were still the only family I'd ever known.

"You're nothing but some tramp Grandma picked up!" Liz spat.

I dropped to my knees, clinging to my father's legs. "Please!" I sobbed. "This is all I know!"

He kicked me away. "Stop the crocodile tears! I don't want to see you or your belongings when I come back downstairs!"

He went upstairs. My hands fell to the marble floor, clutching the papers. I looked at Mother, but she only stared me down and followed him.

"How pathetic," Ellen spat.

"If you don't take your trashy belongings, I'll burn them," Liz sneered.

"And you won't get your trust fund," Ellen said, examining her nails. "Father made sure of that. Why should you get the same treatment as real Manors?"

My pain and agony simmered into rage. They were cutting me off financially? I had no income; my only money came from writing weather forecast articles. I couldn't get a proper job because Ezekiel's family didn't want me to work while married to their son. Now I was helpless and penniless. And furious.

That fury fueled me. I got up and headed to my old bedroom. In the hallway, I saw Gabriel.

"What do you want?" I snapped.

He slapped my ass, then squeezed it, leering. His breath smelled of weed and expensive liquor.

"I could help you out of this pathetic situation, Kamille. If you give me what I want. This ass. Just once."

I slapped him. "You're my brother! How dare you!"

He cursed, shocked I'd hit him. This wasn't his first attempt to harass me, but it was my first time fighting back.

"Did you just hit me?"

Before I could answer, Liz grabbed my hair. I was twisted around to face her furious expression.

"Liz—!"

Crack! Her fist hit my cheek, sending me crashing into the wall. My breath was knocked out, and searing pain tore through my face.

"You dare hit my brother?! I'll fuck you up!" She charged, but Gabriel held her back. "Not worth it, Liz. It's illegal to hit a non-fighter. If she reports it, your career is over."

"I dare her to try!" Liz screamed. Gabriel pulled her away.

Holding my rapidly swelling cheek, I went into my bedroom and locked the door. Under my bed, I retrieved a box containing footage of the abuse I'd endured—Gabriel's numerous rape attempts, my "parents'" embezzlement.

They thought they'd get away with everything, but I would destroy them. One leak and their lives would be shattered.

I quickly packed important items into boxes and loaded them into my old Wrangler, the white Jeep Grandma gave me four years ago.

Locking the trunk, I drove out of the garage without looking back. A few moments later, I decided to go to Ezekiel's to get the rest of my things.

I braked. The car didn't slow.

I frantically jammed my foot on the brake pedal; a truck was approaching. The brakes were unresponsive. My heart sank.

The truck blared its horn. I swerved, careening off the road and into a tree.

There was a loud crash, bangs, ringing… my shaky hands cradled my belly… then… nothing.