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My Austin estate, usually a haven of quiet luxury, felt like a cage. My engagement to Brooke, stable as the family fortune, was meant to be the next logical step in a life I thought I largely controlled. Then came the primal scream from my throat, wordless in the chill of a nightmare that suddenly, terrifyingly, became real: the heavy thud of our main gate, the crash downstairs signaling intruders, and the glint of steel. I barricaded my mother and myself in my room, listening in horror as my sister, Savannah, dismissed Mom's desperate pleas as "drama" on the phone, accusing me of faking it, while a knife plunged into Mom's chest. Barely escaping with my life and a broken body, I stumbled to my fiancée Brooke for help, only to be branded a liar and brutally whipped by her, Savannah's poisoned words already having turned her against me. How could my own flesh and blood, consumed by jealousy for some pathetic country singer, orchestrate such a savage betrayal, painting me as the villain while my mother bled out? The burning injustice tore through me, mingling with the chilling realization that those I trusted most were the ones who condemned me. But as the sirens approached and a call from the sheriff confirmed the bloody truth and an arrest, a new, cold resolve cemented within me: the naive boy was gone, replaced by a man forged in fire, ready to reclaim his destiny, unmask the true orchestrator, and dismantle the lives of everyone who dared to wrong the Harrisons.