The letter arrived on a Monday morning, and I almost didn't open it.
I'd been getting so many letters lately—from journalists, from fans, from people who wanted a piece of my story. But this one was different. This one was handwritten on expensive stationery, the kind that cost more than most people's weekly groceries.
I recognized the handwriting immediately. It was Sophia's.
I stared at the envelope for a long time, my heart pounding. Sophia was my stepsister, Catherine's daughter. She'd been cruel to me when we were younger, mocking me for my quietness, for my love of art, for everything that made me different. She'd been part of the reason I'd felt so alone in my own home.
But she was also a victim. She'd been manipulated by her mother, used as a pawn in Catherine's schemes. And she'd been just as trapped as I was, in her own way.
I opened the letter with trembling hands.
Dear Ruby,
