The Seven Years Of Broken Dreams Chapter 01
Seven years ago, my parents’ adopted daughter—my younger sister Madeline Archer—committed a hit-and-run while driving drunk.
My parents. My biological sister. They all said the same thing to me. “Madeline has a heart condition. She can’t go to prison. Nora, please.”
I didn’t agree.
Then one night, deep into the dark, they put me in the back of a police car with their own hands.
And my fiancé, Connor Ashford—the hedge fund titan who owned half of New York—he arranged everything. He said—
“Nora, when you get out, I’ll marry you. Just get through these seven years.”
…
Seven years later.
“Vance. Live your life out there. Don’t look back.”
I took the faded canvas bag from the corrections officer’s hands. Bowed once. Walked out of Bedford Hills Correctional Facility with a limp.
A black Cadillac Escalade was already waiting.
The window rolled down. Connor Ashford’s sharp, handsome features emerged.
“Nora.”
Seven years. He hadn’t changed at all.
I dropped my gaze without thinking. Got in the car. The rearview mirror threw back the reflection of a gaunt, scarred face.
“Seven years. You’ve suffered enough. I’m keeping my promise. I’m marrying you.”
Connor reached for my thin, brittle hand.
I looked at the hollowed-out woman staring back at me in his eyes. Slowly pulled my hand free. Felt nothing.
“Mm.”
Seven years locked away. Two thousand five hundred eighty-nine days and nights. More than enough time to see Connor and my family for what they really were.
They didn’t love me.
And I didn’t want to marry him anymore.
Connor caught my coldness. His reflex was to explain.
“Madeline knew you were coming home today. It brought back everything from the accident seven years ago. Her anxiety flared up again. Your parents and your sister are at the hospital with her right now.”
I listened in silence. Closed my eyes.
Twenty-five years ago, I got lost in a shopping mall. I was two. My mother couldn’t bear the grief, so she went to a Catholic adoption agency and adopted Madeline Archer—a girl who looked like me.
When I was fifteen, my parents found me. But they didn’t love me. Everything was about making way for Madeline.
Seven years ago, they made me take Madeline’s place in prison.
Compared to Madeline, I was the one who seemed like the adopted child.
The whole drive, cars parted for Connor’s Escalade like it was a royal procession.
An hour later, we reached the Archers’ townhouse on the Upper East Side.
Only the housekeeper and staff were inside. They glanced at me with flat, indifferent eyes. A nod. Then back to their work.
My parents loved Madeline. Not me. Their biological daughter. To the staff, I was just someone who existed in this house. Expendable.
“Mr. Ashford. You’re here.”
The housekeeper greeted Connor with careful deference first. Only then turned to me. “Miss Vance. Madam hopes you’ll keep outings to a minimum after you return.”
Keep outings to a minimum.
I served time for Madeline. So how did I become the one who had to hide?
But I’d stopped expecting anything from them seven years ago. That night they put me in the police car.
“Got it.”
I moved toward the door.
Connor’s phone rang. He took the call. Hung up. Turned to me.
“Nora. Madeline had another episode. She needs me. I’m going to check on her. You just got back—rest. I’ll come see you tomorrow.”
Then he was gone. Didn’t hesitate.
I watched his back disappear. Limped down to my room in the basement.
Pushed the door open. Dust everywhere. The sheets were a crumpled mess. No one had touched this place in a long time.
I was too exhausted to care. Walked in. Collapsed onto the bed.
Night.
Half-asleep, I heard voices from the living room. My biological younger sister. Sophia Archer.
“Dad. Mom. Madeline’s condition is this serious. Maybe we should have Nora move out. Every time Madeline sees her, it triggers an episode.”
My father sighed. Said nothing.
My mother spoke. “She is still an Archer daughter. If we kick her out, what will people say?”
“Then what? We can’t keep Madeline in the hospital forever.” Sophia again.
My father’s voice this time. “Here’s what we’ll do. When Madeline comes home, Nora stays out of her sight. She stays in her room.”
I heard every word. My eyes burned.
That’s when my phone buzzed. I picked it up. An encrypted email.
“Ms. Eleanor Vance, congratulations. You have been accepted to Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory.”
“Upon acceptance, you will assume a new identity and deploy with the research team to Thule Air Base, Greenland, in ten days. You will participate in the Arctic Climate Research Project.”
“From that point forward, your identity will be fully classified. For five years, you will have no contact with anyone outside the program.”
I read every line of the confidentiality agreement.
Signed my name without hesitation.
Eleanor Vance.
