1: The song that wasn't hers
CHAPTER 1: THE SONG THAT WASN’T HERS
The crowd screamed Vanessa Lawson’s name.
“Vanessa! Vanessa! Vanessa!”
Amara stood behind the velvet curtain, clutching a battered notebook against her chest.
Her heart sank with every cheer.
She knew the song Vanessa was about to sing.
She had written every word.
Every note.
Every emotion.
Yet thousands of people were waiting to praise someone else for it.
The stage lights brightened.
Vanessa walked onto the platform in a glittering silver gown, smiling confidently as cameras flashed around her.
“Good evening, everyone!”
The crowd erupted.
Amara lowered her eyes.
Vanessa lifted the microphone.
“This next song is very special to me. I wrote it during the darkest period of my life.”
Amara's fingers tightened around her notebook.
Liar.
The piano began.
One soft note.
Then another.
Amara's chest tightened.
She remembered writing the melody three years earlier in the servants' laundry room.
She had been seventeen.
Her stepmother had locked her out of the music room because Vanessa was having guests.
So Amara had sat on the cold floor beside a washing machine, using the back of an old grocery receipt to write lyrics.
She had cried while writing them.
She had named the song Broken Wings.
Now Vanessa was singing it to a stadium full of people.
I gave you my heart...
Amara closed her eyes.
The song had once belonged to her.
It was one of the few things she still had from the life she lost.
Her father had been the only person who believed in her music.
“You have something special, Amara,” he used to tell her. “One day, the world will hear your voice.”
But her father had died.
And after his death, everything changed.
Her stepmother, Celeste, stopped pretending to love her.
The mansion became a prison.
Vanessa received designer clothes, expensive cars, music lessons, and television appearances.
Amara received chores.
She cleaned rooms.
Washed clothes.
Cooked meals.
Sometimes she went to school without breakfast because Celeste said feeding an ungrateful girl was a waste of money.
And whenever Amara complained, Celeste reminded her:
“You are lucky I let you remain in this house.”
At school, things weren't better.
Students whispered whenever she walked past.
“That's the Lawson bastard.”
“Isn't she the witch's daughter?”
“I heard her mother died mysteriously.”
“She looks creepy.”
Sometimes they pushed her.
Sometimes they stole her books.
Once, someone poured water over her head in front of the entire class.
Vanessa had stood nearby laughing.
Amara had learned to survive by staying quiet.
But music remained hers.
Or at least, she thought it did.
The song ended.
The stadium exploded with applause.
Vanessa smiled and bowed.
“Thank you!”
Then she said the words that made Amara's blood boil.
“I wrote that song from my heart.”
Amara's eyes opened.
Something inside her snapped.
She pushed through the curtain and hurried backstage.
She barely made it around the corner before Vanessa caught up with her.
“Amara.”
Amara turned.
Vanessa's smile had disappeared.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to hear my song.”
Vanessa laughed.
“Your song?”
“You know I wrote it.”
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Lower your voice.”
“Why? Afraid someone might hear the truth?”
“You're embarrassing yourself.”
Amara opened her notebook.
“I have the original lyrics. The date. Every draft. I have proof.”
For a moment, Vanessa's expression changed.
Fear.
Just a flicker.
Then it vanished.
“Who do you think they'll believe?” Vanessa asked.
Amara stared at her.
“You stole my work.”
“I made it famous.”
“You stole it!”
Vanessa leaned closer.
“You should be thanking me.”
Amara's eyes filled with tears.
“You've taken everything.”
“No,” Vanessa whispered. “You were born with everything. You're just too stupid to keep it.”
A cold voice interrupted them.
“What is happening?”
Amara froze.
Celeste approached from the other end of the corridor.
She wore an expensive black dress and a diamond necklace that had once belonged to Amara's mother.
Amara's gaze fell on the necklace.
“That's Mother's.”
Celeste touched it casually.
“Your mother is dead.”
“She was my mother.”
“And I'm the woman who raised you.”
“You didn't raise me.”
Celeste's expression hardened.
“Careful.”
Amara stepped forward.
“You took her place. You took Father's money. You took his company. And now Vanessa is taking my songs.”
Celeste's eyes became cold.
“Enough.”
“You know I'm telling the truth.”
Celeste slapped her.
The sound echoed through the corridor.
Amara stumbled.
Vanessa smiled.
Celeste leaned toward her.
“Your father is dead. Your mother is dead. Whatever life you think you deserve died with them.”
Amara touched her cheek.
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to cry.
“I am still here.”
Celeste's smile was thin.
“For now.”
She turned and walked away with Vanessa.
Amara stood alone.
Then she noticed something on the floor.
A folded piece of paper.
She picked it up.
Her blood ran cold.
It contained a line from one of her unpublished songs.
A song Vanessa had never seen.
Below it, someone had written:
STOP ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT YOUR MOTHER.
Amara's breathing stopped.
Her mother.
Nobody talked about her mother.
Not anymore.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She opened the message.
Your father didn't die naturally.
Amara stared at the screen.
Another message arrived.
And your mother wasn't the first person Celeste destroyed.
Her hands began to shake.
She looked toward the hallway where Celeste had disappeared.
For the first time, Amara wondered if her parents' deaths had really been accidents.
Then a final message appeared.
If you want the truth, find what your father hid before he died.
Amara's heart pounded.
She looked at her battered notebook.
Then toward the mansion waiting for her.
She had spent years believing she had nothing.
Now she realized she had been wrong.
Someone had been hiding the truth from her.
And tonight, for the first time, Amara decided she was going to find it.
