They offered her $75,000 to sign a wedding NDA, completely oblivious that section four was a trap designed to hide three years of stolen trust funds.

One year later.

My clinic in Boston had expanded into a full-service trauma recovery practice, employing four full-time therapists and two pediatric specialists.

My book, Uncoupling from Toxic Dynasties: A Therapist's Guide to Reclaiming Your Life, had been published to critical acclaim, becoming an instant bestseller for individuals recovering from family exploitation.

My hairline had healed completely. The seven stitches left a faint, almost invisible white mark near my crown—a tiny scar that I no longer hid under styled bangs. It was a mark of survival, a reminder of the night I refused to let cruelty define my reality.

It was an October evening.

I sat on the balcony of my new brownstone apartment in South Boston, listening to the soft rustle of autumn leaves and the distant hum of the harbor.

Bellamy sat on the outdoor sofa next to me, pouring two glasses of red wine, while June’s laughter echoed from inside the kitchen where she was baking cookies with her college roommates.

My phone buzzed on the glass coffee table.

A notification popped up from a legal news blog:

DELANEY WARD COMPLETES FIRST YEAR OF COURT-ORDERED PROBATION; PETITION TO RESTORE SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS DENIED BY JUDGE.

I looked at the headline for two seconds.

I didn't feel rage. I didn't feel triumph. I felt a quiet, profound neutrality.

Delaney was living the consequences of her choices. My parents were living the consequences of theirs.

And I was living mine.

"You good, Sloan?" Bellamy asked, handing me a glass of wine.

I took the glass, looked out over the sparkling lights of the Boston skyline, and took a slow, deep breath of the crisp evening air.