Chapter 3

Early the next morning, I sprang into action.

First, I ordered many luxury takeout meals to the garage where she was staying. From lobster and caviar to fried chicken and coffee, I got her everything she could possibly want.

Then, I spent a ton to have our nanny, Grace, bring two bodyguards to the garage and help pack up her stuff.

"Grace, listen, anything of hers that's old or busted, toss it. Don't worry about the money. We can totally afford it." I kept telling her as I stood at the door.

Grace nodded nonstop. "Don't worry, Miss Lane. I've got this."

By three in the afternoon, Nanny Grace came back with several large duffel bags.

She shot me a strange look, clearly wanting to say something but holding back. "Miss Lane, the conditions over there are pretty bad. I followed your instructions and brought back all the old clothes I could find. I was planning to toss them out."

"Wait." I stopped her. "Let me see what she usually wears. That way, I can figure out her size and what she likes."

I crouched down and opened a duffel bag.

The smell of motor oil mixed with cheap detergent slammed into me.

Inside, there were faded black T-shirts, oversized ripped jeans, and even a few greasy work jackets.

Not a single skirt, like a girl should have.

Nothing even remotely bright or colorful.

I held back tears, swallowing the lump in my throat as I kept digging through the bag.

Suddenly, my fingers stopped.

Underneath a pile of worn-out T-shirts, I found a pair of grayish-black men's boxer briefs. It was all stretched out and pilled.

Stunned, I lifted it up and held it in the air.

It was massive, the fabric rough, and the cut had zero style, ugly all around.

I felt like my whole world had shattered.

"Grace," My voice trembled. "What is this?"

She coughed awkwardly. "Well, maybe that's what that child usually wears. Since the child's working tough jobs over there, maybe it's more practical?"

It wasn't practical.

In my head, I suddenly pictured an epic tragedy playing out, like the saddest drama of the year.

My sister was adopted by parents who only cared about boys. She had to do all the heavy lifting, eat scraps, and to save a few dollars, they wouldn't even buy her proper underwear. She was forced to wear her brothers' old boxer briefs.

Years of malnutrition and having her identity erased, she had no choice but to disguise herself as a guy to survive in that grimy garage.

"Bastard. Absolute bastard!" I yelled.

I hurled the briefs to the floor, shaking with rage.

"How could they let a girl wear this crap? She's the Lane family's daughter," I shouted.

I grabbed my phone, my fingers trembling as I tapped on that black profile picture and sent her a voice message.

"You actually wear briefs? They made you wear them? How much have you had to put up with, honey? I'm so sorry for you," I sobbed.

After sending the voice message, I still wasn't satisfied.

I went straight to my favorite luxury lingerie app and bought ten sets of the fanciest, comfiest, and softest lace-trimmed girly underwear they had.

But buying them wasn't enough.

She'd been raised as a boy her whole life. She probably had no idea how to wear girls' underwear, or even what size would fit her.

I had to teach her myself.

I dashed back to my bedroom and locked the door behind me.

I rummaged through my closet and grabbed my favorite pink lace lingerie set, then slipped it on.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I opened up my phone's camera and started recording.

"Ahem, honey, can you see me?" I said, trying to sound as gentle and patient as possible.

I held up my phone, making sure the camera was aimed at my upper body.

"Girls' bodies are super sensitive, you know? You really shouldn't wear those rough men's boxer briefs. They'll chafe and hurt you, you know?"

As I spoke, I hooked my finger under the pink lace strap on my shoulder and gave it a gentle flick.

It made a soft "snap" sound.

"See? This fabric is super comfy, feels like you're wearing nothing at all. It hugs your body right, no squeezing or discomfort anywhere."

I gave a full spin, showing off how perfectly this lingerie fits from every angle.

"I've already ordered ten sets exactly like this for you. From now on, focus on looking cute and being a real girl. I've got your back, always."

After recording this one-minute "body and beauty tutorial" video, I hit send with a satisfied smile.

I watched as the progress bar crept to the end, and finally, the message bubble turned green.

I let out a long sigh of relief.

When she saw this, she was so touched that she totally broke down and finally let her guard down for real.

One minute passed. Then five. Then ten.

The chat screen was still stuck on "Typing..."

Seriously, was she writing a whole novel to thank me? This was taking forever.