Chapter 1

On Christmas Eve, while watching fireworks with my daughter, my phone vibrated.

A voice sounded. "Lottie."

When I heard the voice I hadn't heard in years, my hand froze mid-air, the fruit knife hovering above the cutting board.

Five years ago, my own parents and brother joined forces to kick me out for the sake of that fake heiress, even going so far as to announce to the media that they were cutting all ties with me.

I couldn't understand why William Grant, the aloof and untouchable heir of the Grant family, would lower himself to reach out to me.

"Who is this?" I said.

There was a long pause. Then his voice came through, thick with emotion, almost begging.

William said, "I'm outside your door. The snow's coming down hard. Please see me once.

"Mom's dying. She wants to see you one last time."

Outside my door? I glanced out the floor-to-ceiling window.

Outside the villa's iron gate, the man who once looked down on everyone stood in the snow, covered in snowflakes, brought down to the dust.

Looking at his face, turning purple from the cold, all I could think about was the hopelessness I felt the day I was cast out.

I turned and hugged my husband, Edward Lane, when he came over.

I said into the phone, my voice icy. "You know better than anyone. I haven't had a family for a long time."

With that, I pulled the curtains shut, blocking out the storm and William's silhouette outside.

*****

"Lottie, who was that?" My husband, Edward Lane, asked.

He came over and offered me a slice of orange, holding it up to my lips.

I took a bite, the juice bursting in my mouth, helping me shake off that odd annoyance inside.

"Just an insurance salesman," I said.

I made up an excuse and put my phone face down on the table.

The snow outside was coming down harder and harder, almost piling up into a white wall against the floor-to-ceiling window.

The figure standing out there had blurred into a tiny black speck.

But I knew William was still out there.

He was my real brother, who once pushed me down the stairs from the second floor while I was burning up with a fever, for Emily.

He once pointed at me and called me a "venomous woman who took Emily's place."

At this moment, he stood humbly in the snow outside my door like a stray dog.

"That salesman won't give up, huh?" Edward said.

He glanced out the window, his eyes icy.

He walked over to the window and gently pulled back a corner of the curtain.

"Looks like this salesman wants to freeze to death on our doorstep," he said.

I switched the channel without a care, the TV showing a lively Christmas comedy sketch.

"If he wants to die out there, let him. Yeah, it's a little bad luck, but worst case, we'll sell the house after Christmas," I said.

Edward chuckled, then sat back down beside me, wrapped his arm around me, and pulled me close.

"Whatever you say, honey," he said.

My phone buzzed again.

It was like some cursed message that wouldn't let me breathe, haunting me without end.

Already fed up, I grabbed my phone, ready to block the number.

But then, a picture message popped up on the screen.

It was a photo.

In the ICU, Helen Grant, who had always been so dignified and elegant, was lying there, hooked up to countless tubes.

Her face was pale, her body reduced to skin and bones.

Then, William's messages popped up.

[Lottie, Mom's really dying.

[Doctors say it's happening tonight.

[Emily's not here. Mom keeps calling your name.

[I'm begging you. Come and see her once. After that, you can do whatever you want to get back at me.]

My finger hovered over the screen.

He said I could do whatever I wanted to get back at him.

But I was no longer that person.

On a snowy night five years ago, I was kicked out of the Grant family, penniless, shivering, and burning with a 104-degree fever.

I curled up under a bridge, shivering through the night.

That night, I cried my heart out.

"Mommy, I want that red candy."

My daughter's soft voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

I put my phone down, smiled, and unwrapped the candy for her.

Looking at Daisy's innocent face, I suddenly realized it was time to end some things.

It was not only for myself.

It was also for the old Charlotte, who died that snowy night five years ago, so she could finally let it go.

I stood up and grabbed my coat from the rack.

Edward didn't say a word. He quietly picked up the car keys, helped me put on my coat, and tucked a scarf around my neck.

"Let's go," He said. "Let's see what kind of drama they're acting out now."

The front door swung open.

A wave of icy wind and snow rushed in, chilling me to the bone.

William looked half-frozen, barely able to move.

Hearing the door, he struggled to lift his head, his brows and lashes coated in white frost.

The moment William saw me, his eyes, once so dull, suddenly sparked with hope.

"Lottie," he whispered.

He tried to walk over, but his legs were numb.

He crumpled into the snow, looking like a complete mess.

The same William who used to swagger around, acting like everyone else was beneath him.

He once slapped me in front of everyone to defend Emily.

Now, he couldn't even muster the strength to stand.

I stared down at him, like he was nothing more than worthless garbage.

"William," I said.

My voice was steady, clear as day even with the wind and snow whipping around us. "Lead the way."

If they wanted to put on this touching family farewell act, I'd give them what they wanted.

This was the last curtain call the Grant family owed me.