Part 1Four Billionaires Light My Fire

I was the most untouchable woman in the city.

Whenever I reached for a cigar, I never touched a lighter; my four brothers would strike gold flames in unison before I could even draw a breath. When the skies broke into a downpour, I never carried an umbrella, because a wall of tailored suits was always there to shield me from the storm.

I had everything a person could ever desire—wealth, influence, unconditional devotion.

My only curse was blood.

I had lovers, comrades, and mentors who would bleed for me, but not a single drop of biological kin.

So when my birth parents finally tracked me down, tearfully begging to welcome their lost daughter home, I thought the missing piece of my life had arrived. I braced myself for warmth.

Instead, the moment I crossed their threshold, their frail, sickly foster daughter took center stage and delivered a tear-drenched public confession.

Every syllable dripped with calculated martyrdom. She wept over how terribly guilty she felt for "stealing my place," sobbing so violently that my biological mother had to hold her up, wailing in shared agony.

My biological father slammed his morning paper onto the mahogany table, pointing a shaking finger directly at my face. "She did nothing wrong! What more do you want from us?"

I stood in the center of the foyer, staring at this circus tailored specifically to put me in my place. A faint, cold smile touched my lips. I turned to walk out, but my biological brother caught my wrist in a vice grip.

"What is your problem?" he hissed. "Serena put this entire welcome together for you, and this is the attitude you give her?"

I looked down at his hand gripping my arm.

Then I looked up, my voice smooth and chillingly light:

"Your attitude dictates mine."

I held his gaze until his fingers twitched. "Do you have any idea how many people in this city are waiting in line just to tear this house down for making me frown?"

* * *

"Corinne, did living in the gutter rot your brain, or did you just develop delusions of grandeur?"

Conrad Ellington released my wrist, reached into his tailored breast pocket, and pulled out a pure silk handkerchief. He methodically wiped each of his fingers, one by one, as though he had just touched radioactive waste.

"This is the Ellington estate. Not the slum you crawled out of." He flicked the expensive silk into the trash can without a second glance. "Using blatant lies to mask your inferiority complex won't work here. It just makes you look pathetic."

I watched the fabric settle among the rubbish, my pulse steady.

The pedigree of old-money heirs really was fascinating. They didn't need profanity to demean you; every rehearsed, aristocratic micro-aggression was designed to crush your dignity.

"Conrad, please don't be angry with her," Serena interjected softly, stepping forward right on cue.

Her face was paper-white, dusted with delicate, glistening tears. She wore an ivory couture day dress that made her look like a pristine lily on the verge of snapping in the wind.

"I know she suffered for twenty years while I lived in luxury," Serena whispered, her voice trembling with tragic grace. "It's only natural that she resents me. As long as Corinne stays, I'll do whatever she wants. I'll pack my bags and leave the estate this instant..."

She swayed dramatically, her eyelids fluttering as if gravity were suddenly too heavy to bear.

"Serena!" Cynthia Ellington let out a frantic shriek, lunging forward to catch her in a fierce embrace. "What nonsense are you talking about? This will always be your home!"

Cynthia turned on me, her eyes burning with disappointment and disgust.

"Corinne, how can you be so heartless?" she spat. "Serena stayed up all night writing that apology letter just to make you feel welcome. She hasn't even eaten breakfast! You haven't offered her a single word of comfort, and instead, you stab her with your cruel arrogance. Where are your manners? Who raised you?"

I walked over to an armchair, sat down, and crossed my legs with deliberate ease.

"You want to talk about manners, Mrs. Ellington?" I met the gaze of my biological mother, my tone flat. "I walked through that door ten minutes ago. You didn't ask if I was hungry, didn't ask how I survived the last twenty years, and didn't care to know a single thing about my life. Instead, you had your little counterfeit princess read a sanctimonious script of self-pity, and then the entire family ganged up to demand that I, the actual victim, smile and play the gracious saint."

I tilted my head, looking directly at them. "Is this the famous Ellington family etiquette?"

Franklin Ellington's face darkened instantly. He slammed his unlit imported cigar onto the marble coffee table with a dull thud.

"Corinne! Mind your tone when speaking to your elders!" Franklin commanded, leaning forward with the domineering posture of a CEO brokering a hostile takeover. "Serena is innocent. The hospital mix-up wasn't her fault; she is just as much a victim as you are. She even volunteered to transfer five percent of her company shares to you as compensation. Don't mistake our kindness for leverage to push your luck."

I raised an eyebrow.

Five percent?

The frantic math of their guilt was loud enough to echo across the skyline.

"Since Mr. Ellington brought up leverage," I reached into my pocket, pulling out a slim cigarillo and rolling it lazily between my knuckles, "why don't we put all our cards on the table? Why did you make such a massive public show of bringing me back?"

Conrad let out a mocking sneer, stepping closer.

"For the family name, obviously," he said. "If the press found out the real Ellington daughter was living like a stray, the tabloids would have a field day. We gave you an identity. We gave you financial security for the rest of your miserable life. Your only job is to stay in your lane and stop coveting things that don't belong to you."

He reached inside his suit jacket, produced a crisp leather folder, and tossed it onto the glass table.

"Sign this, and you can officially be the second daughter of this house."

I glanced at the title on the cover page: "Declaration of Asset Distribution and Non-Interference in Matrimonial Agreements."

They couldn't even pretend for twenty-four hours.

"Are you afraid I'll contest Serena's inheritance," I drawled, bringing the cigarillo to my nose to catch the faint scent of aged tobacco, "or are you terrified I'll steal her precious fiancé, Pierce Campbell?"

"Corinne, you've got it all wrong..." Serena's voice shook like autumn leaves. "Pierce and I grew up together. What we have can't be defined by a piece of paper. I just... I didn't want you to feel awkward when he visits..."

"Enough, Serena. You don't owe her an explanation," Conrad snapped, glaring down at me with absolute contempt. "Sign the papers, Corinne, and you get a roof over your head. Otherwise, the front door is right behind you."

I didn't touch the document. I simply stood up, smoothing the hem of my jacket.

"Conrad," I said smoothly, "I have a peculiar habit. The harder someone tries to force my hand, the more I enjoy watching them choke on the fallout. I'm not signing a damn thing. And if you want me gone, you're welcome to try and throw me out."