Chapter 1

The day I became a billionaire' s lucky charm, I was five years old and starving. Mr. Blakely' s spiritual advisor, a man with a long beard and eyes that seemed to look right through you, had told him a child born on my exact date and time would save his life. So, the old man, who was dying from some rare disease, found me in our rundown house in the Rust Belt, where the air tasted like metal and hope was a foreign word.

A stack of legal papers made me his ward. It also made me the symbolic, non-voting Chair of his multi-billion-dollar foundation. My father, a small-time union boss who' d never given me a second glance, signed the papers so fast his hand shook. He saw dollar signs. I just saw a way out.

I don' t remember much about my old life, just the constant gnawing in my stomach and the cold indifference in my father' s eyes. He preferred my older stepsister, Jennifer. She was his real daughter, the one he pinned all his greedy ambitions on. I was just a leftover from a marriage he wanted to forget.

The first time I met Jennifer, she pushed me down a flight of rickety stairs because I looked at her new doll. My father told me to stop crying and be tougher.

When the sleek black car came to take me away, my father stood on the porch, a wide, fake smile on his face.

"You be good to Mr. Blakely now, you hear?" he said, his voice slick with greed. "Remember who your family is. Remember you owe us."

I didn' t say anything. I just got in the car and didn't look back. I didn't owe him a thing.

Mr. Blakely lived in a mansion that looked like a castle. He didn' t treat me like a daughter. I was more like a pet project, a living good luck charm. His health actually stabilized for a while, which made the guru look like a genius and me like a miracle. He let me study with his grandchildren in a classroom bigger than my old house.

Three years later, Mr. Blakely died.

Suddenly, at eight years old, I was the "Trust Fund Queen." I was the Chair of the Blakely Foundation, a title that came with immense legal standing but zero actual power. His son, Arthur Blakely, became the new CEO. He was a stiff, middle-aged man who found the whole situation ridiculous.

He would see me in the hallways and nod stiffly.

"Madam Chair."

The words were respectful, but his eyes said he was talking to a child playing dress-up. He avoided me, leaving me to my own devices in the vast, lonely estate. I didn' t mind. For the first time in my life, I was free.

The estate was my kingdom. I explored every corner, from the manicured gardens to the dusty, forgotten attics. My only real friends were the other Blakely grandchildren.

Waylen, the youngest, was a ball of energy who saw me not as a chairwoman but as a fun older sister.

"Boss Lady!" he' d yell, running up to me with some new scheme. "Can you tell Ms. Chadwick we need ice cream for breakfast? She' ll listen to you!"

He used my status to get away with all sorts of mischief, and I let him. His laughter filled the quiet halls and made the mansion feel less like a museum and more like a home.

Then there was Wesley Scott. He was another grandson, but his mother had died when he was young, and he was mostly ignored by the rest of the family. He was quiet, observant, and always watching. He didn't say much, but he understood things. He would often find me in the library or by the lake, and we would just sit in comfortable silence. We were two outsiders, sharing a space in a world that wasn't quite ours.

The years passed quietly until Caleb Blakely, the heir apparent, was officially named the future COO of the company. That news traveled all the way back to the forgotten town I came from.

My father and Jennifer saw their chance.

One day, Ms. Chadwick, the former head butler who was now my fiercely protective chief of staff, came to me with a grim expression.

"Your father called," she said, her voice tight. "He has arranged for your stepsister, Jennifer, to visit. He says it' s time for you two to 'reconnect.' "

I felt a cold knot form in my stomach. I remembered Jennifer' s cruelty, her sharp nails and mocking laughter. I knew this wasn't about reconnecting. It was about her sinking her claws into the Blakely dynasty.

"He wants her to meet Caleb, doesn't he?" I asked, my voice flat.

Ms. Chadwick nodded. "That is the logical assumption."

I looked out the window at the sprawling grounds, at the life I had built here. I was no longer that helpless five-year-old.

"Alright," I said, a plan already forming in my mind. "Let her come. But Ms. Chadwick, I want you to make sure she has a very… isolated visit."

A small, sharp smile touched Ms. Chadwick's lips.

"It would be my pleasure, Madam Chair."