The Heavier the Chains...

Prologue

I'd never known a poor day in my life.

I'd never known what it felt like to come home to no electricity or an empty fridge. I'd never known what it felt like to have to choose between a pair of new shoes or school pictures. I'd never known the stress of my car not starting or if my grades were good enough to get a scholarship to college.

What I did know?

I knew that Lela, our housekeeper, had actually two jobs, because while my parents paid her well, her son, Daniel, had a good shot at a baseball career, and so she did all that she could to pay for his sports' costs. I also knew the trick to cleaning baseboards.

I knew that Glen, our landscaper, had started his business from scratch, and that he was hoping to be able to pass it down to his sons before he got too old to enjoy retirement. I also knew how to respect the fact that the lands that I called my yard were actual living entities that could die if not cared for; much like the human heart.

I knew that Fritz, our cook, had once dreamed of opening his own restaurant, but depression had set in and ruined those plans when he had lost the love of his life because he'd been a coward. Fritz was gay but too scared to come out. Dale, his boyfriend at the time, had decided that he just couldn't live the rest of his life with a coward, so he had left him. I also knew that timing was the key to the perfect meal and the difference between praising that meal or ending up in the hospital from an E. coli scare.

I knew that Henry, our maintenance man, hated most people. The only person on the planet that he could stand was his wife, Rhonda. Still, on a good day, I would do. I also knew that I needed to shut off the power supply before ever dealing with anything electrical.

I also knew English, Spanish, French, Japanese, and German, and I also knew how to play the piano and the violin, although I was way better at the keys than the bow.

I knew the taste of caviar, which was disgusting by the way. I knew the tea and crumpets experience, which was stupid and always had been. Honestly, it was nothing but a gossip-fest in my opinion. I knew mostly cloth napkins and that should say it all, really.

I was only eighteen-years-old, but I knew summers in Paris, Japan, Australia, Ireland, Rome, and a bunch of other places that people only read about. I'd been to places that people saved their entire lives for just to visit for one week, and I had stayed entire summers there.

I'd been to country clubs, fund raisers, debutant balls (not mine), yacht clubs, and goddamn croquet matches. I'd been on private planes, had taken part in polo matches, and had even attended the freakin' Met Gala, courtesy of tagging along with my parents.

As for my friends? Well, they were all the same person.

They were me.

I was them.

They went to the same vacation destinations, the same country clubs, the same private schools, the same games...the same everything. They wore the same brand-name clothing, drove the same expensive cars, and ate the same disgusting exotic foods. They also all had a Lela, a Glen, a Fritz, and a Henry.

The only difference between me and them?

They didn't know that their Lela had a son that was great at baseball. They didn't know that their Glen had started his business from scratch. They didn't know that their Fritz was experiencing a crippling sexuality crisis. They didn't know that their Henry hated people.

However, they didn't care to know.

As for me? I was that clichéd poor-little-rich-girl.

I'd been raised by the servants, and I was only put on display when my parents needed to make a good impression. Donovan and Gladys Mitchell only paid me any attention when it served their purposes, in the same way that they only brought up their dead son during specific events. Their dead son, but my dead twin brother.

Tragedy and death touched the rich, too. So did drug abuse, sexual abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, and any other abuse that you could think of. The rich just had enough money or good enough insurance to get help for it.

Still, I wasn't complaining.

Honest, I wasn't.

Except for my brother's death, I had led a life that most people dreamt about. I'd led a life that people prayed at night for. I'd led a life that people would sell their souls to Satan for.

Like I said, I'd never known a poor day in my life.

Until now.