I was Claire Vitale, the lost daughter they forgot, the bride my lover betrayed—and the dying girl they failed to notice.

For five long years, I lived like a stranger in my own home. The Vitale mansion was a beautiful prison, where every kind word hid a lie, every promise was false, and even Lawrence, the man I was supposed to marry, cared more for Vanessa than for me. None of them saw how my body weakened each day, how the pain grew sharper. They were too busy watching their precious Vanessa.

Vanessa—the perfect adopted daughter, was the girl my parents loved more than me. She came into our family when I was lost, and when I returned, I found my place already taken—by her. Just as the illness was quietly taking my future.

Now she was gone, and they all pointed fingers at me, convinced I was behind her disappearance.

The machine they strapped to my head would pull memories straight from my mind. "Where is she?" my father roared. My mother sobbed in the corner. Lawrence, my fiancé, stood silent—his accusing eyes louder than any shout. But I knew the truth would shock them—how Vanessa hurt me, how she faked accidents, how she made sure no one ever believed me.

The machine would show them everything.

As the machine began its work, I trembled—from fear and exhaustion.

After all these years of being unheard, would they finally see?

My family strapped me to the cold metal chair on the fifth day of Vanessa's disappearance.

"Please, Claire," my mother Mrs. Vitale begged, her voice shaking. "Tell us where Vanessa is."

Five years. Five years since I'd returned to this family, and still, my own mother loved Vanessa more than me.

When I was six, I vanished from a family gala. The Vitals turned the city upside down trying to search me, till they found nothing. In despair, my parents adopted Vanessa—a replacement daughter.

Now that I was back, I'd become the replacement instead.

"I don't know where Vanessa is!" My voice cracked from days of repeating the same plea.

Father smacked a letter against my cheek. "Stop lying! Vanessa's letter makes it clear—you know where she is!"

Actually, I'd read the letter. Vanessa's dramatic goodbye: "I'm not your real daughter. I shouldn't steal Claire's place anymore."

A masterpiece performance.

Across the room, my mother's sobs echoed.

Then came the voice that still haunted my dreams—Lawrence Taylor, my fiancé, heir to the Taylor family.

"Claire," he sighed, "I know you're jealous of Vanessa. She can be...spoiled sometimes. But this isn't funny anymore. It's gone too far. Tell us where she is."

His words cut deeper than my father's rage. We'd been childhood sweethearts. I still remembered seven-year-old Lawrence making me a ring from weeds, promising to marry me one day. When I was away from home, I'd cried every night imagining his pain.

Then I came home five years ago—only to find Vanessa mattered more to him now.

"Please...I swear I don't know where she is," I whispered.

Vanessa had disappeared after "falling" down the stairs—an accident she blamed on me. Of course, I never touched her. But no one believed me. Now she was gone, and I was the villain.

My mother wiped her eyes. "Why do you hate her so much? Don't you remember the cake she made when you first came home? She even cut her fingers baking it for you!"

That cake. It was my first lesson in Vanessa's "hospitality".

My mother stepped closer, with tears in her eyes. "Claire," she begged, "just tell me where Vanessa is. My heart can't take this!"

She cried so easily. When it was about Vanessa.

I lifted my head slightly, opened my mouth, then closed it again.

In the end, all I could manage was a bitter smile.

"You dare laugh?" My father roared. "I know you're hiding Vanessa!"

He raised his hand to slap me, but Lawrence grabbed his arm.

"Sir," Lawrence warned. "We need her unharmed for the memory extraction."

The irony made me sick. My own family was about to use the memory extractor on me—that damned machine they normally reserved for torturing criminals. All this, just to find their precious Vanessa.

Father's face purpled. "That first day—acting like an animal in the car, ruining Vanessa's dress! Five years! Think of what she's done to Vanessa!"

His finger pointed at me. "And where were you when your mother was sick? Vanessa stayed up all night taking care of her, nearly collapsed from exhaustion. And you?" He shook his head in disappointment. "Slept like a baby. Shameless. No respect at all!"

I wanted to explain. But after five years of explanations that no one believed, I gave up.

Fine. I was the ungrateful brat. It was Vanessa who was their perfect daughter.

"Enough," Lawrence said firmly. "We need her conscious for the extraction."

How ironic! I was being spared because of Vanessa. The thought made tears spill down my cheeks.

My mother wiped them away with a sigh. "Don't blame your father for being harsh. You really have been...difficult."

Difficult? I laughed, but it turned into a sob. Now I was crying again, like some stupid kid who still believed her mom might take her side.

My father took a deep breath, making one last offer. "Claire, this memory extractor...” He glanced at the ominous machine, his voice turning gravelly. "It's our family's newest prototype. Untested. And maybe dangerous."

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "We don't want to use it. Now I'll ask one last time—tell us where Vanessa is, and you can leave with ten million. We'll never bother you again."

Leave? My eyes flew open. I was shaking my head before he finished.

Back to the streets? Never.

"Just as I thought," my father sneered. "Too greedy to take the money. You'd rather stay and wait for your inheritance."

My mother's face fell. They'd always hated how I hoarded every penny I found, how money meant safety to me. Now, refusing ten million just proved how selfish I was.

"I don't want to leave because—"

"Enough!" Father cut me off. "Dr. Mercer! Begin!"

I knew what came next. The machine would rip the truth from my skull—

But what if the truth was the one thing they couldn't bear?

The door clicked open. A man in a starched white coat entered, polishing an antique pocket watch with his thumb. He bowed to my parents and Lawrence.

"Proceed," Father said.

"Yes, sir." Dr. Mercer moved with robotic efficiency. Three helmets gleamed in his hands. "You'll observe through these. The subject can endure three memory probes safely." A pause. "Most subjects do."

"Three is plenty!" Mother snapped her helmet on. "Start with Vanessa's disappearance—she knows everything!"

The doctor hesitated. "Mrs. Vitale, the subject's neural patterns are unstable. We should begin with—"

"Yes, we'll follow the doctor's procedure." Lawrence stepped forward, his voice firm. "Let's do this properly. For Vanessa."

Mother gave a nod, and the doctor began his work. Moments later, all three were seated with helmets.

The lights dimmed. Cold gel seeped into my scalp as the helmet clamped down.

Click.

Music trickled into my skull. The doctor's pocket watch swayed like a pendulum.

"Don't resist," he murmured. "The more you fight, the more it will hurt."

"Okay," I whispered. Now I was the perfect little lamb waiting for slaughter.

The doctor blinked, surprised by my compliance. But he recovered quickly, continued to sway the pocket watch.

"Sleep now, Miss Vitale. Dream of your first meeting with Vanessa... such happy sisters..."

His low voice pulled me under.

I blinked. Leather seats. In front of me was Lawrence's profile as he drove—that jawline still unfairly handsome.

"Almost home," he said, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.

Next to me, Vanessa bounced, her ponytail swinging. "You're so tall!" She held my chapped hands. "Poor thing, doing farm work all these years. You'll never work again, I promise!"

Father chuckled from the front seat. "She's not a porcelain doll, Vanessa."

"But she's perfect!" She giggled. Then—"I made you tiramisu!"

"That's your welcome gift?" Mother teased. "How cheap."

Vanessa stuck out her tongue. "It's the thought that counts!"

The car erupted in laughter. For a moment, I marveled—this was how daughters could speak to parents?

After years in the countryside, the sight of such an exquisite cake overwhelmed me. Hesitant, I didn't immediately reach for it.

"Don't you like my cake?" Vanessa's voice trembled with manufactured hurt. "I worked so hard on it..." Her eyes shimmered with impending tears.

Father frowned. "It may not be expensive, but Vanessa made it with love."

"That's not what I meant." I responded quickly. "I'll eat it right now." I quickly took the cake and ate it. The cake melted on my tongue, delicious... until fire erupted in my gut.

A sudden wave of nausea hit me—this wasn't normal. Cold sweat soaked my back. I was going to be sick—here, now, in Lawrence's car.

"Are you feeling alright?" Vanessa grabbed my hand.

"Can we...pull over?" I gasped through clenched teeth.

"We can't stop on the highway!" Mother said, eyeing me with suspicion—as if a mere cake couldn't possibly cause this reaction.

But each wave was more violent than the last. Lawrence reached for the window controls—

—too late.

Hot liquid shame spread across the leather. Vanessa shrieked like a scalded cat, yanking her dress away as if my humiliation were contagious.

"Was my cake really that bad?" Vanessa whispered. "Does Claire hate it that much?"

"You're the older sister. Must you be so cruel to a twelve-year-old who worked hard to welcome you?" Mom said.

"Maybe Claire just doesn't like me," Vanessa mumbled, bowing her head and clutching her soiled dress. "This is my favorite one."

Father shot me a cold glance before turning to Vanessa with a soft tone. "It's all right, dear. Daddy will buy you a new dress."

Lawrence stopped the car on the emergency lane. Those beautiful eyes—the ones I'd dreamed of for years—took in the disaster in the backseat. "Vanessa's cakes are delicious. I've tasted before." he said stiffly. "This was unnecessary for your first meet."

I shrank into myself, my face burning. This wasn't how our first meeting was supposed to go.

When we resumed driving, the silence that followed was worse than any scream.

After arriving at the mansion, Vanessa helped me to my room. As the door clicked shut, her smile dropped like a mask.

"About the cake..." I began weakly.

Her lips curled. "Emetic, silly!" A giggle. "Had to test if you were really family—we Vitals have iron stomachs."

The admission stunned me silent. Seeing this, she leaned in, her breath hot and sour against my ear: "Don't look so hurt. It's just—"

Then, like magic, tears welled in her eyes. She flung the door open and ran straight into Lawrence's arms in the hallway.

"I didn't mean to make her sick!" she wailed, her voice carrying through the entire house. "She got so angry after eating my cake!"

Lawrence's expression turned serious. For the first time in all these lost years, he stood before me, and this was what came out of his mouth. "There was no need to take your dislike for Vanessa this far," he said coldly. "You're an adult. Must you be so cruel to a child?"

Footsteps pounded up the stairs—Mother and Father, drawn by the commotion.

"Is this your plan?" Mother demanded, her voice sharp with conviction. "To drive Vanessa out the moment you returned? How selfish can you be?"

Father showed displeasure in his eyes. "Vanessa has done so much for you, yet you're not the least bit grateful. Instead, you've been scheming to frame her!"

They stood in my doorway, staring. I didn't speak. What should I say? Between me and this family I'd dreamed of returning to, a gap had opened—wide and unbridgeable.

Then the pain hit, like skull-splitting. The memory dissolved as the extraction machine screeched in my ears, pulling me back to the present where my family sat frozen, their faces pale with horror.

Tears streamed down my face—whether from the headache or the flood of memories, I couldn't tell. I forced my eyes open, desperate to escape the past.

Dr. Mercer stood over me, taking notes. Around me, my family removed their helmets, their expressions unreadable.

Lawrence wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Look, Vanessa was just a kid being a kid. Don't take it so personally."

"Claire, darling," Mother said in a soft tone, "your sister's always been naughty. We'll talk to her."

Father cut in, "Doctor, we have two more extractions. Find my daughter first."

The doctor bowed. "Please be patient, Mr. Vitale. The subject is remarkably cooperative. I am sure we will succeed."

As they reattached the helmets, the machine reactivated with an unstable hum. My mind swam through murky darkness as fragmented memories began to surface.

This time, the memory was in Mother's bedroom. She was burning with fever.

She lay in bed, moaning softly from time to time.

Father was away on business, Lawrence was at the office, and aside from the maid, only Vanessa and I were home.

Using an old remedy I'd learned in the countryside, I brought a basin of hot water, soaked a towel, and repeatedly wiped Mother's forehead, arms, and back.

She was barely conscious, her fever stubborn despite the medicine.

Vanessa glanced in and scoffed, "Mom already took her pills. The doctor said she’ll be fine. Why are you so worked up?"

"I'm trying to bring her fever down. In my village, some people have gotten brain damage from fevers like this."

Vanessa burst into laughter. "Oh my god, it's so nice of you! This is a modern city, not your backwater village!"

I ignored her and kept tending to Mother.

Wracked with worry, I refused to eat or sleep, watching over her all night as her fever spiked three more times.

By dawn, it finally broke, and she fell into a deep sleep.

Exhausted but relieved, I cleaned up the basin and towel and collapsed into bed.

Then Father's roar woke me.

"You dare sleep while your mother was sick all night? Where were you?"

He was furious.

Stunned, I clutched my cheek, stammering, "I—I was with Mother—"

"Shut up! If there's no money involved, we never see you appear, do we?"

He shouted. "Vanessa stayed up all night taking care of her and nearly fainted from exhaustion. And you? Only cared about sleeping!"

Father stormed away. I ran out to explain, only to see Vanessa arm in arm with Mother, laughing together.

Mother glanced at me—nothing but ice in her eyes. A look she'd never given me before.

Then the headache struck again, tearing through my skull and ripping me from the memory.

I gasped awake.

My parents and Lawrence had removed their helmets, staring at me in shock.

My mind was foggy, reality and memory blending together.

Mother's eyes were red. She reached out hesitantly, touching my face. "Claire…why didn't you ever tell us? We misunderstood you…"

I stayed silent. The memories were too painful, and the headache left me numb, robbing me of the strength to speak a single word.

Father exhaled heavily. "She's always been like this—never speaking up. It was her silence that enabled Vanessa's behavior!"

"An older sister has a responsibility to discipline her sibling. Of course, I'll punish Vanessa too—three days of confinement when we find her."

Lawrence frowned. "Mr. Vitale, there's no need for that. Vanessa hasn't done anything unforgivable. She's just a child."

Then Lawrence turned to me. "Vanessa's told me before—she was afraid of being replaced by you. After all, she lost her parents' love at a very young age. She's just a poor, helpless little thing. We should show her more tolerance and love."

I closed my eyes again, too weak to fight the pain. When I needed compassion most, no one saw it—not even my fiancé.

Perhaps I was never loved at all.

Then another wave of blinding pain crashed through my skull. My vision blurred, the world spinning violently around me. My limbs turned leaden. I realized my old illness, the one that hadn’t flared up in ages, was acting up again.

I’d never told my family about this old condition. It was tied to my past in the country, something I’d never wanted to bring up again.

But only then did I remember—the medicine was in the drawer of my bedside table. I tried to speak, but my jaw refused to obey.

Suddenly, the monitor screamed with urgent beeps. Dr. Mercer rushed to check the readings, fingers flying across the controls.

"The subject's extraction module is malfunctioning. We need to transfer her to the backup room where there's an identical extractor that can sync with your helmets remotely." He said.

"Will we still observe the memories from here?" Mother asked.

"Correct," the doctor confirmed.

Then he watched me with concern, sensing something was wrong. He turned to my father. "Sir, should we stop? The subject has undergone two extractions already. Though cooperative, her condition is unstable. I recommend pausing—"

"Pause nothing! My daughter is missing—five days now! She's never suffered a day in her life. Move Claire to the backup room immediately and begin the third extraction!"

Father's fury silenced him. The doctor barked orders to two assistants, who hauled me from the cold metal chair.

As they half-carried me down the hallway, my consciousness spiraled into blackness. Icy water seemed to rise around me.

I screamed, "Help me!" but no sound escaped. Each breath became a struggle.

The last thing I heard was the slam of the backup room door, then fading footsteps. As life slipped away, I found myself utterly alone, accompanied by nothing but the endless darkness. It felt just like—death.

Meanwhile, my family waited anxiously. Seeing the doctor return, they quickly donned their helmets without hesitation. Somewhere beyond my dying breaths, the machine's cold melody wrenched the last light of my mind back into memories.