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"No one," I whispered, clutching the phone in my pocket as Liam' s voice cut through the sterile silence of our penthouse. He was no longer the brilliant tech genius I loved, but a monster fueled by grief. His grip like steel clamps, he snatched my phone, his cruel laugh echoing as he twisted my words: "You lost that right the day you killed Chloe." My sister. His accusation, a daily poison, blamed me for an accident he refused to believe. He shoved me into the sharp edge of a glass table, then dragged me to our bedroom, once a haven, now a torture chamber. Night after night, his touch was a brutal punishment, a violation I endured, detaching my mind from my humiliating reality. He whispered into the darkness, "You stood on that balcony and you watched her fall." He had created his own truth, casting me as the villain, ignoring my pleas, deaf to the fact I'd tried to save her. Months of torment, a gilded cage, and I finally understood: this wasn't just grief. He was being manipulated by a "system," a voice on his phone whispering venom, twisting his obsession. My father, cold and distant, chose Liam's side, abandoning me to a man determined to make me pay for a crime I didn't commit. Broken and alone, I knew there was only one way out. I would fake my death. I would escape this living hell and finally be free.