With everyone watching, I walked up to the two of them.

"Congratulations on finding each other. I'm really happy for you both. I wish you nothing but happiness from here on out. I'll get going."

Francis froze.

Bernice frowned. "Abraham, what kind of act is this?"

Francis's eyes reddened. "Please, don't do this. I really didn't expect her to propose to me either. If you're upset, I'll give you the ring."

"No need."

"I mean it. Here, take the ring."

"I said I don't want it!"

"Ah!"

I pushed his hand away. The ring slipped right off and clattered to the floor.

Francis's eyes glistened instantly. "Do you really hate me that much?"

"Enough!" Bernice pulled Francis behind her. "Abraham, who do you think you are? Fine, you're the real son. But I've known Francis for twenty years. If we're being honest, you're the outsider here."

I couldn't take it anymore.

"That's exactly right! I am the outsider! I'm not the real heir, and I'm not Abraham Harding! My name is Humphrey Simmons!"

The entire room went dead silent.

My breathing came fast and shallow.

Francis stared, mouth open. "You'd really say something like that just to spite me? What am I supposed to do with that?"

I blinked. "What?"

Could none of them understand plain English?

I pointed at my own face. "Look closely. I don't look exactly like Abraham. His eyes are a little bigger than mine, and his earlobes sit lower."

"Enough!" Bernice shoved me. "I already told you, you are never to make things difficult for Francis again."

Francis bent down and picked up the ring, the rims of his eyes still red.

Everyone in the room glared at me with open disapproval.

"What's he playing at? He looks exactly like Abraham."

"He's just trying to humiliate Francis. Making up lies so he can play the martyr and guilt Francis into giving up Bernice."

Bernice fixed me with an icy stare. "Abraham, my patience has a limit. If you keep throwing tantrums and tormenting Francis, don't blame me for cutting you off completely."

Was there a single sane person in this room?

I was out of options. "Fine! You don't believe me? Let's go get a paternity test. Right now."

Bernice and Francis both went still.

I pointed at Francis. "We go home, get samples from Mom and Dad, and pay for a rush job. When the results come back, you can all see for yourselves whether I'm a Harding or not."

Bernice's brow furrowed. She looked at me with something close to surprise.

The guests who'd come to witness the proposal exchanged uneasy glances.

"He doesn't sound like he's bluffing. He's not actually going to do it, is he?"

"What if he really isn't Abraham?"

"He looks serious."

Bernice opened her mouth to speak.

Francis suddenly let out a choked sob. "Fine. I get it. I'm the outsider. You don't have to humiliate me just to remind me of that."

He flung the engagement ring aside and strode toward the exit. Someone tried to stop him, and he wrenched free.

My mind went blank. "Wait, that's not what I— Ah!"

A brutal shove sent me stumbling. Bernice was seething.

"How long are you going to keep this up?"

"I'm telling you the truth! I'm not Abraham Harding!"

"That's enough!"

Bernice spun on her heel and took off after Francis.

"Francis! Francis, where are you going?!"

My buddy Logan sidled up next to me.

"Do rich people just not have functioning brains?"

"Sure seems that way."

I shrugged.

And walked straight home.

I'd earned enough from this gig. Truly, genuinely enough.

Whether they believed me or not, I was packing my bags and quitting.

But the moment I stepped through the front door of the Harding estate, the servants rushed forward and seized me by the arms.

"Sir and Madam heard about you making the young master cry. They've ordered us to lock you in the attic to reflect for three days."

"What? Wait! I'm not Abraham! I'm really not! Let go of me!"

The attic door slammed shut with a bang.

I pounded on it, screamed until my throat was raw. None of it made any difference.

So I sank to the floor.

Stopped fighting.

Fine. I'll leave in three days.

But then I noticed a problem.

They hadn't arranged for anyone to bring me food.

I lost track of how long I'd been starving. I didn't even have the strength left to call out.

Three days.

Not even water.

I'm going to die in here, aren't I?

A piece of bread slid under the crack in the door.

I snatched it up, barely tore the wrapper open before biting into it.

"It's me."

The voice outside made me freeze.

"Francis?"

I frowned.

Francis lowered his voice.

"I believe you. You're not Abraham. I can get you out of here, but you have to promise me you'll never come back."

That was exactly what I wanted.

"Swear it!"

"I swear. I'll never come back to the Harding family. I'll never show my face in front of any of you again."

"Then wait here. I'll go get the key."

I never expected Francis to be the one who rescued me.

He wasn't a good person.

But at least he'd actually helped.

He drove me to a hotel. Even carried my luggage upstairs for me.

But when I opened the door, I realized I wasn't alone in the room.

Seven or eight hulking men stood with their arms crossed, staring us down like predators sizing up prey.

Before I could get a word out, Francis shoved a baseball bat into my hands, ripped his own clothes to shreds in a few quick motions, and started screaming.

"I'm sorry, brother! Stop hitting me! Please, stop!"

My jaw dropped.

The men grabbed Francis and dragged him across the room before I could even move to stop them.

Then came the sound of footsteps, rapid and urgent, growing closer.

"Francis!"

"Son!"

Roger and Wanda Harding. And Bernice Butler.

Bernice's eyes went red in an instant. She shoved me hard, then slapped the biggest of the men across the face.

"Do you have a death wish?!"

Roger and Wanda stared at the fresh red marks smeared across Francis's face and body.

Their hands were shaking.

"Abraham! He's your brother! How can you be this vicious? This heartless?!"

"I didn't—"

I dropped the bat.

Francis slumped against Bernice, his voice barely a thread of air.

"Brother, if you want Bernice, I'll step aside. I know you're the real Harding heir. Everything belongs to you. Just say the word, and I won't refuse a single thing."

He swallowed hard, his eyes glistening.

"But why did you have to destroy me like this? Why did you have to make sure I can never live a normal life again? Make Bernice hate me? Make Mom and Dad despise me?"

His voice broke.

"..."

I truly hadn't seen this coming.

Francis had one more card up his sleeve.

Roger and Wanda pulled him into their arms, sobbing, and turned to scream at me:

"How did we end up with a piece of trash like you! Treating Francis like that! Are you even human?!"

"You've got it all wrong!"

I couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm not even part of your family! I just happen to look like your real son!

"I have zero interest in Bernice Butler. This whole thing was staged by Francis!"

Bernice let out a cold laugh.

"You think saying all that will make me let you off the hook?

"My husband is Francis. No matter what he becomes, he's still my husband.

"You want to use these disgusting tricks to ruin him? Then I'll ruin you first.

"Grab him! Lock him in the freezer!"

My eyes went wide.

"What?"

Her men seized me by the arms and dragged me toward the vehicle.

I thrashed wildly.

"I'm not Abraham! You can run a paternity test! Let go of me! Let go!"

Right then, it hit me.

My two-million-dollar monthly salary, weighed against what I had to endure every single day?

It was nothing.

The freezer was fifteen degrees below zero.

I was wearing nothing but a thin layer of clothes. The second they threw me in, my whole body seized with a violent shiver.

The lock clicked shut from the outside. I screamed until my throat was raw.

"I'm not Abraham! You've got the wrong person!"

"Still pretending?"

Bernice's voice filtered through the door.

"Every Harding's fingerprint is registered on that keypad lock. Keep up the act, and you can freeze to death in there for all I care."

Her footsteps faded.

Panic clawed at my chest.

"Bernice?

"Bernice!

"Bernice, I'm not Abraham! I will actually die in here!"

But there was nothing. Not a sound.

I curled into a corner, helpless.

All I could do was breathe into my hands for warmth.

But even that feeble heat wasn't enough.

My body temperature started dropping.

Everything went hazy. Then, through the fog, I heard the electronic chime of the lock disengaging.

I crawled toward the door.

It opened.

But on the other side, there was no one.

I stumbled into the living room on legs that barely worked.

Everyone was gathered around Francis, comforting him, fussing over him.

Bernice looked frantic with worry.

"Is that bastard Abraham still putting on his little act in the freezer? Drag him out here! Make him get on his knees and apologize to Francis!"

"No need. I'm right here."

She froze.

Then her lips curled into a sneer.

"Weren't you just insisting you're not Abraham?

"So what happened? You got yourself out just fine, didn't you?"

I looked around the room.

Every member of the Harding family was here.

Whoever had unlocked that door for me, I had no clue.

When I didn't respond, Roger and Wanda erupted.

"Francis has no blood relation to us. Of course he feels insecure. Giving him a little extra consideration is the least we can do.

"You ARE our son. Nothing changes that! So why do you have to compete with him? Fight him for everything? Do you even consider yourself part of this family?!"

Wanda delivered her ultimatum.

"Get on your knees and apologize. Otherwise, from this day forward, we don't have a son."

"Fine!"

I raised my voice.

"I'll kneel. I'll even bow my head to the floor!

"But since you're so insistent that I'm your son...

"The company dividends. Shouldn't I be getting my share?"

They both went still.

I smiled, and there was nothing warm about it.

"Don't think I don't know. Francis pulls in over a hundred million in dividends every year.

"You want to call me your son? Great."

I held out my hand.

"I'm not even asking for much. Fifty million.

"Hand it over, and I'll get on my knees right now."

"You—!"

Wanda shot to her feet.

I cut her off before she could say another word.

"What? You want me to play the dutiful son, but I don't see a single dollar? Meanwhile, every last cent of those dividends goes to someone who isn't even related to you by blood? And you have the nerve to lecture me about family?"