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Chapter 1 Half a Mil, for Your Funeral "Helen, the Morgans have raised you for 20 years. We've done more than enough. Sign the papers." Jacob Morgan slid a thick stack of legal documents across the mahogany desk toward her. Then, with a detached calm, he pushed a check across the polished surface. "Here's 500,000 dollars," he said flatly. "Consider it compensation. After all, we were father and daughter once." Helen stood before the desk, the faint scent of lavender drifting in the air. A cold, derisive smile touched her eyes. "Five Hundred thousand?" Her lips curved in a mocking arc. "To buy out two decades? Am I really that cheap in your eyes, Jacob? Or is this paltry sum all the mighty Morgans can actually scrape together?" Three months ago, the Morgans had discovered Helen wasn't their biological daughter. They'd spent a small fortune to track down and finally found her—Lydia Morgan. The real daughter of the Morgans had come home. With their biological daughter now home, Helen, who had been dumped in the countryside as a child and only brought back four years ago, had become disposable trash. "What? Five hundred grand's not good enough for you?" Sienna Blyth's face twisted with disgust, her manicured nails tapping sharply against the desk. "Your real family in that backwater town would need years to earn that! Stop being ungrateful and sign it! Once you do, you and the Morgans are through. Clean break!" "Mom, please, don't say that ... " It was true what they said—money refines a person. Two months back in the mansion and she was already picture-perfect: hair curled to perfection, wearing designer tweed and diamond earrings that sparkled under the sunlight. Her face was sweet and gentle, her voice laced with honey. "Helen has been accustomed to a certain life for so many years, living in a mansion as a wealthy heiress. It's only natural she'd be reluctant to go back to ... rural living." She'd heard all about Helen's origins. Dirt poor. A bedridden grandfather, a deadbeat unemployed father, and three brothers who couldn't afford to get married. The whole family was practically a nest of parasites. Helen would probably be sold off for money the moment she returned. A smug satisfaction curled inside Lydia. She deliberately emphasized the word "rural," all while studying Helen's reaction. When her eyes fell on Helen's face, exquisitely stunning even in the harsh afternoon light, a flicker of pure envy shot through her. She tilted her head, voice still syrupy-sweet. "I did hear your family lives in one of those ... low-income neighborhoods? But still, blood's thicker than water. Better to go home to your real family than staying here where you have to beg for kindness, right?" She stressed the word "real," lacing it with triumphant glee. The whole performance was so theatrically pathetic it almost made Helen laugh aloud. "Is that what happens when you spend too long in the gutter, Lydia? Forgetting basic manners now that you're back among the civilized?" Helen's cool gaze swept over her. "Can't complain; I suppose it's in the blood." That one line sliced clean through all three Morgans at once. Sienna's face went red. She slammed a palm on the desk and shot to her feet, ready to explode. But Helen's composed voice cut in. "I'll sign." Sienna's tirade died in her throat. Helen picked up the pen. She didn't bother reading a single clause. The nib touched the paper, and in three swift, flowing strokes, she signed her name. Helen Walcott. The name flowed from the pen in sharp, elegant strokes—unhesitating, unregretful, final. When she finished, she flicked the pen aside carelessly. It clattered against the papers. Her slender fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the check. Watching this, Sienna's eyes filled with contempt. See? As expected. Poor genes will always be trashy, after all. So easily bought off by a mere 500,000. But then ... Helen picked up the check. With a deft snap of her fingers, she sent the slip of paper fluttering through the air to smack Jacob squarely in the face. Her voice, cold and clear, followed. "Keep that 500,000 of yours. Consider it my contribution. Save it so you Morgans can buy your own graves." The check plastered on Jacob's face felt like a stinging slap to the entire family. "Helen!" Jacob ripped it off, his face red with fury. He stared at her disbelievingly. Was this the same girl who once bowed and scraped before them, dying for tiny bits of love and attention? Since when had she grown a spine? Helen's eyes were steady, emotionless. She turned, walking away with calm, lethal grace. For the Morgans, she felt nothing. Once, she had craved their love. When she'd first been brought back to the Morgans, she'd worked her butt off—always treading carefully, bending over backwards to please them, all so that she could fit in. She lived her life like a puppy desperate for her owners' approval. She'd even studied herbal remedies and aromatherapy to soothe their ailments—all just to earn their approval. To fulfill Jacob's ambition of elevating the family's status, she'd leveraged her own connections to pave the Morgans' way, clearing every obstacle for them. But in the end, what did she get? Criticism. Contempt. Dismissal. All that desperate hope and grovelling effort had become one big joke. The moment Lydia returned, they couldn't wait to kick her out, to make room for their precious blood. That was the day something in her shattered for good. The study door clicked shut. For a few seconds, no one spoke. Then Sienna burst out, voice trembling with rage. "What the hell was that supposed to mean? Who is she to disrespect us like that?!" Jacob scowled, looking down at the crumpled check in his hand. The image of Helen's cold, resolute figure flickered in his mind. "Enough!" he snapped coldly. "You got what you wanted. The agreement is signed. Drop it." "Oh, so now it's my fault?" Sienna shot back. "I did this for Lydia! Who knows what Helen's real family might have left her? She's an outsider! Why should she get a single cent of the Morgans' fortune that belongs to Lydia?" Sienna trembled with rage. "Lydia spent 20 years out there suffering while that imposter lived like a princess in her place. Just thinking about it breaks my heart!" "Mom ... " Lydia's eyes welled up with tears. She clung to Sienna's arm. "I know you did it all for me. But it's only because I came back that Helen had to ... " She sniffled, her nose pink. "Mom, I should go after her. See her off." Sienna softened instantly. "You really are too kind, darling." By the time Lydia caught up, Helen was at the door, her duffel bag slung over one shoulder and her other hand rummaging inside for something. "Helen!" Lydia hurried over, a mask of contrition plastered on her face. "I'm so sorry, Helen. I just wanted to come home, to be with Mom and Dad. I never meant to take anything from you. "I really did try to convince them to let you stay, but ... they were just so worried I'd feel displaced, so you got the short end of the stick ... "And Sean ... " Her eyes curved into happy crescents. From an angle shielded from the watching staff, her eyes met Helen's with naked challenge. "Sean said he wants all of Veridia to know I'm his fiancée. We're having a huge engagement party in three months. "I heard you were pursuing him for the longest time before I came back. You ... you don't hate me for it, do you, Helen?" Helen froze for a second, then slowly looked up. Those calm, deep eyes held no ripple of emotion—nothing but pure, unadulterated indifference, laced with a hint of lofty condescension, as if looking down at an ant from the clouds. "Congratulations," she said at last, lips curving faintly. Her tone was cool, almost pitying. "You can have him. You're just picking up trash that I'd thrown away." Chapter 2 F*ck Off Next Time I See You The word trash froze the smile on Lydia's face into something ugly and jagged. Her sweet expression warped into a snarl. The sheer, icy condescension in Helen's eyes was worse than any screamed insult. It felt like ... every single thing she had fought so hard to steal was nothing but worthless garbage in the other girl's sight. "Oh, and one more thing," Helen added, her gaze sweeping dismissively over the gilded foyer before landing back on Lydia with a derisive chuckle. "That precious Morgan title you cling to ... and that fiancé you worked so hard to snare ... " Her lips curved into a sharper, almost wicked smile. "Hold on to them tight, Lydia. Make sure you never let go." Lydia went pale; fury twisted her features until they were almost unrecognizable. She swung at Helen—an instinctive, furious slap—then froze as she caught sight of a shadow at the doorway. In an instant, she transformed. Stumbling back like a frightened doe, she crumpled to the floor with a soft thud, her eyes welling up with tears. "Helen, I ... I just wanted to apologize, to ask you not to hate Mom and Dad ... H-How could you ... " Helen! Seeing her treasured daughter on the floor, she rushed over and roared, her voice full of outrage, "After everything we've done for you, how dare you lay a hand on Lydia?!" Helen watched Sienna gently wrap her arms around her precious daughter, her face a mask of maternal concern. A flicker of irony crossed Helen's eyes. If this had happened months ago, she might have crumbled, questioned herself, and tried harder to get their approval. But whatever need had driven her before had long since died. "You're just in time." She reached into her canvas duffel and pulled out a small red velvet jewelry box. With a dull clack, she dropped it at Sienna's feet. The lid flipped open, and a gaudy pearl necklace rattled out. "Return to sender." It was the necklace Sienna had offhandedly given her for her 18th birthday. Even then, young Helen had known it wasn't chosen with her in mind. Yet, she had treasured it like a priceless heirloom. Now? Not anymore. Sienna looked down at the pearls, bewildered. She couldn't even recall when she ever bought such a thing, or when she gave it to Helen. But the gesture itself—throwing her gift back at her feet—was a blatant slap in the face. "What are you doing, Helen? You lived my daughter's life for 20 years! What right do you have to act like this?" "I was an infant. I had no say. The real question is, how does a mother not recognize her own child?" Helen's laugh was a short, cold sound. "Maybe you should schedule a full checkup, Sienna. I bet you wouldn't want that kind of blindness running in the family. Right?" Sienna's face darkened. Her voice sharpened into a scream of indignation. "You vicious little—! So this is your true self! You were pretending this whole time! Now that we don't need you, you throw off the act! "You ungrateful wretch! You belong back in the countryside! Living a low life is what suits you best! "Don't you ever dare come crawling back to this family!" Helen's gaze was ice. A slow, dangerous smile touched her crimson lips. It was a razor-edged thing, sharp with mockery and cold with a sub-zero finality. The sheer intensity of it made Sienna falter, a shiver of fear running down her spine as she instinctively took a step back. "Who would want to?" Helen's voice dripped with contempt. "What do you mean by that?!" Sienna shrieked, incredulous and furious. "What I mean is ... the Morgans you're so proud of mean nothing to me." Helen's smile widened, a beautiful, chilling thing. "Let me put it simply: You're a fucking idiot, Sienna." Sienna's righteous fury nearly toppled her into hysteria. Her usually composed face was purple with rage. She pointed at Helen, ready to tear into her, when Lydia clutched Sienna's arm, eyes wet and trembling. "Helen, please ... just blame me. Hit me, yell at me—anything. I don't care ... But you can't treat Mom and Dad this way. "I grew up without parents. And now ... I just found them. Please, don't make Mom sick with anger ... That hurts me." She sniffled pitifully. The appeal landed like a knife in Sienna's heart. Oh dear, how thoughtful you are, she thought. After all the hardship you've been through, you still think of others. That proves just how pure our bloodline is.. Competely different from that vicious, ungrateful viper! Her gaze at Helen turned pure venom. Suddenly, Helen laughed. Then, before anyone could react, she stepped forward two measured paces and struck Lydia across the face. The slap cracked through the air like a pistol shot. Lydia cradled her rapidly reddening face, staring at Helen in utter shock. Helen ... slapped her? That Helen, who had always been as meek as a mouse in this house, dared to hit her? Has she gone insane?! "Helen!" Sienna's scream shredded the air. How dare this vile cunt strike her precious baby right in front of her? It was as if she had slapped Sienna herself. She flung up a hand to strike back, fury granting her speed. Helen caught Sienna's wrist effortlessly, then yanked her away, sending the woman stumbling forward like a marionette with her strings cut. She crashed into Lydia behind Helen. The two of them went down in a tangled, ungainly heap on the cold marble floor. Helen looked down at them, a portrait of icy elegance amidst their chaos. The expression on her face was one of cold amusement—an almost predatory brightness that made the contours of her face dangerously beautiful. "You asked for this," Helen reminded Lydia, her tone mockingly sweet. "You wanted to play the innocent victim. I'm just helping you perfect the role." When Lydia had first returned, Helen had genuinely tried to get along with her. She had bent over backwards, acquiescing to every whim, hoping to build a sisterly bond. But Lydia had weaponized innocence, delivering a flawless damsel-in-distress act. Her teary confessions and staged fragility skillfully turned the entire Morgans against Helen, stoking their disdain day by day. Helen had endured it all—only because she cared, because she didn't want to put the Morgans in a difficult position. When she cared, they were everything. Now, they amount to nothing. And Lydia? Even less. "You said it yourself, right?" Helen said, the mockery evident, "There, I just did that. Unless, of course, all that 'hit me, yell at me' nonsense was just a performance for Mrs. Morgan? Hm?" Lydia's face twisted in mortified fury and frightened rage. "O-Of course I wasn't! I just don't want you to ... " she stammered, clutching her reddened cheek. "Then take it," Helen cut in. "Save that playing-the-innocent act of yours. The Morgans might be fooled—I don't. "So now, dear 'innocent girl' ... If you don't want your flawless cheek swollen, better f*ck off next time I see you. Got that?" Chapter 3 She Got Into That Car? Helen slung her duffel bag over one arm, turned around, and picked up her phone. "It's done. Come get me," she said. Her tone was calm—cold, even. Like a command from someone used to giving orders. Sienna's face twisted with rage. That cold, decisive back, walking away without hesitation, overlapped with the Helen she used to know—the one who once begged and groveled in front of her. The contrast stung. "You b*tch! Get out! Just go! Let's see how long that attitude lasts after leaving the Morgans!" Sienna shouted after her, practically seething. She scrambled to her feet, looking a mess, then grabbed Lydia and stormed toward the house—still muttering curses under her breath the whole way. Lydia kept glancing back, step by step, at Helen's figure shrinking into the distance until it finally disappeared. Her teeth gently sank into her bottom lip. Just now ... who was Helen talking to? Sienna always said Helen grew up out in the sticks. It was only four years ago—after her grandmother died—that the Morgans brought her back. A girl from a small town like that would never truly fit in with high society, no matter what. Everyone Helen ever associated with came from the Morgans' circle or Sean Griffin. So now that she'd been kicked out, who the hell would be coming to pick her up? And more importantly ... That tone Helen used on the phone ... It was too commanding, too confident. Lydia couldn't hold back her curiosity. She tugged on Sienna's sleeve, and the two of them rushed toward the study. The floor-to-ceiling window in the study gave them a perfect view of the Morgans' front gates. ... Outside the Morgans' estate, a car roared in like a missile and stopped smoothly right in front of Helen. It wasn't some flashy sports car, nor a flashy stretch limo. There were no recognizable logos or fancy branding anywhere on it. Just a matte black SUV, low-profile in color, but somehow, that only made it more striking. It hit the eye like a punch, bold and unmissable. The body had clean, flowing lines, but the design carried a raw, rugged power. The car door swung open. A man in black tactical gear jumped out in one clean, fluid motion. He was tall and broad-shouldered, clean buzz cut, features chiseled and intense—his eyes sharp as a hawk's. He rounded the front of the car in long, purposeful strides, heading straight for Helen. Every step radiated the presence of someone used to disciplined training—controlled, but with force behind it. "Boss!" The man stopped directly in front of Helen, posture straight as a board. He snapped off a sharp salute, crisp and clean, the kind of salute that came from deep loyalty and discipline. There was no emotion on his stern face, only absolute obedience. Helen's expression didn't change. She gave a subtle nod in return. The man immediately stepped to the side and respectfully opened the back door for her. Without hesitation, Helen lifted her foot and got into the car. She didn't spare even a glance back at the Morgans, not a flicker of nostalgia, not a single look over her shoulder. The door shut behind her with a solid thud, and the specially modified vehicle sealed off all sound from the outside world in an instant. The man climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. The oversized tires gripped the pavement. Whoosh—with a sound like something cutting through the wind, the SUV launched forward, powerful and unstoppable. ... Back in the study, Lydia rushed to the window, but all she caught was a glimpse of the buzz-cut man respectfully helping Helen into the car. Even at a distance, she could feel the deadly, intimidating energy radiating off of him. Especially when he got into the vehicle. He must've sensed her watching, because suddenly, he jerked his head up and looked straight at her. That look ... It hit Lydia like a venomous snake had coiled around her throat. She couldn't breathe, and the air around her seemed to vanish. Her face went pale as a sheet, cold sweat pouring down. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed to the floor right there by the window. "Lydia, what's wrong?!" Sienna gasped and rushed to help her up. Jacob turned to look toward the window, too. And right then, a roar erupted outside, loud and wild like a beast letting loose. A black, steel monster of a vehicle came crashing into their field of view. Jacob shot to his feet, eyes wide in shock, staring at the SUV that was now tearing down the road with terrifying speed and intensity. His pupils shrank in disbelief, contracting again and again. He considered himself well-connected—his own garage filled with top-tier luxury cars. But that vehicle? He'd never seen anything like it before. There was something else—an inexplicable, gut-level sense of fear—that made Jacob frown hard. "That car ... Whose is it?" Lydia curled into Sienna's arms, clutching the hem of her dress so tightly her knuckles had turned pale. Her lips trembled. "Helen just ... got into that car." Jacob's expression shifted. "Helen?" That SUV was definitely not some ordinary vehicle. How the hell could Helen know someone who could afford to drive a machine like that—let alone be close enough that they'd come personally to pick her up from the Morgans' estate? "What are you two whispering about?" Sienna huffed. She'd seen the car too, but didn't think there was anything special about it. "Birds of a feather, right? Anyone hanging out with that little brat can't be anything decent." It didn't even have a logo. Just a no-name junker too cheap to slap a badge on the front. What was the big deal? Why were Jacob and Lydia acting like they'd just seen a ghost? Right then, the housekeeper knocked on the study door, a strange look on her face. "Mr. and Mrs. Morgan, I was just cleaning up ... um, Ms. Helen's room, and I found this on her vanity," she said cautiously. She walked over and placed a piece of paper and a bank card on the desk. "That girl already left her crap behind. Why bother bringing it to us?" Sienna muttered, glancing at it with disdain. But Jacob's gaze locked onto the card. His brow creased deeper. He reached out and picked up the sheet of paper. Helen's handwriting, bold and stylish, flowed effortlessly across the page. It was a list. And at the very bottom, in her fierce, confident scrawl, she'd written, "The above covers every expense I've incurred over the past four years at the Morgans, including room and board. The total is 500,000 dollars. PIN: 000000." Jacob's frown deepened. Sienna leaned over for a look, and the second she saw the paper, she let out a laugh. "Wow. She really went all in on the act. Actually made a list and everything." Her eyes skimmed down. "Five hundred thousand? Lydia spends that much in a month on allowance! And Helen thinks her little four-year joyride as a fake heiress is worth just 500,000?" She scoffed. "Trash blood stays trash. Her whole world starts and ends at 500,000." Sienna rolled her eyes. "And what, she thinks throwing us a list and a debit card makes us square? Where exactly did she get that kind of money to 'settle up' with us anyway?" Jacob said nothing, eyes glued to the paper in his hand. He remembered Helen throwing that 50,0000 check in his face, the way she looked—so cold, so sure of herself, so final. She'd meant every word of it. His gaze ran over the list again, slower this time. His hand tightened into a fist. "Tell the butler to pull every single expense Helen's had in the last four years—every meal, every outfit, every cent. I want a full breakdown. Now."

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