I run through a field of flowers, frolicking joyfully. My mom is there. So is my dad. And my older brother. They're all smiling at me. We're laughing, playing—
Then suddenly, everything changes.
The field vanishes.
I'm alone now. Standing in the middle of a dense wilderness. My heart pounds. I start to cry.
"Mommy? Daddy? James?" I sob, tears streaming down my face. "Please come back... I don't want to be alone. Please!"
I jolt awake, breathing heavily.
I've had that same dream for as long as I can remember. Over and over. It haunts me. The only blemish in an otherwise perfect life. My therapist says it's representation of my fear of being alone.
Whatever that means.
I rise from bed, slipping into my royal-blue slippers—my favorite color—and stretch. My morning routine kicks off with a cheerful playlist. After a quick home gym session, I strip down and sink into the jacuzzi. The jets ease the ache in my muscles.
I finish up my skincare while admiring my reflection in the mirror.
My deep brown, silky hair is pinned back in a claw clip. Honey-colored eyes, full heart-shaped lips, and a button nose—I know I'm beautiful, and I'm not afraid to own it. My curvy figure and long, slender legs always turn heads.
I throw on a blue shirt and black pants from my dad's designer collection, tuck in the front, and pull on black boots. I let my hair fall in soft waves, adding a touch of product for shine.
Stepping out of my third-floor bedroom, I walk into a living room that looks more like a penthouse than a home. I sigh, disappointed—as always.
Don't get me wrong. I love our house.
But it's not warm. It doesn't feel like home. More like a very expensive hotel. Sometimes, I wish our house could be homey and warm but I wouldn't say that out loud.
Not again. I said it once my family acted like I had lost my mind.
They laughed like I'd told a joke.
In the kitchen, my family sits silently eating breakfast. It's self-serve today, so I grab deviled eggs, sausages, and toast—but thankfully my mother was there to intervene.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asks like I've grown a third arm.
"Eating," I reply flatly.
She looks at my plate like it personally insulted her. "You're not planning to eat all that, are you? You're fat enough already. How are you going to pass the modeling exam in three months looking like a whale?"
"Mom, relax. I'll be fine. I don't look like a whale."
"I don't care. Put it down. Eat a salad."
I roll my eyes but obey.
"Why can't you be more like Sarah? Have you seen that girl's figure?" she sighs dreamily. "She'll take every modeling agency by storm."
Sarah—my best friend since high school—is a tall, blonde bombshell with a waist so tiny you could play ring toss on it.
I stab my salad like it's to blame for everything.
Poor salad. May it rest in peace.
My mother never misses a chance to compare me to Sarah. In this house, Sarah's the angel. I'm the devil's assistant.
The doorbell rings. One of the butlers—Paul? Jeremy?—answers. Sarah walks in like she's royalty. Everyone lights up.
She kisses my brother James. Yes. They're dating.
I once pointed out how messed up that was.
She cried. My brother exploded. My family called me selfish and jealous.
Since then, I've kept my mouth shut.
Today, Sarah and I are going shopping. I pull her away before she and James start full on making out in front of everyone. Tongue and all.
I shudder at the mental image.
We drive to the mall—my maids follow in another car—and shop for two hours. Designer clothes, bags, and shoes. The usual.
As we're about to leave, I lock eyes with the most beautiful man I've ever seen.
He's tall—like crush-me-with-his-shoe tall. Jet-black hair, emerald-green eyes, pale pink lips, and a smile that makes my heart stutter.
Time freezes. His gaze pins me in place. My skin prickles. I shiver.
He licks his lips. A wave of white hot electricity zips through me.
My heart is beating so hard I can hear it in my ears my palms so sweaty I had to look down to ensure they weren't dipping sweat on the floor.
I wish i hadn't tho because the second i do he goes back to what he was doing.
Reality slams back in.
He's behind a perfume booth. Surrounded by people who i assume are his team. He's a vendor.
Sarah catches me staring. Smirks. Then casually walks over to him.
She chats him up,casually places a hand on his shoulder.
Seriously? My eyes must be deceiving me because Sarah can't be really Flirting with the guy I was clearly interested in? While dating my brother?
No that can't be right.
But he doesn't take the bait.
He tells her to "fuck off" with the most polite smile he can offer and immediately asks if she's planning to buy anything.
I nearly laugh.
Sarah's face turns red. For a second, her mask slips.
Then comes the drama.
After having a big brain moment Sarah decides the most plausible thing to do in this situation.
Create a scene.
She starts crying—loudly—claiming he insulted and harassed her.
A crowd forms. People gasp. Outrage spreads. Customers demand refunds. Security shows up.
The man is stunned. Trying to defend himself. "I didn't touch her. I said nothing wrong."
He looks at me—pleading.
I'm her friend. They know I came with her. I'm the only one who can clear his name.
But I don't.
I stay silent.
And just like that, his business crumbles in front of us.
He glares at me as security hauls him out. His workers trail behind, their eyes filled with disbelief.
Sarah smirks.
"Why did you do that?" I whisper.
"Oh, please. He had it coming."
"He had it coming for not flirting back?"
She ignores me.
I drop it. Arguing with her never ends well. It's not like she's listening to me anyway. Well It's not like I'll see him again anyway.
Back home, we prepare for a gallery opening. All the elites will be there.
I've always dreamed of being an artist. When I told my mom, she laughed and said to marry rich instead.
This gallery might be my one shot.
Sarah appears. "What's taking so long? It's just a stupid gallery opening."
She's coming too. Of course—dating my brother makes her part of the family now.
I don't mind. She's still my best friend.
Though she hasn't really been acting like it these days. I don't mind tho we all have our off days.
I wear a red, backless cocktail dress with a single off-shoulder and a pair deep red closed front heals. My makeup is light. I turn to her.
"How do I look?"
She gives a tight smile. "Great."
"I'm so excited. This could be the start of my painting career!" I say.
She just nods and walks off.
There it was I don't know where her sudden disinterest in anything I do comes from but I plan to get to the bottom of it when we come back.
At the gallery, I'm starstruck. Freya Vincent, my idol, is here. Sarah vanishes—probably to find James. I don't care.
The room is stunning—gold and brown, like an old ballroom with a modern twist. The walls are lined with masterpieces.
I approach freya my heart beating frantically in my chest . "Hi, I'm Regina Vale. I'm a huge fan."
She smiles. "Are you an artist?"
I stand shocked half expecting her to smile and walk away.
I nod and show her my tablet. She flips through my work, impressed. She says I have talent and wants to bring over a friend to look.
I beam.
As I wait, I feel eyes on me. Sarah stands on a balcony. Her face unreadable.
I give her a double thumbs-up.
She walks away.
Weird.
I have to pee. I glance around and quietly slip away to the bathroom.
I decide to apologize to freya if she returns before I do.
When I return, the room is silent.
Everyone stares at me. Their eyes following my every move.
Some people point. Some whisper. Some laugh. Others glare.
Confused, I walk to Freya.
She turns cold. "Excuse me," she says, and walks off.
Panicked, I rush to my family—who are practically running for the door.
"What's going on?" I ask.
"Sarah happened," my mom spits. "You let her into this family. Now she's ruining us."
I blink. "What?"
My brother thrusts his phone at me. A file on the screen: THE VALE CHRONICLES.
Fifty pages of our family's darkest secrets—exposed.
Each page signed in all caps:
SARAH MARTIN.