"Prisoner 00061, pack your things. Someone's waiting for you outside."

"Sign here, and you're free to go."

"Remember—as a parolee, you'll be under intensive supervision for the next ninety days. Your parole officer will be checking in. Violate the terms of your release, and you could be sent back."

Freedom. It was finally close enough to touch. Something flickered behind Aspyn Guzman's eyes — eyes that had gone still and flat years ago, like water with no current left in it.

The iron door groaned shut behind her, the clang rolling across the empty yard. She stood there alone, too thin for her own frame, and let it fade.

The summer sun came down hard, the kind of heat that had everyone else ducking for shade. Aspyn tipped her face up into it anyway. It had been three years since she'd felt anything like warmth.

The light caught the sharp angles of her face — she'd lost the softness she used to have, and what was left looked almost breakable. Her lashes trembled like something startled.

Sweat beaded along her hairline within minutes. She didn't wipe it away. The heat, the sting of it, was proof she was still here. Still alive. Still free.

A black Maybach idled in the shade nearby. The window slid down, and an impatient face leaned into view.

"Aspyn!"

She squinted against the glare and placed him — her older brother, Grant Guzman. She hadn't expected him to come.

Then again, of course he had. Grant was her court-approved sponsor, and the release plan required him to pick her up. She'd kept him waiting; he had every right to be annoyed.

She slid into the car and got the apology out before he could say anything. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

She had no intention of going back inside. Grant could report any alleged violation to her parole officer, and she knew he wouldn't hesitate to use that leverage. Her only plan for the next ninety days was not to give him a reason.

Apologizing first. It was reflex now.

Grant had actually meant to say something kind. It caught in his throat instead, knocked sideways by how easily the apology came.

He cleared his throat, tone deliberately even. "You don't need to apologize. You're my sister. Coming to get you is the least I can do."

"Thank you," Aspyn said, polite as ever. She'd stopped believing words like that a long time ago.

There was a time she thought they meant it — that she was really theirs. It hadn't taken long to learn better. Not even her birth mother wanted her, not really. Not next to the daughter she'd raised by mistake.

Her mother's voice, from years back: "We raised Avayah since she was a baby. It'll take her time to adjust to you being here. But you're the one who shares our blood. Behave, be sweet — how could we not love you?"

So Aspyn had behaved. Had been sweet. Had worked herself half to death trying to squeeze into the shape of that family.

It never mattered. Every time she came home top of her class, she got a lecture instead of a smile.

"Don't rub your grades in Avayah's face. What are you trying to prove?"

"Avayah's every bit as smart as you. She just isn't as healthy."

"You're hurting her feelings, do you understand that?"

So she stopped bringing her grades home at all. Being first meant nothing if nobody was glad for her.

For a while she told herself it was fine — she was the older sister, it was her job to give way. That her parents just needed time. That once they'd adjusted, they'd love her the way they loved Avayah.

What she got instead, eventually, was a phone call: Avayah had been driving without a license and hit someone. Someone had died.

"Avayah's not well, and she doesn't have a license — the sentence would ruin her. You're the only one who can take this for her."

She'd said no. Then Grant brought up her grandmother.

"You know how things are with your grandmother's family. She's still in the hospital, and the treatment costs more than they can cover."

"Say yes, and I'll get her the best doctors money can buy. The best lawyer, too. Worst case, you're looking at a few months."

"You think I'd let anything happen to you? You're my sister. Trust me."

She'd trusted him. She'd waited, certain someone would come for her. The wait ran three years long.

She didn't believe a word out of his mouth anymore.

The silence in the car had a weight to it. Grant glanced over — Aspyn had folded herself into the far corner of the seat, taking up as little room as she could. His frown deepened.

She hadn't used to be this quiet. She used to trail after all of them, hunting for something to say, and if anyone bothered to answer her she'd be lit up about it for days. Where had that gone?

Guilt needled him, thinking about the three years she'd just lost. He tried for casual. "Dad's traveling for work, but everyone else is home waiting on you. Excited?"

Excited.

The old Aspyn would have been thrilled. This one felt nothing at all.

She'd given up hoping for a family a long time ago.

Instead of answering, she asked, quietly, "Can you take me to see Grandma first?"

Grandma was the only one who'd ever actually cared. After that, Aspyn just wanted to get back to her studies. She was done wanting affection from people who didn't have any to give her — she wanted her research, her lab, a way back into biochemistry. That was the only leverage she had left against this family.

Grant's expression shut down. "Aspyn. We're your family. They're all waiting for you at home, and you want to go see someone else first?"

Something flickered in her eyes and was gone before he could name it. "Okay. I understand."

Watching her fold so easily made something in him twist — like hitting a pillow instead of a wall, all his force landing on nothing. It came out as irritation. "You don't have to be like this with me. I'm your brother."

Aspyn just smiled, faint, and said nothing.

You're not my brother. I don't have a brother. I don't have a family.

The Maybach pulled up outside a walled estate she didn't recognize. She didn't move to get out.

She'd never been here before.

So they'd moved, and no one had told her.

Grant was already several steps ahead before he noticed she wasn't behind him. "Why are you just standing there?" Impatience sharpened his voice.

Aspyn shook herself and hurried to catch up. It came back to him then — they'd relocated two years ago. She'd been inside the whole time. There'd been no way for her to know.

A little embarrassed, he offered, "The old place wasn't a good environment for Avayah's health, so we moved. There wasn't really a way to tell you while you were... away."

Aspyn lowered her eyes so he wouldn't see what was in them.

Of course. Always for Avayah.

She hadn't even wanted to major in literature. Biochemistry was what she loved. But Avayah's health came up, and being the older sister meant giving in — so she'd let the thing she cared about go and taken a degree that meant nothing to her.

Her eighteenth birthday wish had been a day at a theme park. She'd never been to one. They stayed home instead, because Avayah wasn't feeling well.

She was always the one who got left out. She'd stopped expecting anything else.

Her silence was starting to grate on him. "Say something if something's wrong. What's with the attitude —"

"— like you're the one who got wronged here."

He genuinely couldn't understand why none of them warmed to her. Next to Avayah she always came up short somehow — never quite fit for their world, never quite easy to look at.

Out of patience, Grant walked ahead into the house without waiting, certain she'd follow.

She always did.

Aspyn Guzman glanced up just in time to see Grant Guzman walking out, a trace of detachment in her eyes. Lucky for him, she no longer expected a thing from him—otherwise, that might have stung.

She stepped inside after Grant and found the exact scene he'd described: everyone was there except their father. Her brothers, Jay and Ezekiel, were on the couch chatting with Avayah.

"Zeke, I love this dress. Could you get it for me?" Avayah asked, flashing a sweet smile.

"Of course, no problem. I'll have the brand send over the entire season's collection," Ezekiel replied, generous as always.

"Jay, I'm stuck on my paper. Could you take a look at it later? Please?" Avayah batted her lashes sweetly.

"Sure thing!" Jay said, his tone indulgent.

Their mother watched her children with a look of gentle affection. It was the perfect picture of a warm, loving family.

Aspyn felt out of place—just like she had when she'd first come back to this family six years ago. She'd always been the outsider. Case in point: that time Avayah broke down crying, the whole family swarmed around her, while Aspyn stood there overlooked for over an hour.

This time, though, their mother noticed her sooner and hurried over, excitement in her eyes.

"Aspyn, you're back?" her mother exclaimed, eagerly reaching for Aspyn's hands. "Let me get a good look at you."

"You're so thin! But your complexion has improved."

Aspyn gently pulled her hands away, her tone flat. "Thank you for your concern."

"Aspyn, enough with that attitude," Grant cut in, his patience wearing thin. "The whole family is here to welcome you back, and you're acting like this? For what?"

Their mother's face flickered between hurt and disappointment. "Aspyn... are you blaming us?"

Seeing their mother upset, her siblings immediately rushed to console her, Avayah already close to tears. "Mom, don't be upset."

"Aspyn, blame me all you want, but please don't be like this. Mom missed you so much."

"She's been thinking about you every single day for the past three years. If you keep acting like this, you'll just break her heart."

Aspyn watched them close ranks around Avayah. The irony was almost funny.

She had lost three years of her life for Avayah, and somehow they had still cast her as the threat.

"Can you not cause a scene the second you walk through the door and drag everyone down? Just apologize to Mom," Ezekiel grumbled.

Aspyn gave Ezekiel a slight smirk. "Didn't Dad publicly cut ties with me when I was sentenced? Why should I apologize?"

A heavy silence descended over the living room.

Their mother stared at Aspyn, clearly pained and completely at a loss for words.

Grant finally broke the awkward pause. "Back then, the company's stock was crashing. Dad had no choice but to make a quick call. We can fix this; you don't need to worry about it."

"Alright, you must be exhausted. Why don't you go freshen up, and come down for dinner," he added, his tone noticeably softer. If Aspyn hadn't brought it up, he probably would've forgotten the public disownment ever happened.

When the scandal of the unlicensed driving and fatal accident broke, the company's stock took a nosedive, and Grant had suggested the disownment as a temporary fix. They'd planned to reinstate her once things settled down—but somehow, it slipped their minds.

Grant glanced at Aspyn apologetically, but her eyes no longer held any admiration or expectation. Instead, she looked utterly indifferent, which left him uneasy, like something was off and he couldn't put his finger on it.

Aspyn ignored all the unspoken questions and followed the housekeeper to her room to shower. She couldn't wait to wash off the grime of her past. But when she saw the clothes laid out for her—a frilly, girlish style that was so Avayah—she paused.

Ever since she'd been taken in by this family, her wardrobe had been filled with this style, clothes she never even liked. She'd naively believed they were picked out by her mother out of love, so she wore them despite disliking every single piece.

It wasn't until later that she found out they were just Avayah's cast-offs.

Every season, the newest fashion collections were bought for Avayah, and whatever she didn't want ended up with Aspyn.

But now? She was done with those hand-me-downs.

After her shower, Aspyn put on her own clothes instead of the ones provided, and headed downstairs. The family had gathered at the dining table, presumably to celebrate her homecoming. Yet no one had waited for her. They were all busy fussing over Avayah—until their mother finally noticed Aspyn was missing.

A rare flicker of guilt passed through her mother's eyes. Noticing that Aspyn hadn't changed, she hurriedly asked, "Why didn't you change? Were the clothes the wrong size?"

"Yes," Aspyn said, no further explanation.

"My fault. I thought you and Avayah were about the same size, and the clothes would fit you."

Same size? Aspyn was a good six inches taller than Avayah. Had her mother ever even noticed that those clothes were always too short?

Unable to hold it in any longer, Aspyn let out a soft, sardonic chuckle. "Not your fault. I ate well and slept well in the facility, so I grew. It's only natural you wouldn't know."

Her comment plunged the dining room into dead silence.

A piece of silverware slipped from Avayah's grasp and clattered to the floor. Her face went pale with fear.

Their mother rushed to soothe her. "It's alright, Avayah."

Grant shot Aspyn a cold warning look. "Don't mention that place. It scares Avayah."

Just the mere mention of the facility frightened Avayah and sent them all into a panic. But had any of them ever wondered how she'd managed to survive those three years inside?

Aspyn's lips curled into a bitter smile. How one-sided their concern was.

Watching the family fuss over Avayah, a trace of scorn flickered in Aspyn's eyes.

She focused on her food, tuning everyone out. It had been a long time since she'd tasted anything this good.

By the time the Guzman family snapped out of it, they found Aspyn eating quickly and with real relish, completely unbothered by their little drama.

This new version of Aspyn was unfamiliar to them.

She used to care so deeply about their feelings. The slightest sign of displeasure would leave her anxious and worried, until she saw them happy again.

Her transformation left everyone on edge.

Just as Grant was about to speak, he caught sight of a ghastly scar running across her wrist—and he blurted out, "What happened to your hand?"

Aspyn Guzman glanced at her wrist, her tone flat. "Just an injury."

Grant Guzman opened his mouth, then thought better of it. The sight of that scar—and what it implied—left him unsettled, the words stuck in his throat.

His earlier anger began to fade. He cleared his throat. "Even though you're still on parole, we managed to get you re-enrolled. You can complete registration tomorrow and get back to your classes."

Aspyn was caught off guard. She'd been racking her brain, trying to figure out how to get back into school—she hadn't expected the Guzman family to clear that hurdle for her. Saved her the headache, at least. She'd enroll first, then put in a request to switch her major.

Her real passion was biochemistry, but because of Avayah, she'd ended up in literature. The Guzmans didn't trust Avayah to be alone in the lit department, so they'd switched Aspyn's program without asking. Back then, eager to fit in, she'd reluctantly taken on a double major.

She wouldn't make that mistake again. The sooner she got her hands on lab equipment, the sooner she could get back to her real work—developing pharmaceuticals under the codename "Union."

Years ago, someone had noticed her talent. They'd exchanged messages online a few times, and were supposed to meet about her joining a pharmaceutical research team. Then her life got completely derailed—by her imprisonment.

Now, back to the present. Aspyn was about to thank Grant when Avayah piped up.

"Aspyn, I got into the graduate program at the same university. We can study together now."

Ha.

So that was it.

Aspyn had been wondering what kind of miracle—like the sun rising in the west—had made them so considerate. But no. Of course it was all for Avayah.

They'd only revived her academic status because Avayah was going to grad school. In the old days, she would've been the scholar tagging along with the princess.

For a split second, she'd been naive enough to think they'd finally remembered she was part of the Guzman family too.

Her mother smiled, dropping a piece of pulled pork into her bowl. "Jay's also taken a teaching position at the school, but he'll be busy. We'll need you to keep an eye on Avayah."

Aspyn stared at the food in her bowl. Sweet, sticky, not something she cared for—but it was on the table every single day.

Because Avayah loved it.

She set down her fork and stood. "I'm done. Enjoy your meal."

With that, she turned and headed for her guest room.

She couldn't afford to clash with them right now. She had to endure her first ninety days on parole.

Nobody expected her to bail like that. It wasn't until Aspyn had already climbed the stairs that Ezekiel grumbled, "Did you see that attitude?"

"Let it go, Ezekiel. Aspyn just came back. Cut her some slack," their mother chided.

Avayah chimed in, "I'll go talk to her—maybe discuss tomorrow's school plans."

Her mother looked relieved. "Yes, you two have always gotten along. Go have a chat with her. She's becoming more withdrawn."

Their mother frowned, but then she remembered Aspyn had spent three years in a god-awful place, and she swallowed her irritation.

Upstairs, Aspyn was thinking about visiting Grandma the next day when a knock came at the door. Before she could even answer, the door swung open, and Avayah stepped in.

Aspyn's expression went ice-cold instantly.

"Aspyn…" Avayah started, hesitant. "I just came to see if you need anything. I can have someone get it for you."

Aspyn looked up, her gaze dripping with sarcasm.

Avayah's words only underscored the gap between how they were treated—like a constant reminder of where Aspyn stood.

How absurd. Aspyn was their biological daughter, and yet she was treated like a stranger.

No. Worse than a stranger.

Aspyn replied coolly, "I told you three years ago. Don't call me 'sister.'"

That title had cost her three years in prison. A sibling she could live without.

"Aspyn…" Avayah's eyes welled up. "I know you're angry with me, and I want to make it up to you. I really do…"

Aspyn cut her off. "If you're so sorry, give me money."

"What?"

Avayah froze, her tears momentarily forgotten.

Aspyn gave a humorless smile. "Didn't you say you wanted to make it up to me? How about a million a year? Three million total. Seems fair, right?"

Avayah was completely dumbfounded. She hadn't expected Aspyn to ask for cash.

After a long pause, she finally managed, "Three... three million is too much. I don't have that kind of money."

She was spoiled, sure, had an allowance—but nowhere near millions. Even if she had a few hundred thousand lying around, she wasn't about to hand it over.

"Too much?" Aspyn stared at her. "I did three years for you. Isn't that worth three million?"

"No, that's not—" Avayah bit her lip, looking miserable. "I'll... I'll figure something out."

She scurried out of the room. Not long after, the door slammed open—this time kicked in by Grant, his face thunderous.

"You come back and immediately start trouble in this family. Can't you just keep the peace?"

"You know Avayah's health isn't great, and you go and bully her?"

Aspyn met Grant's gaze coolly. Her brother—who hadn't asked her a single question about what she'd been through, but was quick to come at her like this.

"Why don't you ask what I actually did to her?" Aspyn turned to Avayah, who was hovering behind Grant, looking upset. "Did I insult you? Hit you? Or did I frame you and get you thrown in prison?"

"No, no…"

Avayah shook her head frantically. The words "frame" and "prison" made her panic.

"Grant, she didn't do anything to me. Let's just go."

Seeing Avayah so shaken, Grant's chest tightened. He tried to soothe her. "Don't worry. I'm here. She's not going to mess with you."

Aspyn, arms crossed, leaned against the wall, watching the whole sibling soap opera with bored indifference.

"If you're not here with money, please leave. I need to rest."

"Money? What money?" Grant couldn't help but ask.

Avayah had come to him earlier, eyes red, too upset to explain. Seeing her like that, Grant had just assumed Aspyn was bullying her, and he'd rushed over to intervene.

"Your sister just offered to give me three million."

Years ago, when Aspyn had first been brought into the family, their father had given her a card with a million bucks. She'd given it back then.

At the time, she hadn't wanted the money. She'd wanted family.

She wouldn't be that naive again.

Pride didn't pay the bills. Might as well take what was hers. Those three million? Well-earned.