Chapter 2
867words
I slid into the backseat, the buttery leather embracing me like an old friend.
As the window glided down, I caught sight of the Shaws rushing out, their eyes fixed on the vehicle—the unmistakable symbol of wealth beyond their reach.
My father—the man who'd just claimed the top spot on the Forbes list—leaned toward me with a conspiratorial smile. "So, sweetheart, should we buy out their little company outright, or let them suffer through bankruptcy proceedings?"
He didn't raise his voice, but his words carried perfectly to the Shaw family's ears.
George's knees visibly buckled, and for a moment I thought he might actually collapse.
The Phantom purred away from the Shaw estate, leaving them in our dust.
I watched familiar landmarks blur past the window, feeling strangely at peace.
I felt no vindictive satisfaction, no nostalgia for what I was leaving behind.
Twenty years of so-called family bonds had evaporated the instant my true identity was revealed.
In the seat beside me, James watched my face with careful concern.
Clearly worried I might break down, he awkwardly attempted to comfort me. "Hey, don't be sad. Nobody's going to mess with you anymore—not with me around."
I studied his face—the bloodshot eyes, the stubble darkening his jaw—physical evidence of his relentless search for me.
"Dad," I said softly, "I'm okay. Really."
It was the first time that word had crossed my lips for him.
His eyes immediately welled up, and he stammered, "Oh! That's—that's good. That's really good..."
He reached out to pat my shoulder but stopped midway, clearly afraid of overstepping.
I closed the gap myself, resting my head against his shoulder.
His shoulder was solid and warm.
This was what genuine support felt like—something I'd missed for twenty years.
The car passed through imposing security gates into an estate that looked like something from a fantasy novel—sprawling gardens, elegant pavilions, and a mansion that put the Shaw home to shame.
"Is this...?" I couldn't hide my amazement.
"Home," he said, his voice warm with pride and joy. "Your mother..." His voice caught slightly. "She'll be over the moon when she sees you."
At the mention of my mother, a shadow briefly crossed his face.
My heart clenched. "Is Mom...?"
"She's been ill—recovering at a clinic in Switzerland. I called her right after I found you. She was so excited she couldn't sleep. Once you're settled in, we'll fly out to see her."
I nodded, relief washing over me.
So I wasn't unwanted after all.
I had a father who'd moved heaven and earth to find me, and a mother counting the days until she could hold me again.
As we entered the main house, an elegant woman in her early fifties hurried toward us. Her features carried a clear family resemblance to James.
"This is your aunt, Sophia," James said.
"Hello, Aunt Sophia," I said, suddenly feeling shy.
Sophia grasped my hands, tears immediately spilling down her cheeks as she studied my face. "Oh, my dear girl," she choked out, "you're finally home. You look exactly like your mother at your age."
Standing in this strange house with these people I'd just met, I should have felt uncomfortable, but I didn't.
Because their eyes held nothing but genuine, unguarded love.
It couldn't have been more different from the Shaw family's conditional affection.
After settling into my new room, I made one important call—to my ex-fiancé, Ethan Gray.
When he answered, his voice dripped with irritation.
"Vivian? Why the hell are you calling me? We're done. Victoria's my fiancée now. Stop harassing her."
The engagement between Ethan and me had been arranged years ago by our families.
The moment I was exposed as the "fake" Shaw daughter, the Grays had broken our engagement and quickly pivoted to Victoria.
Ethan hadn't even had the decency to tell me in person—just a cold text message.
"Dad," I called out to James who was reading in the living room, completely ignoring Ethan's tirade, "I think we should pull our investment from the Gray development project."
James didn't even look up from his papers. "Whatever you want, sweetheart. Colin, make it happen."
"Right away, sir."
The line went dead silent.
After a few seconds, Ethan's voice returned, suddenly uncertain. "Vivian, what are you talking about? Who are you with?"
I laughed softly. "Ethan, your golden days are officially over."
Then I hung up.
My phone immediately lit up with his calls, again and again. Annoyed, I blocked his number.
Minutes later, a text from an unknown number appeared.
"Vivian, where are you? We need to talk. You can't just leave things like this."
It was Ethan, of course.
I deleted it without responding and tossed my phone aside.
Aunt Sophia walked in carrying a steaming bowl of bird's nest soup. Noticing my expression, she asked with concern, "Is that Gray boy bothering you?"
"Just Ethan being Ethan," I replied flatly.
Sophia's warm expression instantly hardened. "That opportunistic little weasel. Don't worry, honey—he'll be begging for forgiveness soon enough."
I smiled but remained silent.
Regret? Absolutely.
But I wanted more than just his regret. Much more.
