We only share one last name

When the Ramirez family adopted me, everyone said I was lucky. A seventeen-year-old bouncing from foster home to foster home, finally given a real chance. They had money, a big house, and they treated me like family from the start.

But it didn't take long to see the truth. The late-night meetings, the whispered phone calls, the locked rooms I wasn't allowed to enter. They weren't just a family-they were a business. And I wasn't just their daughter. I was a tool.

At first, it was small things-running errands, delivering packages. Then it got worse. They taught me how to spot the desperate ones, the easy targets. I was young, I looked innocent. People trusted me. And that was exactly what they needed.

By the time I realized there was no way out, it was too late. I was in too deep. And in this family, no one leaves.