Chapter 1

I was the Whitmores’ biological daughter, lost to the slums.

To survive, I’d worked nights in clubs—singing, dancing, drinking with customers, even flirting with them.

They despised that sordid past. To them, I was a filthy burden on the Whitmore name.

The only daughter they had ever acknowledged was Chloe.

Their delicate, beautiful, beloved art prodigy.

Fine. Then I would show them just how rotten a soul could hide inside that pretty angel.

And drag them all to hell.

Chloe’s painting had been stolen. The robber had slashed her right hand, cutting down to the bone.

Everyone suspected I had hired him.

Ethan Hayes held the sobbing Chloe in his arms and glared at me. “Lily Brooks, you’ve gone too far this time!”

My father slapped me. “If we’d known what a vile little thing you were, we never would have brought you home!”

They had stormed in together, and they swept out just as quickly, crowding protectively around the injured Chloe.

Leaving me, the “culprit,” standing silently in the empty gallery.

The bizarre paintings around me seemed to mirror the absurdity of my life.

Everyone knew Chloe was an artistic genius.

Tomorrow, this gallery was supposed to host her exhibition. She would unveil a painting she’d spent five years creating, one she had supposedly finished just days ago.

None of us had seen the finished work. She’d said she wanted to surprise us at the exhibition.

But half an hour ago, she had called us all, saying two robbers had broken in, stolen the painting, and slashed her hand.

Through her tears, she asked me, “Lily, was it you? I heard one of them say, ‘That should make Miss Whitmore happy.’”

“And you’re the only real Miss Whitmore.”

Our parents immediately comforted her. “Chloe, you’ll always be our daughter. You’re a Whitmore, too!”

Ethan rounded on me. “You know how important her right hand is! How could you have someone hurt it?”

“Lily Brooks, you’re disgusting!”

My name was Lily Brooks. That was what everyone called me.

Yet I was the Whitmores’ daughter.

Chloe and I had been switched at birth. The truth had only come out two years ago.

I was brought back to the Whitmore family. Chloe stayed.

Nobody in that house truly welcomed me, all because of my shameful past.

The daughter they had raised fulfilled all their dreams. I was a tumor contaminating their name and bloodline.

They hated me. They refused to believe me.

Just like now. I hadn’t said or done anything. I had merely stood there, and somehow that made me the criminal who had hired thugs to hurt Chloe.

Her hand was badly injured. The doctor said she might never again be able to hold a brush for long periods.

Ethan looked as if he wanted to tear me apart.

“You’ve destroyed her future!”

Looking at the man I had known for ten years, I finally asked the question I could no longer swallow.

“From beginning to end, the only thing pointing to me is something Chloe said. There isn’t a single piece of evidence. Why are you so sure I did it?”

“Isn’t her word enough? You used to do things like this all the time. This is exactly the kind of person you are!”

I gave a cold laugh.

“All those things I did back then—wasn’t it so you’d have the money to chase your dream?

“You were the one who benefited from all that filth. Have you forgotten?”