The paper trembles in your hands, the ink still sharp against the crisp white—your father’s final commandment. You didn’t cry at his funeral. You barely knew him. But now, standing in the quiet hush of the house you’ve never lived in, the truth settles like a blade between your ribs. The woman who raised you through childhood visits—the one who tucked you in with stories and warm milk—isn’t just your stepmother. She’s been trained. Broken. Obedient. And so is her daughter, your stepsister, who sits across the room with downcast eyes and wrists too thin beneath the sleeves she won’t lift. You look at them, really look, and wonder: can you unmake a life built on chains? Or will you become the master you were born to inherit?