Stanley looked at her, full of emotion.

And in that moment, my heart shattered. There was no shape left to it, just blood and bone and the silence between beats.

I let out a laugh. "You're acting like you've just met me. We've known each other for ten years, dated for six. And only now you realize you could never be with me?"

Right as her company was about to go public, she was suddenly ready to walk away.

But what she didn't know was that her company only got this far because I quietly backed it, using my family's resources. Every deal she landed, every contract she signed—it was me, behind the scenes, pushing it through.

I wanted to see how far her company would go without me.

I loosened the fist I hadn't realized I was clenching and looked at her.

"Fine. If that's what you want, let's call off the engagement."

Cassidy let out a cold laugh, not even a flicker of regret on her beautiful face.

"You said it yourself—don't try to pin it on me. Now pack your things and get out of my house."

Stanley glanced at me, putting on an air of concern. "Cassidy, it's raining outside. Where's he supposed to go if you kick him out now?"

Cradling the child, Cassidy looked at him with a softness that had never once been directed at me.

"Sure, he's an orphan. If someone hadn't taken pity and sponsored him, who knows where he'd be—probably begging on the street. But that doesn't give him the right to raise his voice at me."

She adjusted the baby in her arms and continued casually, "We were never right for each other anyway. All these years, I was slumming it with him. If I hadn't lowered my standards, he never would've gotten within ten feet of me."

She wasn't wrong. Before my family found me, I'd bounced around from one foster home to another.

But ten years—ten years of knowing her. Even if we weren't lovers, I'd thought we'd at least become something like family.

Turns out, in her eyes, I was nothing.

Stanley gave me an apologetic look, but his words didn't let up. "You should find a decent hotel, rest a bit. No matter how much Cassidy resents you, I do think we owe you something. One month from now, we're getting married. Will you come? I... I'd really appreciate your blessing."

It was humiliation, laid bare.

"Is that so? Then congratulations—finally made it official."

"He doesn't need to come, Stanley. Don't bother with him," Cassidy snapped, glaring at me. "Nate, you're too poor. You don't belong in my world. Don't waste your time chasing something that was never yours."

She looked afraid—afraid I'd cling to her.

But the moment I answered her call earlier, something inside me had already died.

And now she stared at me from above, lofty and condescending.

"You hung around for six years. Let's not make this messier than necessary. Here's a thousand dollars. Call it a severance package. You'll never do better than me. Pack your bags and get out. And don't you dare show your face again. Don't interfere with Stanley and me. People of our class don't associate with poverty-stricken strays. If I hear you telling anyone we dated, I'll ruin you."

I found myself on the street, suitcase wheels catching on uneven pavement as torrential rain lashed my face - each drop a cruel reminder of everything I'd lost.

Then tires hissed through the downpour as a black Mercedes glided to the curb.

A beautiful woman stepped out, her frame slim, her movements purposeful.

She walked toward me, a black umbrella held overhead. And the second I saw her face, my eyes went red.

"Willow," I choked out.

Willow Wright was my sister, the one who had lived my life in my place—the one who had taken my identity for years. Now, the adopted daughter of the Wright family.

Her expression was cold, but she slipped a black trench coat over my shoulders without a word. Then she reached up and patted me on the shoulder.

When she spoke, her voice was velvet-wrapped steel.

"Save your grief for someone who matters. That gold-digging woman isn't worth your sadness. Time to claim your birthright. I'll make sure she gets down on her knees, begging for your forgiveness."