Ten years after my wealthy family took me back, I died in the rental house my billionaire parents had dumped me in.

My son was three.

Just to mess with me, the kidnapper gave me three chances to call for help.

If even one person was willing to come see me, he'd spare my child.

The first call was to my father, the man who'd spent fifteen years searching for me.

He was busy directing the staff as they set up my adoptive sister's birthday party.

When he picked up, he barked, "Estelle Emerson, seriously? Can you go one week without causing a scene? It's your sister's birthday. I'm busy. Don't kill the vibe."

The second call was to my mother, the woman who brought me home and changed my name from Dixie to Estelle.

But Vera snatched the phone and laughed so hard she could barely get the words out.

"Estelle, seriously? If you're gonna make something up, at least make it believable. You look so broke you probably don't even have fifty bucks. What kidnapper would pick you?"

The third time, I called Luca's father, my legal husband.

He said he was in a meeting and didn't have time to play games with me. He also said that if I behaved myself, he'd agree to take me home for dinner next week.

After the final call ended, I looked at the grinning kidnapper in despair and sent the last two messages of my life.

A photo of myself covered in blood.

And a short message, every word sincere.

[I'm really going to die. In my next life, don't bring me home.]

When the call went through, Dad was snapping orders for Vera's birthday party.

"What now?" he barked.

I stared at the kidnapper's bloody knife and shook.

"Dad, I've been kidnapped. Please come get me and Luca."

Luca was my son. Three years old.

The kidnapper had broken in while I was putting him to bed.

Now Luca was on the floor, bleeding out.

"Estelle Emerson, seriously? Can you go one week without causing a scene? It's your sister's birthday. I'm busy. Don't kill the vibe."

Then he yelled, "Beatrice, is Vera's cake here yet? I ordered twenty tiers. Twenty."

Click.

The call dropped.

The dial tone buzzed in my ear as my chest clenched.

Actually, today was my birthday too.

Twenty-five years ago, Vera and I were born in the same hospital.

One nurse mixed up our name tags.

Just like that, Vera became Kingsley City's heiress. Spoiled. Protected. Loved by everyone.

And me?

I became the unwanted girl a crippled man named Frank pulled out of a dumpster in some backwoods place. To him, I was worth less than trash.

I worked as long as I could remember.

Food wasn't guaranteed.

Sometimes I got so hungry I fought hogs for their slop. One time, I passed out in the pen.

When I woke up, part of my ear was gone.

Frank said I'd been unlucky ever since.

He said people like me were never meant to have a whole, happy life.

But life wasn't all bad.

On my fifteenth birthday, I ate my first full meal.

I still remembered it.

A steaming bowl of oatmeal.

Two pieces of bread.

To me, it felt like a feast.

Frank said he'd taken money from a family across the county. He was handing me over to their forty-year-old son—a man who could barely take care of himself.

According to Frank, my luck had finally turned around.

That's when my parents found me.

They brought me home and told me I was their missing daughter.

They told me to get along with Vera.

By the next day, I realized I'd only traded one hell for another.

When I was twenty-one, Vera's fiancé, Tristan Schulz, got drunk and barged into the storage room where I slept.

I got pregnant.

I got married.

Now I was about to die.

And weirdly, the thought didn't even hurt anymore.

Then Luca twitched at my feet and mumbled, "Mom."

My breath caught.

I gave a bitter laugh and looked at the kidnapper filming everything.

"Give me another chance."

***

The second call was to Mom.

In high society, she was a famous philanthropist. Always in the headlines. Every year, she donated millions and made sure every headline mentioned it.

I once saw her interview at an orphanage.

A kid showed her a drawing, and the perfectly dressed socialite burst into tears right there.

Eyes red, she promised to spend $500,000 on art shows for the kids. She even said she'd send them abroad for college when they grew up.

Luca didn't need any of that.

He just needed someone to take him away.

To keep him alive.

The call went through fast.

"Mom, I've been kidnapped. He's going to kill me. Please come get Luca and take him home."

Silence.

Laughter burst through the phone.

My adoptive sister Vera snatched the phone and laughed so hard she could barely get the words out.

"Estelle, seriously? If you're gonna make something up, at least make it believable. You look so broke you probably don't even have fifty bucks. What kidnapper would pick you?"

She giggled.

"Mom, don't you think?"

Mom played along without missing a beat.

"Of course. You're right."

Then her voice turned cold.

"Just hang up. Ignore your sister. She was ruined long before we brought her back from the countryside. And that name—Dixie? It sounds straight out of a trailer park."

Every word hit like a knife.

I parted my lips and tasted blood.

I wanted to tell her I wasn't lying.

I wanted to tell her I wasn't ruined.

I wanted to remind her that my name wasn't Dixie.

My name was Estelle.

Estelle Emerson.

The name she had given me herself.

Vera didn't hang up.

She said she had more to say, then the party noise faded, like she'd walked away with the phone onto a balcony.

"Estelle, did you hear that? Mom and Dad don't have time for you. So stop acting pathetic for attention. Today's my birthday. I'm the only one who matters to them.

"And Tristan? He canceled a project and flew back just for me.

"So? Ready to admit you lost?"

Her voice was lazy. Smug. Like she'd already won.

But I wasn't listening.

Luca was awake.

He opened his eyes and crawled toward me, tears filling his dark eyes.

"Mommy... Luca hurts..."

My heart sank.

I reached for him.

The kidnapper yanked him away.

As he walked off, he pressed a finger to his lips.

Stay quiet.

Keep playing.

Blood flooded my mouth.

I had no idea where the strength had come from.

Still tied to the chair, I crashed onto the floor.

Pain shot through me, but I forced the words out.

Begging the person who had stolen my life.

"Vera... I give up.

"I never should've come back to this family. I never should've fought you for Mom and Dad's love. I never should've existed at all.

"But please... please take my son home.

"I'll do anything.

"I can slap myself."

Lying on the floor, I lifted my hand and hit my face with everything I had left.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

Tears mixed with blood.

My eyes stayed open as I wondered if I was slapping myself...

or beating the last shred of dignity out of me.

Vera.

I give up.

Vera went silent for a second.

I heard her suck in a breath.

Then she burst out laughing.

"Seriously, Estelle? I stole your parents, took your place, drove you out, and left you digging through trash. I'm that horrible, that cruel, and you're actually... actually begging me?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

Soft.

Poisonous.

"Estelle, you're pathetic."

The call disconnected.

I lay on the floor without moving.

Like a corpse.

After a while, the kidnapper sighed and walked over, knife in hand.

I shifted slightly, exposing my blood-soaked forehead.

Then I begged him like a stray dog.

"Give me one more chance.

"One last call."

The kidnapper raised an eyebrow.

"Your father doesn't want you. Your mother doesn't want you. Who else is left to call? Just give up already."

When Frank tied me up and tried to sell me off, he'd said the same thing. "Stop fighting. This is your fate."

I didn't accept it then.

I bit that man and ran.

Ran all the way to the end of that dirt road.

That's where I found my father.

He'd come looking for his missing daughter.

I'd changed my fate once before.

The restraints had sliced deep into my wrists, but I barely felt it.

I just stared at the kidnapper, too stubborn to give up.

"I want a third chance."

The third call was to Tristan.

Luca's father.

"Tristan, I'm going to die. Please come get Luca. He's three. He misses you."

Tristan sighed.

"What now? I'm busy. I don't have time for your games. This month's child support went through on time. Take the money and behave. Stop bothering me."

At his voice, Luca suddenly broke free from the kidnapper and cried out for his dad.

Tristan went silent.

His breathing turned heavy.

For one second, I thought he cared.

My eyes burned. I opened my mouth.

But his cold voice cut in.

"I already told you, Estelle. Behave. I won't short you a single cent of child support, but if you try to turn my son against me, I won't forgive you."

Vera's voice floated through the phone, sweet and playful.

"Tristan, cake time! Hurry up!"

Tristan chuckled.

"I'll bring you and the kid home for dinner next week."

Then he hung up.

My third chance was gone.

I screamed and lunged for the phone, desperate to make one more call.

Just before I could reach it, the kidnapper kicked it away.

Then he grabbed Luca by one leg and dragged him in front of me.

A cruel smile spread across his face.

"See? I told you to stop fighting. You wouldn't listen. Believe me now?"

Luca threw himself into my arms, sobbing.

His little face was red from crying.

"Mommy... Luca's scared... Mommy..."

I pressed my cheek against his tangled hair.

Tears wouldn't stop falling.

"Don't be scared, Luca. Mommy's here. Mommy will protect you."

The kidnapper let out a laugh. "You?"

I sniffed and looked straight at him.

My gaze didn't waver.

"Give me one more chance. If it still doesn't work... I'll stop fighting."

His smile disappeared.

"Fine. One last chance.

"This time I'll make it easy. If anyone in your family answers, I'll let you and the kid go.

"But if nobody answers, I'll kill you, cut your son into three pieces, and mail them to your parents."

"Deal."

***

The fourth call was to Mom.

The phone rang seven times.

No answer.

The kidnapper smirked. "See? I—"

"Hello?"

The call connected.

But it wasn't Mom.

"Who's calling? Mrs. Emerson is celebrating Miss Emerson's birthday and can't come to the phone. Is this urgent?"

Beatrice.

The housekeeper.

I swallowed the blood in my mouth.

"It's Estelle..."

A pause.

Then an awkward sigh.

"Estelle, Mrs. Emerson said not to answer your calls today. Mr. Emerson said..." She hesitated. "Unless you're dead, don't bother him or Mrs. Emerson."

The kidnapper laughed.

I didn't.

"Please. Just hand them the phone. They don't have to do anything. They just have to answer. Please."

Maybe I sounded too desperate.

Beatrice sighed again, then carried the phone into the loud party.

"Mrs. Emerson, it's Estelle. She says you need to take this."

On the other end, Mom seemed to be dancing.

At Beatrice's words, her voice paused.