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I was Vincent Foster, a name that commanded fear and respect.
Returning from overseas, it took me barely a year to seize control of the Foster conglomerate.
I despised the Foster legacy, but I craved the power it represented.
The Foster family was a nest of vipers. Every child raised there is raised as a weapon—pit against one another in a vicious fight for survival.
Being motherless meant I had no protector.
Until I was fourteen, the Foster brood ganged up to torment me.
I was perpetually bruised, battered, and broken.
That's when I met Luna and Lydia Lawson.
My father had assembled all the eligible Foster heirs, parading us before the Lawson sisters.
He asked them which of us they'd like as a companion – perhaps even a future husband.
The Lawson name then held more weight than Foster.
My father saw an opportunity to gain favor.
I was the unlikely beneficiary.
In unison, Luna and Lydia pointed at me.
My father frowned slightly—I wasn’t his preferred choice—but he respected their decision..
I learned then that the Lawson dynasty surpassed the Fosters in influence.
They were choosing companions, perhaps future spouses, for their precious daughters.
The Fosters had seized the chance.
And I, against all odds, had been chosen.
I became Luna and Lydia's constant companion.
Thanks to their favor, I gradually gained visibility within the the Foster clan. My father began to mentor me things. The contempt and humiliation lessened, though some cousins still mocked me behind my back—calling me a "spineless worm" who rode coattails.
I didn't care.
Back then, I was genuinely grateful to Luna and Lydia.
They were my saviors.
I once asked them why they picked me, out of all the heirs.
"Because you're the prettiest," they'd answered simply.
Not looking like my father was suddenly a blessing.
I was profoundly thankful to my unknown mother for passing on her looks.
It was my lifeline.
For four years, until I was eighteen, I spent most of my time with Luna and Lydia.
My progress was rapid.
My father began to show grudging approval.
Then, I was sent overseas.
Before leaving, we took that photo – eighteen-year-old me flanked by the Lawson twins.
I promised them I'd return.
We'd remain close friends.
While abroad, I studied and managed Foster interests under my father's distant supervision.
At twenty-four, I finally returned home.
My plane touched down.
News hit me immediately: The Lawson empire had collapsed.
Overnight, the mighty dynasty had crumbled.
Vultures circled, eager for scraps.
Old enemies saw a chance to claim the Lawson sisters themselves.
I dropped everything.
I raced to find them.
And found them already under the wing of Miles Sullivan.
A nobody. A street kid.
His grand contribution? Buying them a meal when they were destitute.
They were pathetically grateful.
I understood the power of help offered in desperation.
It forged bonds, like the one I'd felt for them.
To repay Miles for his 'service' to Luna and Lydia, I offered him $100,000.
He flung the cash in my face.
"Mr. Foster! Do you think I helped them for money?"
Frankly, his outrage baffled me.
Even if his motives were pure, wasn't giving him money a valid way to settle the debt?
What was wrong with that?
Luna and Lydia sided with him, looking at me with profound disappointment.
"Vincent," Luna said reproachfully, "Miles helped us. You can't just buy him off."
"What do you suggest then?" I asked, weary.
They presented their solution.
"Let him live with us."
