Isabella was still laughing with the card in her hand, drifting closer to dangle it in my face.

"Thanks, sis. I'll make sure to enjoy being a Connolly heiress on your behalf."

Laugh while you can. I didn't even bother to look up, just kept watching the stock price fall.

Isabella hooked her arm through Margaret's and turned, a sudden flush spreading across her cheeks, eyes full of barely-contained excitement.

"Mom, I came back today to see you and Dad, but I also have the most incredible news."

She glanced toward the bedroom door. The half-open door swung wide from outside, and Corey Harrison walked in with his arms full of red roses.

He was my fiancé. We'd been together for three years, and our wedding was two months away.

The moment I saw him, something in me unclenched. He was here to help.

I took a step forward without thinking.

He walked straight past me and pressed the roses into Isabella's arms. Ninety-nine of them, the exact same count he'd used when he confessed to me three years ago.

My feet stopped.

Corey slipped his arm around Isabella's waist and glanced back at me with an expression I'd never seen before.

"The Harrisons don't marry imposters. Ivy, our engagement is over as of today."

Margaret didn't say a word in my defense. She stepped forward beaming and clasped Corey's hands. "Corey, you always knew what was right. Only Isabella, real Connolly blood, is worthy of the Harrison name. That fake could never measure up."

The words hit me like a fist to the chest.

Isabella leaned into Corey's side, tilting her head in my direction, then slowly pulled back the collar of her blouse. Below her collarbone was a pattern of red marks, plain as day.

"Don't be mad I didn't warn you ahead of time." Her voice was honeyed. "Last night at the Harrison estate, Corey and I, well... you know how it goes, right?"

She raised her wrist and slowly turned it for me to see.

An emerald ring caught the light, throwing green flickers across the room. I knew that ring. It was the Harrison family heirloom, passed down as a betrothal gift through generations.

On Christmas Eve last year, Corey had gone down on one knee in the snow-covered garden and slipped it onto my finger himself. He said he'd only ever give it to one person.

Now it was on Isabella's hand, and it felt like a slap across my face.

"What's wrong? Does it hurt to look?" Isabella pushed her wrist closer. "Can't help it. Turns out being the real deal has its perks. Corey knows quality when he sees it."

Corey pulled Isabella back against him, chin resting on her shoulder, looking at me like he was inspecting something he'd already discarded.

"Ivy, you took twenty years that belonged to Isabella. Time to give it back." He tipped his chin up. "Get on your knees and bow to her. Call it penance. And when you're done, use the back door. Don't dirty the front entrance on your way out."

I stared at the two of them, back and forth, and bit down hard enough that I tasted blood, metallic and sharp, spreading across my tongue.

My phone buzzed again. I glanced down.

Breaking News: Connolly Group's core real estate portfolio in full collapse. Losses exceed two billion dollars. Federal regulators have launched an investigation.

I locked the screen and looked up. I was done talking.

Corey didn't have long to enjoy himself. His phone rang, and he picked up. The arrogance on his face collapsed in under three seconds.

"What? The Connolly real estate projects all tanked? The eighty million we put in—"

His voice was shaking.

Isabella pulled away from him immediately, pointing at me. "It's her fault. It has to be. She's always been bad luck; she drags down everything around her."

I looked at her. I wanted to slap her, but that would only make me angrier. "I told you," I said quietly. "Don't make me unhappy."

Margaret jumped in: "Still throwing a tantrum at this point? You've been a liability in this house since day one. Should've been sent away years ago."

Isabella clapped her hands. "Don't worry. Today I'm giving you back what's yours."

She crossed to the front door and pulled it open. Two strangers stood in the hallway, a man and a woman. The man was gaunt, his eyes darting immediately to anything in the room that looked valuable. The woman was chewing something, her jaw working rhythmically.

Margaret pressed a handkerchief to her nose and stepped back three paces.

"Ivy, take a good look. These are your biological parents. They came all the way from the country today to take you home, back to the life that was always meant to be yours."

I stared at those two completely unfamiliar faces. No blood recognition, no warmth, just instinctive revulsion.

My biological father lit up and shuffled over, wringing his hands. "Kid! I finally get to see you!" His eyes weren't on me. They were fixed on the Tiffany jade earrings on my ears.

"Dad's got some good news for you." He dropped his voice but didn't bother controlling the volume. "The Crawford fellow one county over, fifty-three with a bad knee but decent enough. He put up thirty thousand dollars and he's waiting for you to come back and marry him."

Thirty thousand dollars. The shoes on my feet were worth more.

My biological mother reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled scrap of red fabric, grinning with a mouthful of uneven teeth. "Don't you worry, baby. That Crawford man, well, his last wife left because he had a temper, but if you're good and give him a son, I'm sure he won't lay a hand on you."

Nausea surged from my stomach straight to the back of my throat.

I looked left at the manipulative schemer and the spineless traitor. I looked right at the pair of biological strangers who'd sold me for a better offer. Then I looked at Margaret, standing three feet back with her arms crossed, watching it all like she was enjoying a show.

I kicked the solid oak coffee table in front of me clean over.

"Thirty thousand dollars?" My voice was quiet, but every word came out shaking. "The shoes I'm wearing could buy your whole family. You touch one hair on my head, and the first thing Raymond Connolly does when he lands is bury every last one of you."

My biological father stumbled back two steps, but Isabella's voice rose from behind me.

"That's hilarious." She tilted her chin up. "You're still hiding behind Raymond Connolly? He's my father. You think he's going to punish his own flesh and blood, his daughter who spent twenty years lost, for your sake? Wake up, Ivy."

"Somebody grab her. Take her home."

At Margaret's signal, the household staff surged in. Corey moved fast, eager to impress Isabella, and locked both arms around me from behind.

I turned my head and sank my teeth into his wrist.

"God—!" Corey screamed, yanking his hand back, then whipped a slap across my face.

I spat the blood out of my mouth and looked at him. "A dog who sold out for scraps. Doesn't it make sense that someone bit back?"

Corey's forehead was beaded with sweat, his humiliation curdling into fury. He turned and barked at my biological father: "What are you standing there for? Tie her up!"

My biological father fished a coil of rough rope from his pants pocket. Two men grabbed my shoulders and wrenched my arms behind my back. The rope's fibers ground into my wrists, shredding a layer of skin instantly, and blood seeped up.

I fought, driving my heel hard into Corey's shin. But two grown men were more than I could overpower.

Margaret stood exactly three feet away and watched every second of it. She didn't lift a finger. Instead she walked to the kitchen and came back with a grimy stovetop rag, pried my mouth open without a word, and shoved it inside.

Every sound I could make was gone.

I tilted my head back and looked at her. She looked satisfied. She'd been waiting to do this for a long time, and now she'd finally gotten rid of me, with no one left to challenge her claim on the Connolly estate.

They dragged me down the stairs. The rope cut into my wrists with every step, and my heels slammed into each stair. The pain was nearly blinding.

But I didn't cry once. Through the rag I let out a single muffled laugh, and the sound made my biological mother flinch.

As the car door slammed shut, a bright red warning blazed across my mind.

FORTUNE SYSTEM — CRITICAL ALERT: Host emotional index has reached minimum threshold. Connolly Group market cap... ZERO. Bankruptcy effective immediately.

A beat-up pickup rattled down a potholed dirt road. Every bump sent the back of my head cracking against the window frame.

My biological father was in the passenger seat, counting a stack of bills he'd shaken out of a crumpled envelope. Slow and methodical. Thirty thousand dollars.

I was tied up in the back seat, blood from my wrists dripping onto the seat cover. I didn't flinch. I just stared at the back of those two heads.

My biological mother must have felt it, because she spun around. The second her eyes met mine, guilt flickered across her face, gone in an instant and replaced by aggression. She reached across and slapped me, the crack of it filling the car.

"What are you looking at?! When you get to Crawford's place, I'm locking you up first to keep you from making trouble for yourself."

I had a rag in my mouth and couldn't answer. My face burned, but it was nothing next to my wrists.

Back at the Connolly estate.

Isabella was stepping into my walk-in closet, flipping through rows of couture gowns until she pulled out the French limited-edition piece worth a hundred and twenty thousand dollars. She put it on. It hung loose at the waist, but she didn't care. She reached into the jewelry cabinet, lifted out the Swarovski limited-edition tiara, and set it crooked on her head.

She stood in front of the floor-length mirror and spun three times, laughing. "Mom! Come look, don't I look ten times better than her in this?"

Margaret stood in the doorway, eyes glistening, smiling in a way I'd never once seen her smile at me. "You look stunning, baby. You always do."

She'd already instructed the house manager to book out the most exclusive private yacht in Miami. Tonight: a gala to celebrate the return of the true Connolly heiress.

Corey had stayed, too. "Isabella, once I consolidate the Harrison assets, I'm going to throw you the biggest wedding New York has ever seen."

Margaret swirled a glass of champagne. "She's probably already been dragged out to the middle of nowhere by now. Imagine her on her knees in the mud, crying her eyes out." She laughed. "Serves her right."

"Absolutely." Isabella's laughter rose. "She took what was mine for twenty years."

Corey joined in. They were all heading toward the door, ready to board the yacht, when Margaret's phone rang.

Raymond Connolly.

Margaret raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. She smoothed her hair, cleared her throat, and hit the speakerphone button with a self-satisfied flourish.

"Raymond, you must be exhausted from the trip. I was just about to call you—"

She was gearing up to list every crime I'd supposedly committed against Isabella. She didn't get through the first word.

A voice exploded through the speaker. "Margaret. What the hell did you do to my daughter?!"

The background was a wall of blaring alarms and a chorus of panicked voices.

Margaret went still. "Raymond? What are you—"

"Don't you dare say my name. Where is Ivy?!"

Isabella shrank behind Margaret, who opened and closed her mouth with nothing coming out.

Dad's voice dropped from fury to something raw and hoarse. "The Connolly Group's liquidity chain collapsed ten minutes ago. Every core business unit has filed for bankruptcy. What in God's name did you people do to my daughter?!"

The champagne glass slipped from Isabella's fingers and hit the floor. The color drained from all three faces at exactly the same moment.