Chapter 3

Is this what they call a bedroom?

Even a prison cell would be better.

A bucket in the corner, and I'm supposed to empty it in the courtyard every morning?

People in remote villages don't even live like this anymore.

My mother shifted awkwardly and looked toward Vincent.

For the first time, confusion crossed his face.

He frowned at the room.

Before he could speak, Elowen jumped in.

"Sylvana, didn't you grow up on the Colorado Plateau?"

She tilted her head innocently.

"I heard people there still live in caves. Wouldn't using a bucket be normal for you?"

Then she turned to Agnes.

"Agnes has served our family faithfully for years. Why would you bully her?"

Her voice became even more righteous.

"Mom and Dad already have enough to deal with every day. Can you please stop causing trouble?"

"If you're angry, take it out on me instead."

She stepped forward.

"You can even hit me if it'll make you feel better."

The contempt in her eyes didn't match her pitiful voice.

My mother immediately pulled her close.

"Elowen, don't say that."

She stroked her hair.

"We raised you ourselves. You're our precious daughter. No one is going to hurt you."

"Touch her and see what happens."

Jasper pointed at me, looking more like a street thug than the son of a Mafia don.

I sighed.

"The institute chose the Colorado Plateau because the isolation and climate are ideal for certain experiments."

I looked at Elowen.

"This isn't the nineteenth century. Who exactly do you think is still living in caves?"

Her expression stiffened.

"And if you really didn't want me back, you could've just said so."

I gestured toward the bucket.

"But putting a chamber pot inside a Moretti estate?"

"Have we really fallen this far?"

Elowen's face changed.

Before anyone could question her, she threw herself into my mother's arms and burst into loud sobs.

My mother immediately started crying with her.

I ignored them and pushed open the bedroom door.

A cloud of dust hit me in the face.

I coughed and stepped back.

The room looked half-demolished.

Large sections of plaster had been stripped from the walls. One window was broken, and cold air poured through the cracked glass.

I covered my mouth.

"You've really outdone yourselves."

Vincent's expression finally darkened.

He stepped forward and looked inside.

"Why hasn't this room been renovated?"

His voice turned cold.

"I gave orders weeks ago."

Elowen stiffened.

"Dad, it's been cold lately."

She avoided his eyes.

"No contractors wanted to come."

I stared at her.

Is she actually stupid?

Since when do contractors stop working because it's cold?

And if nobody came to renovate it, who tore the walls apart?

Did she do it herself?

I rubbed my temple.

No.

I need to call the institute tonight.

If I stay here much longer, I'm genuinely worried my IQ might start dropping.

That would be a loss to medical science.

Vincent's face went rigid.

"Enough."

He immediately ordered Agnes to prepare one of the guest suites for me.

By the next morning, word had already spread that the Moretti family's biological daughter had finally returned.

For a family like ours, that wasn't just gossip.

The Morettis had enemies everywhere.

Rival families and business competitors immediately seized on the story, especially those who knew how fiercely Vincent and my mother had always protected Elowen.

Rumors began circulating through the press and upper circles.

The Moretti family's real daughter was back.

What would happen to the adopted one?

Would there be a fight over inheritance?

Would Vincent choose blood or the daughter he'd raised?

The Morettis responded quickly.

A formal reception would be held that evening to introduce me.

I knew exactly what it really was.

Calling it a family reunion sounded nice.

In reality, Vincent needed to show allies, politicians, bankers, and rival families that there was no instability inside the Moretti household.

I was merely the excuse.

Even though the reception was supposedly being held for me, no one paid much attention to what I wanted.

Elowen, on the other hand, was everywhere.

Choosing gowns.

Reviewing the guest list.

Giving instructions to the staff.

Checking the ballroom.

She fluttered around the estate like an overexcited peacock, as if the entire reception were being held in her honor.

Night came quickly.

Black cars began pulling through the Moretti estate gates one after another.

Politicians.

Businessmen.

Old-money families.

Men whose influence extended far beyond anything printed on their business cards.

The first floor of the estate had been transformed into a ballroom.

Crystal glasses lined the tables beside expensive champagne and carefully prepared dishes.

And there, at the entrance, stood Elowen.

A wineglass in her hand.

A dazzling smile on her face.

She greeted every arriving guest like the perfect daughter of the Moretti family.

Like I was the outsider who had wandered into her home by mistake.