Chapter 2

I met the Evans family for the first time when I was twenty-three.

I'd just graduated from college, broke as hell. I worked full-time during the day and picked up shifts at a convenience store at night.

My adoptive parents found me while I was working the register at the convenience store.

They looked like they'd been dragged through the mud, and the moment they walked in, they started bawling.

They said they were sorry for what happened back then, and now my brother was getting married, but they couldn't come up with the 100,000 dollars for the wedding money. They begged me to help them out.

But where was I supposed to get that kind of money? I hadn't even finished paying off my student loans.

My adoptive mom suddenly started, her forehead hitting the floor over and over, the thuds echoing through the store.

My coworkers couldn't help but stare, giving me strange looks.

When I was eighteen, I was in front of them too, begging them not to marry me off to that widower in his forties.

But my adoptive mom just said, "He's willing to pay 70,000 dollars, enough for your brother's wedding. You'll have a good life, and older men know how to take care of their wives."

I pretended to go along with it, but that night I snuck out with my ID, climbed out the second-floor window, landed in a pile of cardboard boxes, and ran without looking back.

I was on the run for five years.

After I finished middle school, they wouldn't let me go to school anymore. Once I ran away, I worked odd jobs while studying, took the adult college entrance exam, and finally made it to university.

And just after I graduated, my adoptive parents tracked me down again.

While my adoptive parents were bawling, the Evans family suddenly appeared.

Just like in those TV dramas, a luxury car pulled up, and a well-dressed, well-maintained middle-aged couple with red-rimmed eyes rushed over and hugged me, saying they'd been searching for me for over twenty years and apologizing for everything.

The moment the Evans family showed up, my adoptive parents just vanished.

They brought me home to the Evans Estate, and that's when I finally met Claire.

Her skin was flawless, and her fingers were slender and soft.

Me? My hands were rough with calluses that never went away, and my arms were marked with ugly scars from all the beatings.

I looked just like the Evans family, and she looked just like my adoptive parents.

I wasn't some lost kid. I was swapped out by them.

I pointed it out and wanted to call the cops, but the second Claire started crying, the Evans parents stopped me right away.

They said, "They're Claire's real parents, after all. If we call the cops on them, it'll mess things up for Claire.

"You're back now, and we'll make it up to you. Let the past be the past. Be the bigger person; don't make things ugly."

And just then, Michael walked in and said those same words to me.

That night, I tossed and turned on the huge bed, unable to sleep.

I stayed with the Evans family for a month, and no matter what I did, it was always wrong.

At dinner, they said I didn't know how to use a fork properly.

If Claire couldn't find something, they'd say I took it.

If Claire fell, they'd say I pushed her.

But they never bothered to understand me, my past, or what I really felt.

All those dreams I had about laughing in my parents' arms? Turns out, they were just dreams.

They always sided with Claire, never cared about my side of the story.

They were always smoothing things over with lines like, "You're the older sister; just let your little sister have her way."

"Claire's been with us for over twenty years. We know exactly what kind of person she is."

"She's not well, so don't upset her."

Ryan was the most straightforward. "If you can't get used to it, just move out. We'll rent you an apartment and wire you some cash each month."

If it were the old me, maybe I would've longed for family. But after five years of scraping by on my own, taking the cash and walking away was better for me.

I didn't want to be singled out by the Evans family, and I sure as hell wasn't going to scrap with Claire like a dog for their so-called affection. Life was too short. I wanted to do what I loved and live a quiet, peaceful life.

So when I left, I didn't hesitate for a second.

But I didn't do what they expected. Instead, I took 30,000 dollars, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and walked away, never looking back.

All these years, they never tried to find me.

My adoptive parents never came looking for me either.

If this whole mess hadn't suddenly blown up online, they never would've even remembered I existed.

Just finished dinner when my phone started ringing, an unknown number.

I checked the caller ID and hit decline.

It started ringing again.

I declined again.

The third time it rang, I finally picked up.

A man's voice came through, practically seething with anger. "Emily, did you seriously just hang up on me?"

Turns out, it was Ryan.

My second brother. I haven't seen him in ten years.

Ryan's voice was like a dull blade, slashing right through a decade of silence. "Say something, Emily."

I held the phone away from my ear, let him rant, then replied slow and steady, "Mr. Evans, what do you want?"

He choked for a second.

"What did you just call me?" Ryan's anger was practically spilling through the phone. "I'm your second brother."

"My family's all dead. If you've got nothing else, I'm hanging up," I said.

"Wait," he blurted out, sounding desperate. "I'll come find you at your office tomorrow afternoon. We need to talk."

I laughed. "Mr. Evans, I'm busy."

"Emily," he growled through gritted teeth. "Don't be so shameless. With everything that's happening at home, you..."

I hung up.

Finally, some peace and quiet.

He really knew how to pick his moment, showing up at my office. Did he seriously think I'd play nice just because we were at work?

At 2:30 the next afternoon, someone said there was a guy outside asking for me.

I looked out the window.

Ryan was leaning against his car, hair slicked back to perfection, looking like he had it all together, but his vibe was dark and twitchy.

I took my time with my work, not in any hurry.

"Emily." Ten minutes later, he started calling out to me from downstairs.

I ignored him, but he kept blowing up my phone. I just put it on silent.

At 5:30, I clocked out. Looked down, and he was still there. Wow, guess hell really did freeze over. He actually had the patience to wait this long.

"Come with me. Let's talk somewhere," he said, grabbing my arm and practically dragging me toward his car, not giving me a chance to protest.

I pried his fingers off me, one by one.

After all these years, he was still just as rough. He still hadn't changed a bit.

"There's nothing to talk about," I said.

Ryan glared at me, his chest rising and falling. "Fine, fine Emily, you think you're all grown up now, huh? Do you even know what's happening at home?

"The company's stock is tanking. Mom and Dad are crying every day, and Michael's running himself ragged. Don't you have any conscience at all?"

I looked at him calmly. "So what?"

He said, "So you need to come back with me right now. Hold a press conference, say everything online is a lie, say Claire was always good to you, and that the Evans family never mistreated you."

He was firing off words like a machine gun. "If you just step up and clear the air, things will get better..."

"Mr. Evans," I cut him off, "do you remember what you said back then?"

He froze. "What?"

"You said people from the sticks have no manners," I repeated, slow and clear. "You told me if I didn't fit in, I could just leave."

Ryan's expression shifted.

"So now you need me, the 'uncultured country girl,' to bail you out?" I laughed. "Where's Claire? Where's your real princess? Isn't she always so clever and capable? Let her handle the mess."

"You..." Ryan was totally stumped, his face flushing bright red.

I looked at Ryan, honestly finding it hilarious. They never showed me a shred of warmth, and I figured that 100,000 dollars was enough to buy out our blood ties. Yet here they were, still coming to me.

Ten years later, they still hadn't changed a bit.

Still acting like they were entitled, still looking down on me like I was beneath them.

It was like they thought all they had to do was snap their fingers, and I'd come crawling back, grateful for the chance to be their doormat again.

Not a single one of them ever asked how I was doing. Not one of them felt sorry for me after seeing that video, or even bothered to apologize.

I told him to get lost, same as always, and he just looked at me, totally stunned, like he couldn't believe I'd actually say that.