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Chapter 1 Thrown Away Like Trash The fire roared, spitting heat and smoke into the night. Tilda Jenson lay crumpled on the dusty floor, her body too weak to move. Smoke clawed at her throat, forcing ragged coughs from her lungs. Tears streamed uncontrollably, stinging her eyes. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess; soot streaked her face—but even covered in ash, her beauty couldn't be hidden. She couldn't move. Her limbs felt like lead. Someone had drugged her. When? How? A soft, almost sing-song voice cut through the chaos. "Well, you look awful, Tilda." Kyla Jenson strolled toward her, dressed in a spotless white dress and a gas mask. Her voice was light, girlish—too innocent to belong to someone capable of cruelty. At least, that's what Tilda used to think. "It was you?" Tilda rasped, eyes wide in disbelief. "You drugged me?" Kyla tilted her head, smiling faintly behind the mask. She was her sister by name only. "This is just a little test," Kyla said sweetly. "When Mom, Dad, and all our brothers come running in and see this scene… tell me, who do you think they'll believe? You? Or me?" She slipped off her mask and pressed it gently onto Tilda's face, then rubbed ash across her own cheeks. Pulling on a pair of gloves, she took out a box cutter, flicked the blade open, and dragged it across her own forearm. Blood gushed down her wrist. She dropped the cutter beside Tilda, peeled off the gloves, and slid them onto Tilda's limp hands. Then she clutched her bleeding arm, twisted her face into an expression of terror, and screamed at the top of her lungs— "Help! Daddy! Mommy! Someone help me! Tilda's gone crazy!" The warehouse doors burst open. "Kyla!" Tilda could only watch as her parents and all seven brothers rushed past her—straight to Kyla. "Dad, Mom, it hurts! It really hurts! Tilda went crazy! She tried to burn me alive—said I don't deserve to be a Jenson! She even cut me!" Their eyes swept over Kyla's bleeding arm, her tear-streaked face, the trembling little victim act she played so perfectly. Then they turned to Tilda—slumped on the floor, the gas mask still on her face, gloves on her hands, the bloody cutter right beside her. Russell Jenson's face twisted with fury. He lunged forward and kicked her in the stomach. "How the hell did I end up with a daughter like you? You disgust me!" Pain exploded through her body as the kick knocked the breath out of her. But worse than the pain in her gut was the pain in her heart. This was the same stomach that had once taken a bullet for him. She remembered—years ago, Russell had taken both girls to a business event when a man burst in waving a gun. Without thinking, Tilda had stepped in front of him. The bullet tore through her stomach. Russell didn't even look back. He grabbed Kyla and ran. It was the police—not her father—who carried her to safety. She'd spent weeks in the ICU, fighting to stay alive. Days later, the Jensons finally remembered her. They showed up at the hospital for less than an hour before leaving again—because Kyla "wasn't feeling well." Russell had looked guilty that day. But all he'd said was, "Kyla's your little sister. She's adopted, you know. She's scared she'll lose her place now that we've found you. You should be more understanding." And just like that, he was gone again—rushing home to Kyla. From the outside looking in, anyone would've thought Kyla was the real daughter. And Tilda? Just a replacement. A placeholder. Still, she'd believed him. She'd actually—pathetically—believed him. Because he was her father. Because she'd waited her whole life to find her family. Because blood was supposed to mean something. She told herself the Jensons would never truly abandon their real daughter. So she kept giving in. Again and again. Whatever Kyla wanted, she handed over. Every gift, every opportunity—Kyla picked first, and Tilda took the scraps. She convinced herself that if she kept sacrificing, kept proving her love, one day they'd finally see her. Finally love her back. Looking back now—what a joke. What a pathetic, cruel joke. Through the haze, Tilda watched as Kyla was carried out of the burning warehouse, surrounded by frantic shouts and concern. They didn't even glance her way. They left her there—like trash. The flames closed in, searing her skin, devouring every breath, every thought. She could smell herself burning. Tilda shut her eyes. A single tear slipped down her cheek. This life… I've done enough for them. I've paid the Jensons back in full—with my life, with my obsession, with every stupid ounce of hope. All of it—paid in full. If there's a next life… let's just be strangers. That night, the news broke across Slosa: An abandoned warehouse on the outskirts had gone up in flames. One body was found—badly burned. But before it could reach the hospital for autopsy, it mysteriously vanished. The next day, the Jenson Group released an official statement: "We have severed all ties with the individual we once believed to be our biological daughter. From this day forward, Kyla Jenson is the only daughter we recognize. Whatever Tilda Jenson may have done—or whatever has become of her—is no longer our concern." And just like that, the girl who once set gossip blogs on fire as the Jensons' long-lost daughter vanished from the headlines—replaced by newer, shinier scandals. Forgotten. Chapter 2 You Better Apologize, Tilda! Tilda stared at her reflection in the mirror. The face staring back at her looked younger—five years younger. Softer, rounder, but still showing traces of the woman she'd become. "I... came back to life?" she whispered, barely recognizing her own voice. The date glowing on her phone read: October 23, 2030. Five years before the fire that took her life. And only two weeks after the Jensons had brought her home. A bitter smile tugged at her lips. "So this is the universe's idea of a joke? Giving me a second chance just to remind me how stupid I used to be?" Whatever the reason, she wasn't wasting it. She wasn't here to earn anyone's love this time. She wasn't going to twist herself inside out trying to fit someone else's mold. She had a second shot at life—and this time, she'd live for herself. No one else. Her eyes swept around the bedroom. Familiar, yet strangely distant. She changed out of her pajamas, pulled on a plain white T-shirt and faded jeans. Her short hair framed her face in a sharper, more confident way. She glanced at her reflection again. When she'd first come here, she'd arrived with nothing but a suitcase and a fragile hope—hope that she'd finally found her real family. Hope that she wouldn't be alone anymore. So she'd moved into this house. A place called home that had never felt like one. On the outside, it looked perfect—grand, polished, picture-book beautiful. On the inside, it had chewed her up and spit her out. Just as she was getting lost in the memory— Bang! Bang! A hard pounding rattled the door. Tilda shoved the sorrow down, her eyes going cold. She opened the door, expression blank. "Tilda! Mom and Dad want you downstairs." Wade Jenson stood there—tall, athletic, dressed head to toe in designer clothes, glaring at her like she was dirt. Her biological brother. Seventh in the Jenson lineup. They both went to Orica University—Wade was a junior, Tilda a sophomore. Kyla, the youngest, had just started her freshman year. "I heard you," Tilda said flatly. Wade blinked, thrown off. This wasn't the Tilda he remembered. The old her had been stiff, nervous, desperate to please everyone. Always too eager to help, too scared to speak up. No pride. No backbone. He'd always found that version of her annoying. Even when he found out she was their long-lost sister, he hadn't cared. He already had a sister—Kyla. Sweet, gentle Kyla, the one he'd grown up with, the one he'd always protected. He didn't need another one showing up out of nowhere, no matter whose blood ran in her veins. With a sharp snort, he said, "You know what you did. Get downstairs and get ready for your lecture." Then he walked off. "What I did?" Tilda let out a low, cold laugh. Of course she knew what today was. Perfect. Hands in her pockets, she headed downstairs. The first thing she heard was soft sobbing from the living room. Kyla sat curled between Russell and Blair Jenson, both of them murmuring comfort, stroking her back. From the outside, anyone would think Kyla was the biological daughter and Tilda the adopted one. Their places had completely switched. The pain stabbing through Tilda's chest was sharp—but familiar. She'd wanted this closeness her whole life. Wanted it so badly she'd hidden her real self, buried her strength, lived small just to fit in. She'd given up everything for a few crumbs of affection. Even now, even after being reborn, it hurt to admit it. But she'd already decided—never again. She stood there silently, watching her "family" with cool detachment. They looked like actors in some emotional family drama. She wasn't part of the scene anymore. Just an audience member. If it had been a good performance, maybe she'd have clapped. But there was nothing left to feel. Wade came down the stairs, spotted her expression, and immediately snapped. "Aren't you gonna ask why Kyla's crying?!” "It's not my fault she's crying. Why should I ask?" Tilda's tone was calm, almost bored. "You brat!" She didn't even flinch. Didn't act guilty. Just stood there like none of this had anything to do with her. That only made Wade angrier. He was one second away from hitting her. He couldn't stand her—this cold, indifferent stranger. He refused to believe she was his sister. Kyla was the only sister that mattered. Tilda? She shouldn't even exist. If she'd just stayed gone—if she'd just died—then Kyla wouldn't be upset right now. The hatred in Wade's glare said it all. Tilda felt it. Understood it perfectly. He wanted her gone—not just from the house, but from this world. The old Tilda would've shattered under that look. Her heart would've cracked open, asking herself over and over what she'd done wrong. She'd spent nineteen years starving for love, surviving on scraps of hope. And when the Jensons finally found her? Even with Kyla already there, she hadn't been jealous. She'd loved her like a real sister—put Kyla first, cared about her feelings, never fought her about anything. Whenever people compared them, Tilda always stepped back. Always gave in. She gave up everything for one thing—family. She never asked to be loved like Kyla was. She just wanted to be seen. She'd lowered herself to nothing for their approval. She'd literally given her life for a chance to belong. But it was never enough. To the Jensons, Kyla was everything. Tilda was just a shadow. Maybe they really did wish she'd never been found. Maybe her death would've made life easier. They'd only brought her home because not doing so would've made them feel guilty. This way, they could ease their conscience. Now, none of it mattered. The tension between her and Wade finally drew Russell's attention. "Blair, stay with Kyla," he told his wife quietly. Then he stood, face dark with anger, and walked toward Tilda. "Tilda, you'd better apologize—now." His voice hit like a hammer in the silence. Wade crossed his arms, waiting to enjoy the show. The old Tilda would've panicked, apologized through tears, desperate for forgiveness. But this Tilda? She met her father's fury with steady, unflinching eyes. "And why exactly should I apologize?" Her calm voice cut through the air like glass. Compared to his explosive anger, her composure was quiet—but powerful. For the first time, it was clear who really had the upper hand. Chapter 3 The Slap That Never Came "What did you just say?" Russell stared at her like he couldn't believe his ears. Even Wade froze. "I said—why should I apologize? This isn't the Middle Ages. Are you really gonna punish your daughter like a criminal?" Tilda's voice was calm. Too calm. Her eyes were steady and cold, giving away nothing. But deep down, there was a spark—something fierce and untouchable. She'd already stopped caring about the Jensons. When love dies, hatred goes with it. Now, the only person she was angry with… was herself. She thought back to the past. Every time Russell told her to apologize, she did—terrified and desperate. Every time they accused her of something, she tried to explain, over and over, and no one ever listened. Whenever Kyla cried, Wade slapped her without asking a single question. She'd apologized again and again—bloody-mouthed, humiliated—just to avoid being hated. Just to hold on to what little she thought she had. Why? Why had she lived like that—without an ounce of pride? Tilda's fury now was for the girl she used to be. "Well, well," Russell snapped. "Look who's all grown up now—talking back to me, huh?" His temper flared. He raised his hand—ready to strike— But Kyla stepped in. “Dad! No!” Her voice cut through the air like a knife. Blair gasped. "Kyla, you—" Kyla broke down, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. "Don't hit her! Please don't! She's your real daughter!" Those words—your real daughter—stopped Russell cold. He looked at Tilda, his expression twisting with conflict. He didn't want to admit it, but this cold, ungrateful, unrecognizable girl was his flesh and blood. And still… how could she be so heartless? "Let's just talk," Blair said shakily. "No need for this to get ugly." As much as it pained her to see Kyla cry, Tilda was still her biological daughter. "Kyla, you're too good," Wade muttered bitterly. Watching her cry like that, willing to take all the blame just to protect Tilda—it tore him apart. Why couldn't Kyla have been my real sister? Why did it have to be Tilda—the cold one? The cruel one? Russell took a long breath, forcing his temper down. His voice dropped low and heavy. "Tilda, do you even understand what you did wrong?" "Not really." The words landed like a slap. The whole room went silent. This wasn't the girl they knew. She wasn't timid. She wasn't begging for approval. She wasn't bending anymore. She was different. "You don't know?" Russell repeated, each word sharp as glass. "I don't," Tilda said again—steady, unflinching. If he wanted her to repeat it, she would. As many times as it took. Her dark eyes locked on his—calm, bottomless. For a moment, Russell felt something cold slide down his spine. That look… that wasn't the same girl. That wasn't his daughter. He'd spent decades as the powerful chairman of the Jenson Group, a man who'd stared down ruthless businessmen and world-class sharks. Even now, in retirement, his instincts hadn't dulled. And those instincts told him something: This girl standing in front of him was no longer someone he could control. "Mom, Dad, please stop," Kyla whispered through her tears, moving toward Tilda. "Kyla, stay away from her!" Russell barked, reaching for her like he was afraid Tilda might lash out. Something tugged in Tilda's chest—but she let it ache. Wounds healed. Eventually. She'd finally seen this family for what it was. She wasn't hoping for love anymore. And she wasn't bending ever again. "Tilda," Kyla sobbed, turning toward her. "I know you're the real daughter. I'm so sorry! You've had to live here pretending to be some distant relative because of me. I'm sorry you couldn't even use your real name!" Her voice broke. "You can have it all back—your name, your place, everything! If my being here makes you uncomfortable, I'll leave. I'll move out. I'll disappear! You'll never have to see me again!" Her tears fell fast, glimmering under the light. She looked fragile, heartbroken. Blair's eyes went red. Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks. "No one's kicking you out," Russell said firmly. "Kyla, I don't care if Tilda's my biological daughter—you're my daughter too. Blood doesn't change that. You'll always be a Jenson." "Dad!" Kyla cried, collapsing into his arms. "Dad, I'm scared! I'm so scared!" "It's okay," Russell murmured, holding her close. "I'm right here. No one's going to hurt you." Then he turned—his gaze slicing straight to Tilda. Whatever guilt had flickered before was gone, replaced by pure, blazing rage. But Tilda didn't even flinch. She stood there, silent and detached, like she was watching strangers on a stage perform a bad play. "Tilda!" Wade snapped. "Do you even have a heart? Can't you see what's happening? Don't you think you owe Kyla an apology? Tell her you're sorry—now!" He stepped forward, eyes burning, fists clenched. Tilda almost laughed. Her eyes—cold, sharp, mocking—met his. She didn't have to say a word. Her look said it all. And Wade felt it. He felt judged. Insulted. Small. She was the sister he'd never accepted—the one he'd wished was dead. Furious, he yanked his phone from his pocket and shoved it in her face. “Look! Look at what you did! Don't act like we're blaming you for nothing!" A bold headline filled the screen: "Jenson's Real Heiress Revealed — Tilda Jenson's True Identity Exposed" The article detailed everything—how Tilda had been stolen as a baby, missing for nineteen years, and finally found. Photos followed: Tilda entering and leaving the Jenson villa, pictures from campus, family events. Then came another headline: "What Happens to the Adopted Daughter Now?" The internet had gone wild: "Real heiress vs. fake heiress—now this is drama." "Rich people problems, man." "Can't believe Jenson Group's stock is rising over this." "Kyla's a total sweetheart. Always so classy." "The real one's pretty too, but she looks… rough. Guess nineteen years in the wild'll do that." Tilda glanced at the screen once, expressionless. "So what?" she said flatly. Chapter 4 The Sweet, Innocent Kyla? “So? After seeing all this, you still feel nothing?" Wade's voice cracked with fury. "Tilda, we had a deal. You promised we'd wait for the right time to reveal your identity—so it wouldn't hurt Kyla. You swore you'd keep quiet until then! "But you—" His hand shook as he jabbed a finger at her. "You told us one thing, then went behind our backs and leaked it to the tabloids! You sent them those photos. Don't even try to deny it—we confirmed it!" The way he looked at her—pure hostility. Like she wasn't his sister at all, but his enemy. "Tilda," Russell said coldly, "I know you didn't grow up in the right environment, but I'm giving you one last chance. Bow your head and apologize to Kyla, and I'll forgive you. Do that, and you can stay in this family as the rightful heiress." His stare was like ice. He expected her to panic—to cry, maybe beg. Instead— “Oh? And where's your proof?" Tilda's tone was almost casual, almost bored. "Proof?" Wade blinked, thrown off. "You can't just throw random accusations around," she said coolly. "If you're gonna claim I leaked the story, you'd better have evidence. If you don't, I could sue you for defamation." The room went dead silent. Sue them? Defamation? Was this really Tilda—the same quiet, spineless girl who used to lower her head and take it? Even Kyla looked up mid-sob, eyes flickering. Tilda felt different. Same face, same voice—but there was something new behind her eyes. Confidence. Control. A quiet, dangerous kind of power. Kyla felt a ripple of unease crawl down her spine. But she forced it away. No. The plan's perfect. It has to be. Russell's jaw clenched. “Fine. You really wanna play hardball?" He yanked out his phone, dialed a number, hit speaker, and tossed it on the table. The call picked up almost immediately. “Mr. Jenson," came a respectful voice. “Mr. Read," Russell said sharply, "tell everyone here—who gave you the tip for that front-page article?" A pause. Then, confidently: "Didn't we already go over this? It was Ms. Tilda." All eyes swung toward her. This time, they thought, there's no way she can wriggle out of it. But Tilda didn't even blink. She quietly pulled out her own phone, turned the volume up, hit speaker, and said in a soft, lilting voice that wasn't her own, "You're saying I gave you the tip?" The voice was higher, delicate—clearly altered. Anyone who actually knew Tilda's tone would know instantly: it wasn't her. Russell frowned. What the hell is she doing? Kyla's stomach twisted. This is bad. Really bad. But if she jumped in now, she'd look suspicious. "Yes, Ms. Tilda," said Stan Read, the editor's voice nervous now. "It's not my fault—I didn't think your father would find out so fast! We're just a small outlet trying to stay alive. If we cross the Jenson Group, we won't last a week!" He kept rambling, but cracks were already forming in his story. "Then tell me," Tilda cut in, her tone smooth and steady, "how exactly did I contact you? And why would I be dumb enough to expose my own identity? "If the Jenson Group is as powerful as you claim—and you crumble this fast—doesn't that make me suicidal?" "Well—" Stan stuttered, grasping for words. "You, uh, called from a public phone. And as for your identity… let's just say you slipped up. I figured it out myself." "You guessed?" Tilda's laugh was soft, cutting. "So you ran a headline that big based on a guess?" "I—uh…" Stan's voice faltered. Sweat prickled at his temples. He'd already said too much. He took a shaky breath and tried to recover. "I recognized your voice. It's one of a kind. Even with a disguise, I'd know it anywhere. And we met in person, remember? You handed me those photos yourself." "Oh, really?" Tilda arched an eyebrow. "So you're that sure someone's identity can't be faked by voice—the same voice I just proved can be altered with an app? That doesn't sound too smart, does it?" Her words sliced through the air like glass. "And you claim we met in person. That I handed you those photos myself. Do you have proof? Any security footage? Pictures? A recording?" "I…" Stan's voice wavered. Nothing. He had nothing. Because it was all a lie. "And one more thing," Tilda said coolly. "The voice you're hearing right now? Not mine. It's filtered. I've been using it the entire time. So if you really met me face-to-face, how could you not notice the difference? "You're not seriously saying I stood there in front of you for half an hour using a voice-changer, are you?" The silence that followed was deafening. The truth was, Tilda didn't even need the app—she could mimic voices on her own. But the app made the setup flawless. She'd lived this moment once before. This time, she came prepared. Armed with knowledge of what was coming—and the freedom that came from not caring anymore. Stan had no comeback. None. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He'd been told Tilda was meek, compliant, easy to scare. That if they cornered her, she'd fold. Cry. Beg. Take the blame. No one said she'd fight back. No one said she'd win. If he'd known she could flip the script this fast, he never would've touched this story. Kyla's heart pounded. You idiot! she screamed silently. You had one job! One! Even Russell's expression was shifting now, suspicion creeping in around the edges. “Mr. Read," he said slowly, "didn't you say Tilda gave you instructions personally?" "There's gotta be some misunderstanding," Stan stammered. "It must've been someone pretending to be her—someone set me up!" Desperation dripped from every word. He didn't even know who had really pulled the strings. He'd just chased a fat payout and walked right into a trap. Still, he had an idea. A guess. But saying that name out loud could ruin him—career and all. "I'll—I'll find out who did it," he blurted out quickly. "I swear I will." Russell's gaze drifted toward Kyla. She kept her head down, shoulders shaking, quiet sobs escaping between breaths. She looked fragile. Helpless. Like something that needed to be protected. He pushed the doubt away. No. It couldn't be Kyla. Kyla was kind. Sweet. Pure. There was no way she could ever come up with something this cruel. Chapter 5 You Actually Believed It? How Ridiculous When the call ended, the room sank into an awkward, heavy silence. Russell, Blair, and Wade all looked uneasy—because they'd just accused Tilda without a shred of proof. Now that they thought about what Stan had said, the holes in his story were painfully obvious. Still, the second they'd found the tiniest scrap of "evidence," they'd jumped on it, convinced Tilda had leaked the story just to force them into acknowledging her as the real daughter. The truth was simpler. They'd never trusted her. Their blind love for Kyla had shut down every ounce of reason. All it took was one tear from Kyla, and logic went straight out the window. "Tilda, I'm so sorry," Kyla finally said, breaking the silence. Her eyes were red and watery as she stepped closer. "They just wanted to defend me because I looked so upset. This is my fault. If I'd never come into this family, none of this would've happened." She started to bow, voice trembling. "Kyla! What are you doing?!" Wade, standing closest, grabbed her arm. But Kyla didn't stop. "Don't stop me, Wade. This is my fault. If Tilda won't forgive us, I'm not getting up." With a sudden, dramatic drop, she bent at a perfect ninety degrees. Tears spilled down her cheeks and hit the floor. "Kyla, that's enough! Get up!" Russell and Blair rushed forward, flustered and panicked, trying to pull her upright. Her display of guilt and devotion was… convincing. Moving, even. And just like that, every doubt they'd had about her vanished. Of course Kyla couldn't have done something so cruel. How could a sweet, selfless girl like her ever scheme? It had to be someone else. "Tilda, we were wrong to accuse you," Russell said firmly. "Don't worry—I'll find out who's behind this and make them pay. Anyone who dares to slander our family won't get away with it." His jaw clenched tight. Nothing angered him more than someone trying to tear apart his "harmonious" family. "You're going to make it right?" Tilda let out a short, sharp laugh. Then another. Until she couldn't stop. It started small but quickly built into full-blown laughter, shaking her shoulders until she had to hold her stomach. Tears slid down her cheeks—not from sorrow, but from how utterly ridiculous this all was. Russell's face darkened. "What's so funny?" Tilda laughed harder. She couldn't help it. Russell's noble declaration to "make things right" had to be the biggest joke she'd ever heard. This was the same man who'd turned on his own daughter without a second thought. The same man who'd rallied the entire family against her—just to protect the adopted one. All because he was terrified the girl they'd abandoned might come back and take even the smallest piece of what they'd given Kyla. They ignored the truth. They blamed her. And now he wanted to make things right? Maybe the old Tilda would've clung to that hope, desperate for their love. But not this Tilda. That naive, gullible girl was gone—buried with her old self. “Mr. Jenson," she said coolly, her tone calm but cutting, "do you really think you ever planned to set things right? Let's be honest—you're just an old man past his prime. How exactly are you going to uncover anything?" The words were sharp, but she felt no guilt. In fact, it felt good. So good. She remembered it all—the bullet she'd taken for him, the smoke filling her lungs as fire closed in, the brutal kick that left her gasping for air. They'd left her there to die. Every memory fueled the fire burning inside her. And she was nowhere near done. No one had ever heard her speak like that before. Even Wade stared at her like she'd lost her mind. What happened to the quiet, obedient sister? The one who used to smile through every insult? Now she was standing there, bold enough to call Russell "an old man past his prime" to his face. "What did you just say?!" Russell exploded, his voice shaking with fury. "I'm your father! You dare talk to me like that? I admitted I was wrong to accuse you, and I apologized. But this attitude—what is it?!” Russell Jenson had never feared anyone in his life—except maybe his wife. Everyone else? They knew better. No one ever raised their voice at him. And now his daughter was challenging him? "Tilda, no matter what, he's still your father. Apologize to him," Blair snapped. She'd felt a flicker of guilt earlier—but not anymore. Not after hearing this. What kind of daughter spoke that way to her own father? After nineteen years away, she came back like this? Disrespectful, bitter—ungrateful. How could someone like her ever be worthy of being their daughter? "Father?" Tilda's lips curled into a cold smirk. "If that's what a father is, then it disgusts me. I won't apologize. And your apology? Keep it. I don't want it." Her eyes blazed—steady, clear, unflinching. Every word hit like a blade. For the first time, she felt like she could actually breathe. Like she was alive again. And surprisingly—it wasn't even hard to say it to their faces. She realized she'd been trapped all these years by the illusion of love. But that illusion was gone now, shattered beyond repair. She didn't want this family anymore. "Tilda!" Russell's voice trembled with rage. If he hadn't already been guilty of falsely accusing her, he might've slapped her right then and there. How had he ended up with such a spiteful, arrogant daughter? What a disgrace. "Tilda, I know you're angry," Kyla said softly, stepping forward again, her eyes brimming with tears. "But please, don't blame Mom and Dad. Blame me. I'll bow to you. I'll leave this house. I'll stay out of your way—if that's what it takes. "If giving back your place makes you happy, then I'll give it back. Just… stop being mad at them." She looked up, eyes wide and trembling, voice sweet as syrup. "Alright then," Tilda said quietly. She gave Kyla a half-smile. “Fine. Walk out of this house, and I'll drop it. You said it, not me." Kyla froze. Was Tilda insane? Then again—she realized this might work in her favor. If she played it right, everyone would just hate Tilda more. Kyla's lips quivered, and she forced out a sob. "I—I understand, Tilda. I'll leave now! As long as I'm gone, this family can finally be at peace. I'm willing to do it!" She turned and bolted upstairs. "Kyla, don't be upset," Blair cried, grabbing her arm. "Tilda's just angry—no one's driving you out!" "Mom, just let me go," Kyla choked out. "This house was never mine. Tilda's your real daughter. I'm just the adopted one." She collapsed in Blair's arms, sobbing so hard her whole body shook. Every word she said hit like a hammer. Each sob tore at their hearts, one by one. "Tilda!" Wade roared. "How could you say that to her?!” The moment they realized she really meant to throw Kyla out, they all snapped. "So this is the real you, huh? You've been waiting for this moment! You just wanted Kyla gone so you could have everything for yourself! "Well guess what? Over my dead body! Kyla's a Jenson—she's my sister!" Wade's glare burned with fury. Looking at him—his face so much like her own—made something twist painfully inside Tilda. For the first time in her life, she hated her face. Even the Jenson blood running through her veins made her sick. But this time, fate had given her a second chance. And she wasn't going to waste it. "You're right," she said softly. "She's your sister. I'm nobody. "I was just a way for you to ease your guilt. A splinter you left in your heart for nineteen years—one you ignored until it started to fester. Bringing me back was just your way of pulling it out. "I never mattered." Each word sliced her open from the inside. But for the first time, she didn't feel broken. She felt free. These were truths she'd always known but never had the courage to say. Now, finally, she could. Let them sneer. Let them hate. At least now, the lies were over. Russell's face darkened, his hand trembling in rage. "I know you're hurt and angry right now, but Kyla is innocent! Go to your room and think about how out of line you just were!" Chapter 6 Walking Away from the Jensons "I don't need this family, Mr. Jenson." Tilda's eyes flashed cold as she drew in a slow, steady breath. Finally, she said the words she'd swallowed for years. "You treat Kyla like she's the center of your universe—always afraid someone might take her place. Well, guess what? From this moment on, I'm done. I'm cutting all ties with this family. I'm not your daughter anymore." Without another word, she turned and walked upstairs, ignoring every shocked face in the room. The moment the words left her lips, an unexpected calm washed over her. That last fragile thread binding her to them had finally snapped—and she could finally breathe. When she came back down, the living room was dead silent. The Jensons just stood there, too stunned to move. Tilda had a small suitcase in one hand and a plain backpack slung over her shoulder. She didn't even look at them as she headed for the door. "Wait!" Russell snapped out of it. "Tilda, are you serious?" "Dead serious, Mr. Jenson. Isn't this what you all wanted?" A faint smirk tugged at her lips as she dragged her suitcase out the front door without a single glance back. Inside, Kyla's heart was practically singing. She couldn't believe Tilda had just walked away—handing over her place as the real heiress without even putting up a fight. It was almost too good to be true. Still, she had to keep up the act. "Wade, you have to stop her!" Kyla cried, grabbing his arm. "If anyone should be leaving, it's me, not her! She's only upset because of the misunderstanding. Please—go talk to her!" Wade didn't answer right away. His jaw tightened, conflict flickering in his eyes. Sure, part of him had wished Tilda would just disappear so Kyla wouldn't get hurt or overshadowed. But blood is blood. Whether he liked it or not, Tilda was his sister. And deep down, he knew—they were the ones who'd pushed her to this point. Their blind faith in Kyla, their constant suspicion of Tilda… that's what broke her. For the first time, guilt crept in. Kyla caught that tiny flicker of hesitation, and panic jolted through her. No—she couldn't let that happen. If they started to care about Tilda again, if they started to doubt her… she might lose everything. “Fine! Go ahead and leave!" Russell suddenly roared. "Walk out that door and don't you ever come back! As far as I'm concerned, I have no daughter!" Did she really think she could threaten him? That she could just storm off and he'd beg her to stay? Please. He'd seen every trick in the book. She'd come crawling back soon enough. Nobody in their right mind walked away from a life of privilege like this. "Enough, Russell!" Blair snapped, her voice like a whip. Instantly, his tone softened. Everyone could see how fast he backed down—it was no secret Blair was the only one he was ever afraid of. "Mom, please," Kyla said quickly, switching to a softer tone, "go after her. Talk to her. Maybe she'll listen to you." "I'll handle it," Blair said, striding toward the door. "Russell, Wade—stay here with Kyla." "This is all my fault!" Kyla cried, collapsing to the floor as tears streamed down her face. "If I hadn't cried and made everyone misunderstand Tilda, none of this would've happened! I'm such a burden—I should be the one leaving!" Wade's chest tightened. Watching her cry tore him apart. "Kyla, no," he said quickly. "This isn't your fault. You were upset—anyone would've been. We're the ones who should've been more careful. We're the ones who made the mess." Russell let out a heavy sigh. "Wade, take Kyla upstairs. I'll handle the rest." Blair caught up to Tilda just as she was stepping off the porch. "Tilda, wait!" Tilda stopped and turned slowly. Her voice was calm, almost detached. “Mrs. Jenson, what is it?" "I know you're hurt. I know you think we treated you unfairly," Blair said, her voice trembling. "If an apology is what you want, then you'll have it. Just… don't talk about cutting ties. Things aren't as bad as you think. You're my daughter," she continued, her eyes glistening. "I carried you for nine months. You're part of me. How could we ever not want you?" She meant every word. She did care for Tilda—she always had. But with Kyla in the picture, it had never been simple. In her heart, she loved them both—just in different ways. Tilda studied her: elegant, tearful, heartbreak written across her face. In another life, Tilda might've softened. Blair's words would've broken through, just like before. Because once upon a time, every gentle word, every show of affection from her had been enough to make Tilda stay—foolishly hoping things might change. But that girl had died—literally. In a fire, betrayed and left to burn. And this time, she wasn't going to fall for it again. "I don't need it," Tilda said firmly. "And it's too much for me. Mrs. Jenson, this is my choice. Don't carry it like it's yours. I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'll be fine—actually, I'll be better than fine." "Tilda…" Blair reached out, desperate to grab her arm. But Tilda stepped back. "Goodbye, Mrs. Jenson. Let's end this with some dignity. You already have the daughter you've always wanted. As for me—I'll find my own way." If she was going to walk away, she'd make it clean. No loose ends. Ignoring Blair's voice behind her, she gripped the handle of her suitcase and walked down the driveway— the same way she'd walked in that first day. Back then, she'd come with nerves, hope, and a fragile little spark of happiness. Now, her heart was calm. No grief. No shock. Just clarity. Once you truly decide to let go, that first step isn't nearly as hard as you think. That family had given her nothing but scars—and there was nothing left to fix. Blair stood there, frozen, watching her daughter disappear down the hill, completely at a loss. Just yesterday, Tilda had looked up at her with wide, hopeful eyes and whispered, "Mom." So careful. So afraid to overstep. And now, the girl walking away didn't even seem like the same person. Tilda rolled her suitcase down the slope and flagged a taxi. The driver had the radio on, and just as she climbed in, a news update about the Jenson family scandal came crackling through the speakers. "Where to, miss?" the driver asked. "A nearby motel," she said. "One that doesn't need ID." She didn't have a home to go back to. Not yet. She barely had any money left, either. First things first—she needed cash. Without it, she wouldn't even be able to buy food. Chapter 7 Welcome Back, Queen Tilda picked the motel for two simple reasons. One, it was cheap. Two, it kept her off the radar. Hotels asked for ID. Even if she wore a cap and shades, it wouldn't matter now—her name and face were everywhere. "Sure thing," the cab driver said with a nod. He looked like he'd been doing this job forever, the kind of guy who knew every back alley and shortcut in the city. Her request didn't even raise an eyebrow. Then— "Miss, you came from that fancy neighborhood up on the hill, right? That's where the Jensons live, isn't it?" He squinted at her through the rearview mirror. "You look familiar. Have we met?" Right on cue, the radio crackled with breaking news—another update about the real Jenson heiress. "I'm not her," Tilda said coolly. "I've got nothing to do with them." “Oh. My bad," the driver said quickly. "It's just… the Jensons have been all over the news today." "It's fine." A few minutes later, the cab rolled to a stop in front of a run-down little motel tucked away on a quiet street. The sign flickered weakly in the dark. Tilda handed over the cash, checked in, and slipped into her room. She dropped her suitcase with a dull thud, pulled out her phone, and hit a contact. A cheesy ringtone blasted through the silence— Don't tell me it's not worth trying for, you can't tell me it's not worth dying for… Then came a voice, practically exploding through the speaker. “Queen! Oh my god—it's really you! I thought you were gone for good! You vanished off the dark web and swore you'd never come back!" Tilda had expected that reaction. She pulled the phone a little away from her ear. "Andy, I need cash. I'm taking jobs again. Got anything quick?" "You're coming back?!" Andy Saville practically shouted. “Damn! The dark web's about to lose its mind again! Queen, with your record? You'll have work in minutes. Gimme a sec—I'll find something worth your time." He hung up before she could answer. Tilda pulled a sleek black laptop from her backpack and set it on the desk. The screen lit up. Her fingers flew across the keys, entering a long chain of passwords. A familiar image appeared: a massive bronze door with a blood-red skull carved into its center. Then came the voice—low, distorted, crawling under the skin. "Welcome back, Queen." "I'm back," she whispered. She'd never thought she'd log in again. The Dark Web—true to its name—was a hidden world connecting the underbelly of society. It had everything: black-market auctions, assassins for hire, data brokers, hackers. If something was illegal, you could find it here. But curiosity alone didn't get you in. You needed connections, power, or money—preferably all three. Clients who didn't meet the bar were wiped from the system. As for contractors? They were a rare breed—the kind of people who could make or break entire networks with a few keystrokes. To get an account, you had to survive the administrator's test. Pass it, and you’d earn your login and password. Tilda had passed years ago. Codename: Queen. Once, she had ruled this space. A living legend among hackers. And now, word of her return hit the dark web like a thunderclap. Her inbox exploded—message after message lighting up the screen. "Queen's back?!" "Is this for real?" "The Queen has returned!" She opened her old profile, deleted the line that read Retired. Gone for good, and replaced it with just two words: I'm back. That alone was enough to set the entire underground ablaze. Queen had returned.