"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?"

"Oh, really?!"

Wanda choked on her own words.

I let out a cold laugh.

"You say I'm your child, but when have you ever treated me like a son?

"All these years, the only thing you've done is tell me to step aside for Francis—your precious fake heir with his shares and his dividends. What else have you ever given me?"

Roger and Wanda frowned.

Bernice glanced at me with a flicker of surprise.

My smile turned bitter.

"You give me nothing, then blame me for fighting. For grabbing at scraps.

"You want me to be generous? Then put your money where your mouth is!"

The room went dead silent.

I scoffed.

"If you won't, then save your apologies. Save your kneeling.

"You don't deserve to."

"Stop right there!"

Roger and Wanda called out as I turned to leave.

"Fifty million. It's yours. But you get on your knees and apologize to Francis. Right now."

Ha.

These clueless parents.

Even when giving their real son his share, it was still about keeping their precious fake heir happy.

I turned back.

"Fine. While you're at it—

"Sign this."

An irrevocable gift agreement.

Stipulating that no matter what happened in the future, the money could never be reclaimed.

Roger and Wanda signed.

Then tossed the pen aside.

"Figures. Years out on the streets turned you into nothing but a schemer."

I didn't take the bait.

Because.

Fifty million dollars had just hit my account.

I knelt in front of Francis.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Three solid bows, forehead to the floor.

"I'm sorry. I was wrong."

I stood up.

Ignored their stares.

Walked out of the house without looking back.

As I passed Bernice, she seemed like she wanted to say something.

I didn't lift my head. Just kept walking.

Her outstretched hand froze in midair.

A phone rang.

It was the police.

"That missing person you reported three years ago—Abraham Harding, correct?

"We found him."