Chapter 1

Seven years after the Sterling family found me, I still hadn't set foot in their home.

According to an old family tradition, when a lost member returned, the head of the family must personally activate their name in the Family Registry System.

My brother Mike tried ninety-nine times to register me. Each time, the screen just flashed red with one word: "Rejected."

On the hundredth try, I watched through the glass as the notification finally turned green: "Accepted."

Mike set his phone down on the table and stayed silent for a long time.

Finally, he said, "Let's pretend you aren't accepted. Charlie has been spoiled her entire life. She has never struggled a day. If you come home and she has to leave, she would not survive it."

Rain dripped from the roof, splashing against my suitcase. I held my umbrella so tightly my knuckles went white.

Seven years ago, when Mike came to get me from the orphanage, he told me, "Welcome to the family."

Funny how something like family could be undone with the press of a hand.

*****

I didn't leave. I stayed rooted in the hallway corner, my view half-obscured by a large vase, and watched as Mike dragged his finger across the screen.

The green "Accepted" vanished. It was like a light being snuffed out, instantly replaced by stark, glaring red.

He looked up, meeting my gaze.

For a moment, the sheer terror in his stare cut through the sound of the rain.

I heard myself ask, "Did you press the wrong button, Mike?"

He swallowed, giving me a thin, strained smile. "The system's acting up."

Then he jammed his phone deep into his suit pocket, like he couldn't get it out of sight fast enough.

Hurried footsteps echoed down the stairs.

Charlotte, the girl who took my place, came rushing down in her nightgown, her eyes red.

She threw herself at Mike, grabbing his sleeve, her voice thick with tears. "Mike, please don't fight with her because of me. If it'll help, I can move out."

Mike immediately placed his hand over hers, his voice gentle as he comforted her, "Don't say that. You're a Sterling."

Then he turned to me, his tone as cold as a blade. "Joanna, go back for now. I've arranged a place for you outside."

Charlotte looked up at me, tears falling earnestly down her cheeks. "Joanna, please don't force Mike, okay?"

I stared at his hand resting over hers. A bitter, humorless laugh tightened in my chest. So that was it.

I finally understood. The chill from outside had already found its way in here.

I didn't bother asking "why" anymore.

In this house, some truths weren't meant for me.

I nodded. "Okay."

Relief washed over Mike's face. He let out a breath and spoke quickly. "Just stay there for now. Once Charlie calms down, I'll—"

But Charlotte suddenly buried her face in his shoulder, crying even harder. "I don't want you to struggle because of me. Please don't get any closer to Joanna."

She wept against him, but her eyes shifted toward me through her tears. That look wasn't grief. It was a challenge, a quiet way of marking what was hers.

I set my umbrella down in the entryway, leaving a trail of water across the carpet.

Mike frowned. "Don't make a fuss."

I offered a faint smile. "I'm not. If you want me to live somewhere else, I will. If you say I wasn't accepted, then I wasn't."

My calm tone seemed to throw him off balance.

Charlotte sniffled and asked, "Will you ever hate me, Joanna?"

I looked at her. "No."

She relaxed instantly, as if a huge weight had been lifted.

I added, "Honestly, hating someone takes too much effort. I've got no time for that."

I dragged my suitcase upstairs.

At the end of the hallway, there was a room with a wooden sign that read "Charlie."

The guest room they claimed was "saved for me" didn't even have curtains.

On the nightstand sat a family photo of Mike, Dad, Mom, and Charlotte. All four of them were smiling, looking like a perfect, ready-made family.

I remembered the first time I showed up at the Sterlings' place, clutching my DNA report like it was my ticket in.

Mike rested his hand on my shoulder and said, "Don't be scared. You'll get used to it."

Downstairs, Charlotte's sobs crashed like waves.

I set my suitcase down and pulled out my phone.

At the very top of my contacts was a name: Ethan.

I sent him a quick message: [I'm coming over tonight.]

I went downstairs to get my charger and found Dad leaving his study.

He saw me and hesitated, clearly searching for something to say.

In the end, he just muttered, "It's cold out. Don't stay too late."

Mom was standing behind him, cradling a mug of hot chocolate. She didn't offer it to me.

She gave it to Charlotte instead, saying softly, "Here, drink this. It'll help you calm down."

I stood by the door, seeing the entry light still shining green. It was the last remnant of the "Accepted" signal.

Then it hit me: they had all seen it. But everyone chose to ignore it.

I gripped my phone, its screen burning hot against my palm.