Chapter 2

The servant pointed toward the garden and guided me ahead. "There's a little playground in here. You had it built for Mr. Frederick because you were worried he'd get bored staying at the villa."

I followed her lead and walked ahead. Just as I stepped into the playground, my foot snagged on something and I went down face-first, totally embarrassed.

Manuel pointed at me, cracking up. "Look at her! What a dork!"

I coolly rolled over, sat up on the grass, brushed the bits off my clothes, and shot him a frosty glare.

"Figures. Every time you call me names, you're not wrong, you little jerk," I said.

Manuel's defenses shattered in an instant, but he stubbornly bit his lip, his eyes getting even redder.

"If you left, why'd you come back? You old witch, you copycat! It's all your fault everyone's laughing at me!" Manuel yelled.

"Eloise, shut the iron gate to the playground and keep her in there!" he ordered.

Eloise looked conflicted, but she did as she was told.

I sensed something was wrong and instinctively tried to get up and run, but a sudden stab of pain shot through my ankle, making my legs give out and sending me crashing back down onto the grass.

I clutched my injured ankle, my heart tightening as I watched the iron gate slowly close.

Through the iron gate, Manuel stood tall and proud, grinning at me. "Tonight, I'm celebrating Jennifer's big win with my dad, and there's no way I'm letting you ruin the party!

"Just stay put in there!"

With that, he walked off with Eloise, not even bothering to look back.

Fuming, I hauled myself over and banged on the iron gate.

"Let me out, you little brat! Or I swear I'll beat you up!" I yelled.

But no one paid me any attention.

Night was falling, and I could hardly see my own fingers in front of my face.

Fear got the best of me, and I curled up tight, those old nightmares I'd tried so hard to forget suddenly flooding back, completely out of my control.

Carla Hoffman ruled the art world with an iron fist, thanks to her jaw-dropping talent and her father's serious clout.

There was nothing Carla hated more than copycats, and I actually got caught copying her work.

She wanted to erase me from the art scene completely, but with the law and my own family's influence, she couldn't just make me vanish. So she switched tactics and exiled me abroad for a year instead.

Honestly, going overseas was nothing new for me, and for a while, all the rich folks were gossiping about how I must have hit the jackpot.

But Carla was ruthless when it came to payback. There was no way she'd let me off that easy.

Out there on that foreign ferry, it was a lawless zone. They beat me until my head was covered in blood, leaving me battered and broken.

Carla gripped my chin in disgust and snapped, "Do you even realize what you did wrong? Why would a designer like you steal something from my medical research?"

I was dizzy, my head spinning, but my mind was completely blank.

I honestly had no idea why I'd copied her work and tried to pass it off as my own.

Carla went ballistic. She had her people take everything of value I had, grabbed my phone, and dumped me in a country where I didn't speak a word. She just left me there to survive on my own, with no one to turn to.

Unable to understand a single word, I was forced to take on the nastiest, hardest work around. I was always starving, freezing, and terrified every single day.

Just remembering it made me tremble uncontrollably.

Suddenly, a small figure scrambled over the iron gate and rushed straight to me.

He gently patted my cheek, tears welling up in his eyes, his face full of worry.

"Abbie, what's wrong? Please don't die," he pleaded.

"How come people are still picking on you, even after you came home? Why would your own family treat you like this?" he asked, voice trembling.

My own warm tears stung my skin, making me shudder. I wiped them away and, instead of answering, I asked back, "Why are you here?"

"Why are you here?" I asked.

The little boy's eyes turned red; he looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn't get the words out.

When I met his teary eyes, a rush of heartache flooded my chest.

Under his surprised gaze, I pulled him into a tight hug, my tears falling like rain.

The little boy seemed to feel my sorrow and burst into tears as well.

"Abbie, I don't want to leave you," he sobbed.

Harley Watson lost both his parents and had been drifting from place to place since he was a kid. I was the first real friend he ever found in a strange country.

Back then, I couldn't speak a word of the local language, but Harley never gave up. He used every gesture and sign he could think of to talk to me. Honestly, if it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't have survived my first month there.

When I finally returned home, I brought him back with me, no matter what.

I thought that was me repaying my debt, and figured our story was over. Never expected he'd show up at my door one day.

Outsiders showed me more kindness than my own family, who were nothing but cruel to me.

I gently wiped the tears from his cheeks and asked in a soft voice, "Harley, do you want to be my kid?"

Harley's tears spilled over again, and he sobbed, "Abbie, is this for real? Am I really not dreaming?"

I affectionately stroked his hair and made a solemn promise, "From now on, I'll be your mom."

"From now on, you'll have my last name, Harley Watson," I said.