Chapter 4

As I was being escorted out of the gallery, an enraged fan grabbed me by the collar.

"I loved your work, and all this time, you were nothing but a thief and a fraud!"

More furious spectators gathered near the entrance and knocked me to the ground.

The crowd closed in around me.

The crush of bodies made it impossible to breathe.

Terror seized me.

Curled up on the pavement, I couldn't force out a single word.

Then, amid the chaos, a stiletto heel came down hard on my right hand.

The sharp heel pierced straight through my wrist.

I screamed as my body convulsed.

Blood and tears blurred together.

My right hand would never paint again.

But when I dragged myself home, my injured arm hanging uselessly at my side, my parents were celebrating Samuel's victory.

There were balloons, cake, and champagne.

The picture-perfect happiness of it all hurt more than the injury.

My mother glanced at me, disgust flashing across her face.

"Today's a special day for Sam. Did you even look at yourself before coming in? You're ruining the atmosphere."

My tears hit the floor.

"That painting was mine," I whispered. "Why would you do this to me?"

Her expression hardened with impatience.

"It's just a painting. He's your brother. What's wrong with letting him have it?"

My throat tightened painfully.

I didn't understand.

I already gave everything I had ever owned in that family to him.

I only wanted to keep one thing for myself.

Was even that too much to ask?

I finally broke.

"That painting was my life's work! It was the most important thing I had!"

My voice cracked into a scream.

"And Samuel isn't my brother! My brother died years ago!"

Smack!

My mother's slap landed with such force that she nearly lost her balance.

"You were happy when your brother died, weren't you?"

Her eyes were wild with grief and hatred.

"You were the coward who left him behind that day, weren't you?"

She stared at me as though I were her greatest enemy.

"I'm telling you right now—he is your brother."

Her voice shook.

"And from this day forward, Sam is my only son. Anyone who tries to hurt him will answer to me."

The words cut deeper than any blade.

To keep me from telling the truth, to protect Samuel's reputation as the brilliant young artist, my parents tied me up, shoved me into the trunk of a car, and drove me away.

They committed me to a psychiatric institution.

"No one believes a lunatic."

Standing on the other side of the window, my mother's eyes were colder than winter ice.

At the time, I thought it was only another prison.

I had no idea it was the entrance to hell.

They force-fed me medication.

They subjected me to electroshock treatments against my will.

Every day, patients were dragged away from their beds.

Some smashed their heads against the walls until blood ran down their faces, then turned and smiled at me.

I was terrified that one day I would truly lose myself and become one of them.

So, I carved line after line into my arms.

Only unbearable pain could keep me grounded.

Only pain could remind me who I was.

Then one day, another patient suffered a violent breakdown.

As a nurse rushed over with a syringe of sedatives, I snatched it from her hand and drove it into my own abdomen.

The agony overwhelmed me.

Everything went black.

Because of the severity of the wound, I was rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery.

While they were preparing the operating room, I threw myself out of the hospital bed and staggered toward the exit.

Then I ran.

From that day forward, I disappeared from their world.

By the time I finished speaking, my roommate was openly crying.

His shoulders shook as he looked at me.

"Julian..."

His voice broke.

"How could they do that to you? How could anyone treat their own child that way?"

The harder he cried, the calmer I felt.

Because the fact that I could finally say it out loud meant all of it was behind me now.