Part 2Four Billionaires Light My Fire

A flicker of shock cracked Conrad's polished facade. In his narrow worldview, a penniless girl dragged from the fringes of society should have fallen to her knees in weeping gratitude for their scraps.

"Do you think playing hard to get gives you power?" he muttered, his voice dropping into a harsh, threatening whisper. "Without the Ellington name, you are a nobody. Your pathetic pride won't buy you a single meal out there."

A soft laugh escaped my chest.

"Reality?"

He had no concept of what my reality actually looked like.

"Then by all means," I replied, turning toward the foyer, "let me experience this terrifying world of yours."

"Stop right there!" Franklin's voice boomed across the cavernous room, trembling with wounded patriarchal authority. "If you take one step out of this house today, don't you dare ever call me your father!"

It was the ultimate ultimatum, delivered with the absolute certainty that fear would bring me crawling back.

Yesterday, a tiny part of me might have felt a dull ache at those words. But after watching this farce unfold, the last ember of childhood longing was extinguished.

During the freezing winters in the orphanage, I used to wonder what kind of parents had lost me. When the Rhodes family later took me under their wing, giving me absolute power, unconditional love, and the kind of wealth that eclipsed old money dynasties, a small, stubborn knot in my chest still wondered about my blood.

Now, looking at Franklin Ellington, I realized how absurd that nostalgia had been.

"Mr. Ellington, you flatter yourself," I said without looking back. "The title of 'father' requires far more than donating a single strand of DNA. The second you chose to let an imposter step on your biological child just to preserve your comfortable status quo, you forfeited the right to use the word."

Cynthia gasped so violently she nearly choked. "You ungrateful wretch! How dare you speak to your father like that!" Her voice rose to a shrill, hysterical pitch. "Look at Serena—she is gentle, gracious, and constantly thinking of your comfort! You repay her with venom, and you treat us like enemies! I should have known you were rotten to the core!"

She clutched her chest, leaning heavily into Serena, who was once again wiping away fresh, delicate tears.

"Mom, please, don't upset yourself," Serena sobbed. "It's all my fault. I shouldn't have been born..."

"Don't you dare say that, darling! She's the broken one, not you!"

Watching the maternal drama play out before me, a wave of pure nausea washed over me. Favoritism in high society was never about right and wrong; it was about utility. Serena was their twenty-year investment, a polished socialite trained for a strategic marriage. I was merely an inconvenient ghost that threatened the symmetry of their family portrait.

"Drop the act," I said, turning back around to face them.

My voice was quiet, but it cut through Cynthia's wailing instantly.

"You dragged me here to keep the media from whispering, while ensuring your precious golden goose keeps everything she stole. Fine."

I walked back to the coffee table, picked up the legal document, flipped through it with two fingers, and tossed it carelessly back down.

"I'll stay. But on my terms."

Conrad's eyes narrowed, instantly on guard. "What do you want?"

"I don't care about your corporate shares, and I certainly don't want Pierce Campbell." I looked directly into Franklin's furious eyes. "I want the master bedroom suite. The one Serena is sleeping in."

The living room fell into dead, suffocating silence.

The blood drained from Serena's face so fast she looked like a corpse. That suite was the largest room in the estate, blessed with floor-to-ceiling windows and stuffed with twenty years of bespoke luxury and childhood souvenirs.

"Are you insane?" Conrad barked, taking a menacing step toward me. "Serena has lived in that room her entire life! Every single thing in there belongs to her! How dare you even suggest kicking her out!"

"She lived in that room because she occupied my life," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Returning what was stolen to its rightful owner is basic justice. Or does the Ellington family code state that thieves get to keep the loot simply because they've held onto it long enough?"

Cynthia trembled with pure rage, her manicured finger shaking in the air between us. "You... you are a monster! Serena has fragile health, and she can't sleep in unfamiliar beds! Are you trying to kill her?"

I looked at Cynthia's contorted features, completely unmoved.

"She can't sleep in unfamiliar beds?" I smiled faintly. "When she's sleeping under a bridge, she won't have to worry about the mattress. If your hearts bleed for her so much, feel free to move into the guest wing and keep her company."

Franklin's face was purple. He glared at me as if I were his sworn enemy. "Corinne, do not push me. If you think this is how you assert dominance in my house, you are digging your own grave."

I met his gaze, my eyes completely devoid of warmth.

"Is that so?" I murmured. "Let's see who ends up in the dirt first."