• My mom died saving me during a kidnapping. At least, that’s what everyone believed. My dad—once the man who spoiled me like his little princess—turned his grief into hatred. He adopted a girl who looked just like Mom and gave her all the love that used to be mine. For five years, I lived in that shadow, broken and unwanted. Until the day I was beaten and left for dead… and my mom came back. Alive.

He used to call me his treasure. Now he calls me a curse. But the night my mom returned, everything shattered—his lies, his obsession, and the truth I was never meant to know.

For as long as I can remember, I knew my dad didn’t like me.

Other kids had their parents dropping them off at school.

Me? It was always the housekeeper.

When I got home, I’d stand nervously in front of Dad, clutching my backpack.

“Dad… could you maybe… take me to school tomorrow?”

He brushed me off with a cold look.

“Be glad I haven’t abandoned you. That’s already more than you deserve.”

I was fifteen when he shoved me aside like that. I bit back my tears, never understanding why he hated me so much after Mom died.

Because once—he loved her more than anything.

My dad wasn’t rich when they met. He was just an ordinary guy, serving drinks at a fancy party. Mom was the daughter of a well-off family. She was supposed to marry someone of her own class, not fall for anybody. But she did.

Her family cut ties with her, furious that she’d throw everything away for him. And yet, behind their anger, they couldn’t stand to see her suffer. They secretly gave her most of her inheritance as a dowry, and with it, she helped Dad start his business.

He worked hard for her. Endured humiliation for her. Slowly, his company grew, and eventually, her family had no choice but to accept them. For a while, they were the perfect love story.

And then I was born.

For ten years, our family was whole. My dad and mom spoiled me endlessly. I was their “little princess.”

Until my tenth birthday.

On the way to bake my cake together, Mom and I were kidnapped by one of Dad’s business rivals. They were desperate, reckless, already ruined, and wanted to drag us down with them.

They beat us, tortured us, and sent recordings to Dad.

He nearly lost his mind. He sent in a rescue team, but it was too late. When the kidnappers realized there was no escape, they opened fire.

Mom threw herself over me. Bullets tore through her body.

At the hospital, even with the best doctors, she couldn’t survive. Her last words were:

“Take care of our daughter.”

And then she was gone.

From that day on, Dad hated me.

He wept for three days at her funeral, then collapsed into bitterness. Every time I came near, he looked at me like I was poison. Once, when I spoke to him, he nearly strangled me on the spot.

But Mom’s final words haunted him. So he made sure I had food, clothes, and a roof over my head—yet not an ounce of love.

I thought it was my fault. That if I just worked harder, if I was smarter, he’d love me again.

I studied like my life depended on it. But instead, a year later, he brought home another girl.

Her name was Rose. She looked so much like my mom it was eerie.

Dad introduced her as my new sister.

“Rose is sweet, clever, and everything you’re not. From now on, she’s your role model. She’s also my daughter—mine and your mother’s.”

I stared at him, furious.

“She’s not my mom’s daughter. She’s a fake! I’m Mom’s only child!”

Smack!

His hand cracked across my face, his eyes colder than I’d ever seen.

“Shut up—don’t you dare bring up my mother!”

Rose, tucked smugly beside Dad, laughed like she owned the room. Then she put on the sweetest face and cooed, “Dad, don’t be angry. Mom wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

That line hit him like a trigger. Ethan instantly calmed, as if she’d flipped a switch. After that, Rose moved into our house and settled in like she belonged there. I faded into the background like a ghost.

She took over my room. She took the childhood things my parents had given me. She got all the attention I’d been starving for—and she loved to provoke me.

When things went quiet and tense, Rose would smile and say, “Dad, my birthday is tomorrow. Make sure you get home early to celebrate, okay?”

Ethan’s whole face lit up. “Of course, my baby girl. How could I miss it? We’ll throw you a big party.”

Rose grinned that practiced grin. Then she added, faux-sweet, “If my sister wants to come, she’s welcome. We’re family, right, Dad?”

Ethan stroked Rose’s hair, all softness. “Rose can invite whoever she wants.”

I turned away, defeated, and slipped back into my cluttered little room. I fell asleep exhausted.

The next morning, I woke to noise—laughter, music, the kind of party sounds I’d been erased from for years. Rose’s birthday. I went out because it was easier than hiding. The living room was decorated like a dream. I couldn’t help it—I felt a sharp, jealous pang.

We went to the same school. Some of her guests were classmates. A few faces looked familiar. They saw me and, from Rose’s version of our family story, they’d already formed opinions. One girl didn’t bother to keep them to herself.

“Ava Harrington, you really are Rose’s sister?” she sneered. “How do you always manage to steal my spotlight, jinx?”

“I’m not a jinx!” I snapped, furious.

“Oh please. Your mom died because of you—you’re a curse!” she taunted, then shoved me. I shoved back. She laughed and, before I could react, bit my wrist hard.

People swarmed. The big cake wobbled and tilted. Somebody—God knows who—slashed at my side with something sharp. Pain exploded. Blood streamed everywhere.

By the time Dad got back, the family doctor was tending my wounds. The kids who had attacked me stood with their heads down, their parents gathered, hands wringing, pleading.

“Miss Harrington, we—our kids weren’t raised right. Please show mercy,” one parent begged. “My son doesn’t know better. I’ll accept any punishment.”

They all wanted to shield their kids. They loved them. I felt a flicker of something nasty and soft inside—jealousy. I wanted that too: a parent who would stand up, who would fight for me. Since Mom died, I’d been starving for it.

Ethan arrived like a storm. The room fell silent the moment he stepped in. The butler bowed. “Miss—” he began, but Ethan waved him off with a cold hand.

“Show me.” Ethan’s voice was low. He leaned in to look at the cut on my side, frowning like he cared. For a second, hope brightened me. Maybe he still loved me. Tears leaked out of my eyes before I could stop them.

“Dad,” I whispered, “they called me a—”

He cut me off with a bitter laugh that sounded like it came from somewhere empty. “They’re right. You are a jinx.”

The words stopped me from crying. My pain lodged in my throat. His voice felt like ice across my skin. I stared at him, unbelieving that he’d say such a thing in front of everyone.

Then he hauled me to my feet and pushed me forward like some exhibit. “Look,” he told the guests, his voice loud and furious. “This is the girl who caused her mother’s death—the curse that ruined our family.”

I couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. People looked at me with pity or disgust. I couldn’t speak. Why would he humiliate me like this? I’m his daughter. Didn’t the years of him calling me his “little treasure” mean anything? Why did he keep dragging Mom’s death back into my face? I’d lost my mother—how could he still blame me?

Just then, Henry Hale rushed in—my maternal grandfather. He stepped in front of me, blocking the stares. “Ethan Harrington!” he demanded. “Ava is your daughter. She’s an heir to the Harrington name on both sides. She does not deserve this.”

Even Grandpa came to stand up for me, saving me a little dignity. But Dad snorted and looked away like it meant nothing. “A heir?” he scoffed.

When the guests were shown out, Grandpa walked with me into the study. He confronted Ethan. “You can’t treat her like this. How can Fiona rest if you keep acting like this?”

Ethan’s jaw twitched. “Enough!” he barked, veins at his neck standing out. His eyes flashed like lightning and then clouded over. I curled into Grandpa’s arms, too scared to look at him.

Grandpa sighed and tried to steady me, eyes sad. “Ava, you’re part of this family. I can’t always interfere, but please—try to get along with your father. He’s not the same since Fiona… he’s more violent, volatile. Try to understand.”

I forced a small smile and nodded, but my heart felt empty. After Mom died, Dad grew into a man with power and money no one could push around. Even Grandpa didn’t dare change him. Our small defenses didn’t matter.

I picked up the small bottle of ointment the doctor had left and for a tiny second let myself imagine a different truth—maybe Dad still loved me, but couldn’t show it. Maybe he just didn’t know how.

Then Rose ruined the moment. That night, in the middle of the mess she’d made of her own party, she drifted over in a voluminous dress and said, loud enough for everyone to hear: “Dad gave me this dress because I asked for it—don’t be mad, okay?”

That dress was one of Mom’s things. It had been a keepsake from when she was young—one of the few pieces of her left in the house.

⸻

I watched the dress in Rose’s hands and felt something break inside me. That dress had been mine once—kept wrapped in tissue in the back of my closet. It was one of my last connections to Mom.

Rose smirked as if she’d stolen the last piece of me. She twirled, making sure everyone saw the fabric catching light. “You should be grateful, sister,” she said, sweet as poison. “After all, Dad said I could have anything I wanted.”

My chest tightened. I wanted to scream. I wanted to snatch it back and tear the dress in two. But I stayed still. I remember Mom wearing that dress once at a charity event, laughing. The memory felt like a secret lamp—warm, private. Now Rose has made it a prop.

After the party, the house fell into its usual cold silence. I sat on the edge of my bed and touched the edge of my wrist where she’d bitten me—one of many wounds. People visit once, apologize, leave. The ache lasts.

Grandpa stayed as long as he could. He pulled me close and promised he’d see me tomorrow. He always tried to fix things, but he couldn’t change who Dad had become. Ethan’s anger had become part of the air in the house—impossible to breathe without it.

When I finally lay down, I thought about the way Dad had held me the day Mom died—how he’d sobbed, how he’d said he’d protect me. Somewhere in the middle of all this, I’d convinced myself that the man who once loved Mom would still love me. But tonight, he’d called me a curse in front of everyone. That hurt more than the bite, the slash, or the bruise. Words can cut deeper than any blade.

And yet—I kept going. I had to. Mom’s last wish was for me to live. For now, survival was enough. I’d keep my head down, keep my grades up, and try to make something of myself, even in a house that felt like a courtroom where I was always guilty.

But the dress, the party, the open humiliation—none of it would be forgotten. Something in me changed that night. The part that had hoped Dad would come to my rescue finally dimmed. The part that wanted to belong hardened like glass.

Either I learned to live with this, or I learned to fight.

Either way, nothing about my life at Harrington house would be the same.