Chapter 1

The day I was brought back to the family, the butler handed me a list of rules before I even crossed the threshold.

"Bow when you see the master. Don't sit before he does. Never look Joyce in the eye."

Upstairs, a tearful voice echoed. "Mom, she's not really staying, is she?"

Phillip Hendrix, my eldest brother, replied coolly, "If she behaves, we'll keep her."

Enzo Hendrix, my second brother, added with a smirk, "If she doesn't, she's gone by tonight."

I stood in the living room, a worn sack from the mountains in my hand, and glanced down at the admission letter clutched in my fingers.

What they didn't know was that I wasn't here to fit in.

I was here to take back the name that was mine and everything tied to it, including their fate.

*****

The day I got brought back into the Hendrix family, I'd just finished working on a physics worksheet by the pigpen.

When the phone rang, I figured it was another relative from the village hitting me up for cash.

But the voice on the other end was way more polite than usual. "Excuse me, is this Miss Cecelia Jefferson?"

My hands still had pig feed on them, and I just stood there for a while before saying, "Yeah."

There was a pause on the other end, like he hadn't expected the legendary lost daughter of the Hendrix family to speak so plainly.

He continued, "We're from the Hendrix family in Norville.

"According to DNA testing, you may be Nathanael and Yesenia's long-lost daughter.

"If you're available, we'd like to bring you home."

I glanced down at the pig by my feet—the same one that had just made off with my draft paper—and stood there in silence for a solid ten seconds.

Finally, I asked, "If I go back, does that mean I'll get registered? Like, officially part of the family?"

The guy on the other end was clearly thrown for a loop.

"Uh... yeah, of course," he said.

'I felt relieved.

Alright, that was settled.

That was exactly what I wanted.

I'd spent seventeen years with the Jefferson family. My dad was always gambling; my mom was tough as nails, and my brother was always hungry and not the sharpest tool in the shed.

By five, I was feeding chickens. At seven, I was working the fields. By ten, I could help deliver piglets, and by twelve, I was pedaling a three-wheeler to town to hawk veggies.

The only thing that ever made me happy at home was a stack of old test papers the village schoolteacher gave me.

Teacher said I had a good head and shouldn't let it go to waste out here.

I thought so too.

So when I found out I wasn't actually their biological daughter, I didn't even shed a tear.

Turned out, my life wasn't cursed after all.

I was just born into the wrong family.

Three days later, the Hendrix family's car pulled up at the edge of the village.

It was a black Maybach, a luxury ride that had to dodge every muddy puddle—totally out of place on our dusty road.

As I got into the car with my old woven sack, my adoptive mother, Megan Jefferson, stood at the gate, clutching my little brother and hollering loud enough for the whole street to hear.

"Cecelia, don't forget your brother now that you're moving in with the rich folks," Megan shouted. "Your brother's still counting on you to look after him, you know."

My little brother, gnawing on a popsicle, wiped his mouth and nodded along.

"Sis, I want a PS5," he said.

I looked at them and smiled.

"Yeah, sure," I replied. "I'll send you one from the afterlife."

Megan's face turned on a dime.

As the car door slammed shut, her yelling was left in the dust.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, clearly stunned. It was his first time seeing the real heiress return to the Hendrix family, and she was already cursing her own family with that kind of ruthless line.

But he had no idea that I'd been like this since I was a kid.

If someone tried to gross me out, I'd make sure they felt even worse.

By the time the car rolled up to the Hendrix family's villa, it was just starting to get dark.

As soon as I stepped out, the butler, Brody Craft, was already waiting for me, holding out a sheet of paper.

"Miss, these are the house rules. Please take a look," he said.

I took it and gave it a quick once-over.

The whole thing was packed with nothing but crap.

Greet Mr. and Mrs. Hendrix first. Don't sit unless you're invited.

Keep out of Joyce Hendrix's piano room, wardrobe room, and study.

Breakfast was at seven. Nobody touched their food until Joyce took the first bite.

Joyce was moody, so steer clear of any arguments with her.

If there was ever a conflict, Joyce's feelings took priority.

Reading through it, I almost wondered if I was actually moving into some elite family.

Honestly, it felt more like I was being auctioned off to serve royalty.

I looked up at Brody and asked, "What's this?"

Brody kept his head down, speaking with utmost respect.

"Miss, since you're new here and might not know the rules yet, we wanted to lay them out ahead of time, so you won't feel put out," Brody said.

I couldn't help but laugh out of sheer frustration.

"So who's getting put out here? Me, or her?" I shot back.

Brody's expression stiffened, but before he could respond, a tearful voice drifted down from upstairs. "Mom, is she really going to stay?"

The voice was soft and trembling, like she'd just gotten the scare of her life.

Right after that, everyone started rushing to comfort her.

Then a deeper male voice cut in.