Chapter 2

A black stretch limo pulled up in front of the Kline residence. My fingers twisted the hem of my dress, and my palms were sweaty. Only after my adoptive parents, Dalton and Simone Yarwood, passed away did I discover the truth. I was the true heiress of the Kline Group and the long-lost member of the Kline family.

"Erika, we're home." Farrell gave my shoulder a reassuring pat, his eyes filled with both remorse and hope.

The grand doors of the residence swung open, revealing my four brothers standing in perfect formation. My breath hitched. They looked so accomplished and so utterly untouchable.

Jayden was the current CEO of the Kline Group. He stood there with piercing, cold eyes and was impeccably dressed in a suit. With a slight nod, he said, "Welcome home." His voice was polite yet aloof.

Marcus, a renowned painter, had his long hair tied back in a messy bun. His charming eyes sized me up with a scrutinizing gaze. He remarked, "So you grew up in a small town? Tell me. Can you even paint?"

Dylan adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and offered a professional smile. "I'm an attorney. For any legal matters, feel free to consult me."

Sherman was about my age. He popped his gum and gave me a sidelong glance. "So you're my real sister," he drawled.

Behind them, a girl in a white dress peeked out timidly. Farrell quickly introduced her to me. "This is Denise. Though we now know she's not our daughter, we'll still raise her as our own."

Denise dashed over and threw her arms around me. "Welcome home, Erika!" Her embrace was uncomfortably tight as she hissed in my ear, "Don't even think about taking what's mine." Her voice was low enough for only me to hear.

I froze when she finished speaking.

*****

At dinner, I felt like I was totally an outsider.

My brothers chatted about things beyond my understanding. They frequently burst into laughter at Denise's words. She cooed to Jayden, asking him to peel shrimp for her. Marcus immediately piled more food onto her plate. Dylan listened patiently as she prattled on about school, and Sherman even surrendered his dessert to her without a second thought.

"Erika, eat some more," Farrell said. He was the only one who noticed my silence.

I forced a smile, but Denise's gaze pierced through me. It was cold and sharp like a knife.

*****

That night, I overheard Jayden on the phone in his study. He said in a tired voice, "The company's stock is still falling. If the loan isn't approved by next week..."

I wanted to do something to soothe him, so I dug out the special coffee recipe Simone had taught me, brewed a pot, and carefully carried it to the study.

Just as my hand was about to knock, Denise suddenly appeared from the side. "Erika, still awake at this hour?" she said, her voice deliberately loud. It instantly cut off the conversation inside the study.

"I made some coffee for Jayden," I murmured hesitantly.

"Oh, how thoughtful of you!" Denise said. She flashed a sweet smile as she reached out. "Let me deliver it for you."

I instinctively dodged, but she suddenly shrieked and threw herself backward. Scalding coffee splashed on my hand, instantly reddening my skin.

The study door burst open as Jayden stormed out, demanding sharply, "What the hell is going on here?"

Denise sat on the floor, tears springing to her eyes on cue. "Maybe it was just an accident. Erika probably didn't mean it." As she spoke, she showed the small red mark on her arm.

"What the hell did you do?" Jayden shoved me aside and immediately crouched down to examine Denise's "injury."

I clutched my hand, which was far more severely scalded than hers. The pain rendered me speechless.

Farrell rushed over when he heard the commotion. "Jayden, the company is already in enough trouble. Don't cause more problems at home."

Jayden shot me an icy glare. "Causing trouble right after you come back? You're just as uncultured as expected."

My lips parted, but no sound came out. The pain in my hand was nothing compared to the ache tearing through my heart.

That night, I cried under the covers. It wasn't until the early hours that I finally crept out of bed and gently applied ointment to my burns.

In the mirror, I saw my eyes were swollen like overripe peaches, and my hand was dotted with blisters.

"Is this really my family?" I whispered to my reflection in the mirror.

As I looked into the mirror, my gaze gradually hardened with resolve. "No," I told myself firmly, "they don't deserve to be my family."

From that day on, I learned to mask my feelings and began watching Denise's every move from the shadows. She thought I was just a country bumpkin, but little did she know that I was quietly documenting every one of her schemes.