Sinful Lies (Sinful #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

“All a woman actually wants is to feel special.”

― Matt Dunn

Jade

22 years old

Eight years ago

“Your nurse, Lana, told me you don’t take your medicine anymore. You flush them down the toilet or hide them in the food you don’t finish in the canteen. What’s going on, Jade?”

I leaned back against the bed frame, its cheap wood digging into my spine. Arms crossed, I stared at the blank white wall ahead, ignoring Doctor Morano’s gaze.

Tall, serious, and composed, she was everything you’d expect from someone with a psychology degree from Harvard. The tight bun of silvery-white hair, the spotless white blouse, and those glasses perched high on her nose screamed old money.

A nepo baby through and through.

Yet, she had this annoying tendency to actually care—heart of gold, they said.

Gag-worthy, really.

Her legs were crossed as she sat, one manicured hand resting on the arm of the chair, the other adjusting her glasses. She was waiting for me to crack, but she should’ve known better.

I was an expert at playing the game. Feigning ignorance, dodging questions, putting on my little “I’m totally fine” act.

“Jade,” she said finally. “If you won’t take your medicine, I’m afraid we’ll have to administer it intravenously.”

My head snapped to her, eyes narrowing. “You wouldn’t dare.”

A flicker of amusement crossed her face—brief, but there. “Oh, I would. If it means my favorite patient finally gets better, I absolutely would.”

I exhaled sharply, kicking the covers off as frustration bubbled under my skin. The hospital gown clung uncomfortably to my body as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the cold floor biting at my bare feet.

Wordlessly, I padded to the bathroom, pulled open the cabinet beneath the sink, and grabbed the cup where I’d stashed my tiny rebellions.

Returning to the room, I held the cup out in front of me like a peace offering before tossing the pills into my mouth and swallowing them dry.

Back on the bed, the mattress sagged under me as I sank into it, the sour taste of compliance lingering on my tongue.

“You say that to every patient, Doc. You’re a liar—I’m not your favorite.”

A small, knowing smile crept onto her lips. “Really? Because I’ve never given this to any other patient before.”

She reached into her pocket, her slender fingers digging deep, and retrieved a small velvet box. Without a word, she placed it on the bed beside me.

I frowned hesitantly before picking it up. Turning it over in my hands, I analyzed the box, its soft texture unfamiliar in the stark, clinical setting of the hospital.

Finally, I opened it.

My lungs tightened.

Inside was a dainty gold necklace, its pendant a delicate butterfly—the same one she used to wear.

Hands trembling, I gently removed it from the box. A small sob escaped my lips as I brushed my hair to the side, struggling to clasp it around my neck. When the pendant finally settled against my skin, I reached up to hold the butterfly in my palm, tears slipping freely down my cheeks.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice breaking, barely audible.

Dr. Morano stood, moving from her chair to sit beside me on the bed.

She took my hand in hers, her grip warm, grounding.

“It may sound unprofessional, but you really are like a daughter to me, Jade,” she said, her voice soft. “You’re so, so young, with so much ahead of you. I want you to get better. To live your life, to overcome what you’ve been through. I want to help you.”

A bitter laugh tried to escape, but all I managed was a shaky breath.

“What if I’m beyond help?”

Her eyes softened, her hand tightening slightly around mine. “No one really is, Jade. We all just need the right people around us—the ones who genuinely believe we’re capable of a second chance at life.”

I shook my head, tears blurring my vision as fear clawed its way through my chest.

The words slipped out before I could stop them. “I can’t, Doc. I can’t keep living my life after what happened. I can’t live without her.”

“To breathe, you have to start by inhaling, Jade. And to heal, you have to open the gates of your pain and let it out. You admitted yourself to this psych ward because, deep down, you knew you needed help. You know you can’t do this alone anymore. So, no more avoiding, no more flushing your medicine, no more silence. This time, we talk it all out.”

Talk it all out.

My voice wavered. “How did you know about the necklace?”

Her lips curved into a soft, knowing smile, her eyes flicking toward the nightstand beside my bed. I followed her gaze and saw it—the small picture frame I kept there.

It was a photo of us. Me and her. She was smiling, her cheeks flushed, her eyes alive with laughter. The butterfly necklace rested around her neck, shining against her skin.

Of course.

The memory hit like a punch to the gut.

I could still hear her laughter, feel the warmth of her hand in mine. She used to play with that necklace, her fingers brushing over the pendant whenever she felt nervous or excited. She’d called it her symbol of hope—her reminder that change was possible, even when it felt impossible.

My throat tightened as my gaze dropped to the delicate butterfly pendant hanging from the gold chain around my neck.

“She always said it symbolized transformation,” I whispered, my fingers brushing over the butterfly. “That no matter how broken or lost we feel, there’s something beautiful waiting to emerge.”

Dr. Morano didn’t speak right away.

She let the silence settle, her hand steady on mine.

“And she believed that, Jade. For herself and for you. Even now, through this necklace, she’s asking you to believe it too.”

A sob slipped free. I gripped the necklace like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.

“She was my everything,” I said, my voice cracking. “She made me feel safe, like no matter how bad things got, I could survive it. And now… now she’s gone, and I don’t know how to keep going.”

Dr. Morano leaned forward slightly. “She was your sister, Jade. Blood wasn’t the only thing that tied you together—it was deeper than that. A connection like that doesn’t just disappear. It’s okay to feel like your entire world has shattered.”

I bit down on my lip, hard enough to taste blood.

The weight of her words felt crushing, like I was sinking deeper and deeper, with no way out.

I had no way out.