I pulled out my phone and dialed.

The call connected instantly. A steady, professional male voice answered.

"Hello, Ms. Delgado."

My private investigator.

"Is it ready?"

"It is. Mr. Henson and his foster sister share a 'sibling bond' that is far more interesting than you suspected." His tone was dry. "I've sent the photos and videos to your email."

I hung up, booted up my laptop, and opened my inbox.

One by one, the files loaded.

Nausea rolled through my stomach.

Photos of Simon holding Sarah, kissing her on the sofa.

Videos of Simon changing the dressing on her legs, his hands lingering, wandering where they shouldn't.

Sarah in a sheer nightgown, perched on Simon's lap, feeding him fruit by hand.

I watched it all. My face felt numb.

So, his "repaying a debt of gratitude" was repaid in bed.

His "responsibility" was an affair with another woman, paraded right under the nose of his legitimate wife.

I downloaded everything to a USB drive.

Just then, my phone screen lit up with a text message.

*Ms. Delgado, this is Dr. Fox. Your latest test results show some abnormalities. We recommend you come to the hospital immediately for a detailed re-examination. This concerns the health of the fetus.*

I stared at the words *health of the fetus*.

My blood ran cold.

Grabbing my coat, I rushed out of the room.

In the living room, Simon sat on the sofa, surrounded by a haze of cigarette smoke.

Seeing me in a panic, he stood up immediately.

"It's late. Where are you going?"

I ignored him and headed for the door.

He chased after me, grabbing my arm.

"I asked you where you're going!"

"Let go!"

I struggled, but his grip was iron.

"Jasmine, what exactly are you trying to do?!"

"Just because I didn't agree to your demands, you're going out? Are you going to cheat on me?!"

His eyes were bloodshot, filled with humiliation and something close to madness.

I looked at him, and the absurdity of it all nearly made me laugh.

I unlocked my phone, pulled up the call log, and shoved the contact labeled "Dr. Freya Fox" in his face.

"Look closely at who I am going to see."

He froze.

"Jasmine, you... are you sick?"

I didn't answer. I wrenched my hand free.

But he followed me.

Just as I stepped out the front door, a shrill scream tore through the air from inside the house.

"Brother! My stomach! It hurts so much! There's blood! Save me!"

Simon stopped dead in his tracks.

Ten years.

Ten years I spent dragging the Simmons family from obscurity into the upper echelons of society. And in return?

I was nothing but a fake. A counterfeit daughter with no blood ties to any of them.

My "parents," Logan and Katherine, delivered the truth with casual cruelty—like swatting a fly. I was merely a "lucky star" plucked by some fortune teller, adopted solely to borrow my lifespan and inject prosperity into the Simmons lineage.

While I worked myself to the bone, their *real* daughter had been hidden away. Pampered. Shielded from even the slightest hardship.

"Here." My brother, Peter, flicked a stack of bills at me. Five hundred bucks fluttered to the floor like dead leaves. "Take a taxi and get lost. Go back to whatever rural hellhole you came from."

I stooped. Picked up the cash. Turned on my heel without a word.

None of them knew the truth.

The "master" who had altered the Simmons family's fortune all those years ago? My biological father. We were just two people taking what we needed.

My phone buzzed incessantly. Messages from top-tier clients and partners flooded the screen: *Wherever you go, we go.*

A smirk tugged at my lips. I dialed a familiar number. "You were trying to poach me last month? Twenty percent discount on my salary if we sign today."

——

Three months later.

I had thrown myself into work at the Gilbert family's corporation, securing a massive partnership with the city's richest man. The relentless schedule had exacted its toll—my old stomach condition flared up, a dull, gnawing ache that refused to fade no matter how many antacids I swallowed.

I stood in front of the Simmons villa, punching in the familiar code.

The gate didn't budge.

Frowning, I knocked.

Minutes crawled by before the lock finally clicked. Ava, the nanny, opened the door, her expression shifting from surprise to awkward evasion. She stepped aside without a word.

A stranger sat on the sofa, sobbing as if her heart were breaking.

Logan and Katherine flanked her, murmuring soothing words. Even Peter—usually cold as marble—crouched beside her, looking utterly helpless.

The moment Summer Simmons spotted me, her wails intensified.

"Mom, *please*, don't make me leave!" She buried her face in her hands. "I promise I'll be good. I won't take anything that belongs to my sister! I know everything here is hers. I won't fight for the inheritance. I just… I missed you so much. I just wanted to come home."

Katherine's composure shattered. She spun around, channeling her grief into immediate rage—all of it aimed at me.

"Kate! Where the hell have you been fooling around?" she shrieked. "I heard the marriage partner didn't even get to see your face! Do you think just because you're an adult, this family can't control you?"

"I was negotiating a cooper—"

"Enough." Logan's voice cut through like ice. "Kate. Look at this first."

He signaled Peter, who grabbed a document from the table. Peter's glare was venomous. He didn't hand me the paper—he smashed it into my chest.

The sharp edge of the folder sliced my cheek.

Ignoring the sting and the warm trickle of blood, I crouched to retrieve the report. The conclusion was bolded: *Biological relationship excluded.*

"You occupied the nest and stole Summer's life for years," Peter sneered, disgust dripping from every syllable. "And you don't even have the grace to repent."

"Do you know how Summer lived while you were playing princess? She worked in a factory before dawn every day. On her eighteenth birthday, she was almost sold off to some bachelor in the village!"

He stepped closer, looming over me. "And where were you? I called you a dozen times. Phone off. Were you throwing a tantrum? Or does this family mean *nothing* to you?"

I checked my call log. He was right—over a dozen missed calls.

But at that time, I had been alone in a hospital emergency room, hooked up to an IV drip. When I tried to call back later, no one answered.

As for the marriage alliance? I couldn't fathom why they were so desperate for me to meet a disabled man ten years my senior. The only appeal was his family's wealth.

My stomach gave a sharp twist. My face felt cold.

"So," I whispered, "what does this mean?"

Logan cleared his throat. He was the only one who retained a shred of pragmatism. "By rights, now that Summer is back, you should return to your original home."