Growing up in our pristine suburban home, my parents always joked about our “future mansion life.” “One day, Emma,” my father would say, adjusting his tie in the hallway mirror like a general inspecting his troops, “we’ll live in a house so big you’ll need a map to find the kitchen.” My mother’s laugh tinkled like crystal glasses. “And you’ll marry someone who’ll help us get there, won’t you, sweetheart?” I’d grin like a child imagining fairy tales. “A prince! With a big castle! And lots of horses!” I thought

Mixing business with family was the biggest mistake of my life. I thought I was being kind, fair, and professional. I thought my half-sister would finally treat me with respect. Instead, she acted like she was doing me a favor, when in reality, I gave everything. But life has a way of catching up with people like her. And in the end, she had to face the consequences of her choices. I’m 25, and I work as a freelance hair and makeup artist. It’s not a glamorous career, and the

Sprinting to save a little girl had my heart pounding like a drum. But stepping inside her grandmother’s mansion froze that same heart in my chest. On the wall, staring back at me, hung an old photograph of a man who looked exactly like me—same eyes, same jawline, same faint smile—but dressed in clothes from another time. Who was he? The answer would shake my life forever. My neighborhood was usually quiet, tucked just outside the city. The streets were lined with maple trees, their leaves turning fiery red and