It was Christmas Eve, and I was watching the snow fall with my daughter when my phone vibrated. “Aubrey.” The long-lost sound of that name—my name—made the knife I was using to slice oranges stop dead in mid-air. Five years ago, my parents and my brother had conspired to kick me out of the house, all to appease their precious adopted daughter, the fake Harrington princess. They’d even publicly disowned me. I couldn't fathom why Garrett Harrington, the golden boy, the high-and-mighty prince of the entire dynasty, would condescend to call me now. “Who is this?” I asked, my voice flat. Silence stretched for a moment, then his voice came back, thick with a pathetic sob and a plea. “I’m at your gate, Aubrey. The snow is heavy. Please… just see me, big brother. Just for a minute.” “Mom is dying. She wants to see you one last time.” My gate? I peered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our den. Beyond the elaborate iron gates of our estate, the man who had once been the most arrogant person I knew was kneeling in the snow. He was covered in a fresh layer of white, utterly humbled. I saw the purple tinge of his exposed skin, but all I could feel was the echo of my own despair on the night they drove me out. I turned, letting my husband pull me into a hug, and spoke into the phone with a chilling lack of emotion. “My apologies, but you know I haven’t had a family for a very long time.” With that, I yanked the heavy velvet drapes shut, obliterating the image of the man kneeling in the storm. Done. Cut him out. 1 “Who was it, Aubrey?” My husband, Damon Blackwell, walked over and held a perfectly peeled orange slice to my mouth. I bit down. The sweet, sharp burst of citrus in my mouth was just strong enough to suppress the strange, almost unwelcome flicker of anxiety in my chest. “Insurance,” I lied casually, placing the phone face-down on the marble counter. The snow outside was growing heavier, turning the glass into a thick, white canvas. That figure, kneeling beyond the gates, was now just a blurry black dot. But I knew Garrett Harrington was still there. The same brother who had pushed me down a flight of stairs while I had a 104-degree fever, just because his precious Joss was having a tantrum. The same one who had pointed a finger at my face and called me a “cuckoo snake that had taken another’s nest.” Now, he was kneeling like a whipped dog at my door. “That’s a persistent insurance agent,” Damon murmured, glancing toward the window. His eyes narrowed slightly. He walked to the window, lightly nudged a gap in the curtain. “Looks like this salesman is planning to freeze to death on our property.” I barely shrugged, changing the channel to a holiday movie marathon. “Let him. It’s bad luck, yes, but we can just sell the house next year.” Damon let out a soft laugh and returned to my side, his long arm wrapping around me. “Whatever my wife wants.” My phone vibrated again. A tireless death knell. Exasperated, I picked it up, ready to block the number. A message popped up—a photo attachment. It was a picture from an ICU. Eleanor Harrington, once the picture of polished, aristocratic grace, was now skeletal and connected to a web of tubes. Her face was the color of old parchment. Garrett’s subsequent message flashed: “Aubrey, Mom really is fading.” “The doctor says tonight is it.” “Joss isn’t here. Mom keeps calling your name. She wants you.” “I’m begging you. Just come and look. After that, you can take any revenge you want.” My finger hovered over the screen. Revenge? I was long past that age. Five years ago, on a night as snowy as this one, I was thrown out of the Harrington estate. Penniless, burning up with a monstrous fever, I slept under a bridge. That night, I left every tear, every bit of Aubrey Harrington I used to be, freezing on that pavement. “Mommy, I want that red candy!” My daughter, Hazel’s, soft voice yanked me back. I put the phone down, smiling as I unwrapped a candy and fed it to her. Looking at her innocent face, I realized that, yes, some things did need closure. Not just for me, but to truly put the ghost of the Aubrey who died in that snow five years ago to rest. I stood up and reached for the coat hanging on the rack. Damon didn't ask a single question. He simply picked up his car keys, helped me into my coat, and wrapped my scarf carefully around my neck. “Let’s go,” he said. “Let’s see what kind of a performance they’re putting on.” The heavy door swung open. A blast of cold air and snow hit us. Garrett was frozen stiff. Hearing the sound, he lifted his head with agonizing slowness. His eyebrows and lashes were thick with white frost. The moment he saw me, his previously dead eyes flared with a desperate light. “Aubrey…” He tried to stand, but his legs were frozen and numb. He pitched forward, falling face-first into the snow. The same man who had been the swaggering, untouchable Harrington heir. The man who had slapped me in public to defend Jocelyn. Now, he didn't even have the strength to stand up. I looked down at him, my expression utterly devoid of warmth, like I was staring at a broken piece of rusted metal. “Garrett.” My voice was quiet, cutting clearly through the howling wind. “Lead the way.” If they wanted to play the dutiful son and the repentant mother, I’d indulge them. This was the final, ugly curtain call the Harringtons owed me. 2 The hospital corridor reeked of acrid antiseptic. Garrett was shaking the entire way—I couldn't tell if it was from the cold or the proximity of death. Damon walked beside me, his hand clasping mine, his palm dry and warm, an anchor in the sterile cold. We stopped outside the VIP suite. Garrett turned to me, his eyes wide with pathetic supplication. “Aubrey, when we go in… please don’t upset Mom.” “She can’t take any stress right now.” I couldn't help it. I laughed. In the dead quiet of the hallway, the sound was harsh and brittle. “Garrett, are you missing the point?” I smoothed the cuff of my coat, looking at him with detached boredom. “You’re the one who was kneeling in the snow begging me to come.” “I’m not here to play the role of the devoted daughter. If you want a performance, that’ll cost you. And it’s a price you can’t afford.” Garrett’s face drained of color. His lips trembled, but he didn't have a single word of rebuttal. He pushed the door open. The room was warm, almost oppressively so. The rhythmic beeping and dripping of various machines wove together a soundtrack of finality. On the bed, Eleanor Harrington was gasping, struggling for air. Hearing the door, she labored to turn her head. When her cloudy eyes landed on me, they actually welled up with tears. “Aubrey… my Aubrey…” She stretched out a skeletal hand, grasping for empty air. “My… daughter…” To an outsider, the scene would have been heartbreaking. But I was Aubrey. I was the daughter she had called a “bad omen,” the one she’d locked in the basement for three days and nights just to humor her precious adopted girl. I stood at the foot of the bed, unwilling to move closer. I was looking at a stranger about to die. “I’ve seen the person,” I said, turning my gaze to Garrett. My voice was cold. “Anything else? If not, I’m leaving. We have a holiday dinner to make at home.” Before Garrett could speak, a person stood up from the sofa in the corner. The lighting had been dim, and I hadn't noticed her. The woman sitting in the shadows, peeling an apple. Jocelyn. The usurper, the fake princess, the one who had ruined the first half of my life. She was wearing a long, simple white dress, her eyes red, as if she’d been crying for hours. “Sister.” Her voice was soft and weak, melting like sugar. “How can you speak to Mom like that?” “She’s so sick, can’t you just let go of the past?” “It was all my fault before. I made you angry. If you want to blame someone, blame me, but please don’t stress Mom…” As she spoke, she started to drop to her knees. It was the same manipulative performance she’d perfected five years ago. The moment she knelt and cried, the whole family would immediately conclude that I was the aggressor. And sure enough. Garrett, who had just been wallowing in guilt over me, instinctively lunged forward to catch her. “Joss! Your health! Don’t move!” That sudden, unfeigned concern and worry—it wasn't an act. I watched the ridiculous scene, only feeling amusement. This was Garrett's claim that “Jocelyn isn’t here”? This was the “just see you one last time” plea? Damon suddenly stepped in front of me. He didn't even look at Jocelyn. He spoke directly to Garrett, his voice laced with ice. “Since your devoted daughter is here to fulfill her duties, my wife is no longer needed.” “Aubrey, we’re leaving.” Damon put an arm around me, ready to turn. “Stop right there!” A furious roar came from the adjoining suite in the room. Arthur Harrington, the head of the family, my biological father, strode out. He was still well-preserved, his authority intimidating. But the look in his eyes when he saw me was the same blend of contempt and disdain. “Since you’re here, who told you you could leave before finishing what you came for?” Arthur pointed at me, his tone as commanding as if he were addressing a disobedient subordinate. “Your mother held on just to wait for you.” “If you have a shred of decency left, you’ll go sign the papers now!” Sign? I frowned. What papers? A will? A DNR? Garrett’s eyes suddenly darted away, unable to meet mine. Jocelyn lowered her head, a strange, faint smirk playing on her lips. A wave of dread washed over me. “Sign what?” I asked. Arthur scoffed and slammed a document down from the bedside table. SMACK. It landed right in front of me. “The Organ Donation Consent Form.” 3 The room instantly fell into a terrifying silence. I looked down at the document on the floor. The bold typeface of the title seemed to twist into a malicious grin. Living Kidney Donor Consent Form. In the space for the recipient, two names were starkly written: Jocelyn Harrington. I snapped my head up to look at Eleanor. She was still crying. But in her eyes, there was none of the remorse or motherly love she had manufactured moments ago. Only an intense, greedy, almost crazed desperation. “Aubrey…” Her voice trembled as she spoke the most cruel words imaginable. “Jocelyn… she has kidney failure…” “The doctors say… your kidney is the best match…” “Mom is dying… I’m leaving you…” “Can you… can you take care of Jocelyn for me? For your mother?” “Give her your kidney… Just this one thing… to fulfill my last wish…” Boom. Something detonated in my skull. So that was it. That was the whole plan! The deathbed repentance, the kneeling in the snow, the last-gasp plea for a reunion. All of it was a lie. All of it was bait. They hadn't tricked me into coming home for love. They had tricked me into coming back to harvest my organs. What was I to them? A standby blood bank? A mobile organ depot for Jocelyn? Five years ago, she needed blood, and despite my own weak state, I gave her 400cc. She repaid me by claiming I pushed her down the stairs. Now, five years later, they wanted to lie and manipulate me onto an operating table for her! I turned to Garrett. The man who had knelt in the snow for three hours, claiming, “Please see your brother.” He was now staring intently at the tips of his own shoes. “You knew?” I asked him. My voice was quiet, like a dissipating wisp of smoke. Garrett flinched violently and finally raised his head. His eyes were red, and his response was full of self-pitying justification. “Aubrey, Joss is so young…” “She can’t let her life be ruined like this.” “You’re the older sister. You’re healthy. Losing one kidney won’t kill you.” “And… and if you agree, I can split my Harrington Corp. shares with you! Dad and Mom will forgive your mistakes and let you back into the family trust!” Ha. Ha, ha. I laughed until tears stung my eyes. Back into the family trust? Who the hell wanted a place on that decaying, toxic ledger? “Garrett Harrington.” I walked toward him, one deliberate step after another. With every step, a final thread of whatever biological kinship I still felt snapped. “When you were kneeling in the snow, were you thinking, ‘Once I get her inside, she can’t escape’?” “When I opened the door, were you laughing at my stupidity?” Garrett’s face was chalk-white, and he instinctively backed away. “No, Aubrey… I really wanted you to come home…” “Home?” I snatched the document off the floor and slammed it, hard, into his face. The sharp edge of the paper sliced his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. “This is your welcome-home gift?” “Cut a piece of my body out to give life to your precious little sister?” “Garrett, you disgust me.” On the bed, Eleanor suddenly broke into a violent, rattling cough. The monitors let out a shrill alarm. Jocelyn shrieked and rushed to the bedside. “Mom! Mom, don’t stress!” She spun around, tears streaming down her face, and pointed a condemning finger at me. “Aubrey Harrington! Do you want to kill her, too?” “It’s just one kidney! How can you be so selfish?” “Mom is dying! This is her one final wish! Can’t you grant her even that?” Arthur, shaking with rage, raised his hand and charged at me. “You wicked brat! I’ll beat you, you ungrateful daughter!” “If you won’t sign it, then don't blame me for using force!” “Guards! Tie her down and get her onto an operating table!” With his shout, four burly men burst through the door from the hallway. This was clearly an ambush, a setup. If the soft approach failed, they were prepared to use force. Garrett stood by, closing his eyes, tacitly consenting to the coming assault. “Aubrey, don’t blame your brother.” “Joss really can’t wait.” The four bodyguards closed in. I stood my ground, unmoving. Because I knew I didn't have to move. A long, elegant hand shot out and caught Arthur’s descending palm in a vice grip. Damon stood in front of me. He was a mountain, utterly impassable. He applied a tiny bit of pressure, and Arthur cried out in pain, stumbling backward in an undignified mess. “Touch my wife?” Damon’s voice was no longer the gentle one I knew. It was utterly devoid of warmth, radiating a chilling, predatory threat. He scanned the room. Where his gaze landed, the four bodyguards froze, unwilling to take another step. “It seems, Arthur, that your business hasn’t been doing well these past few years.” “But you’ve certainly mastered the methods of a common thug.” Arthur clutched his wrist, staring at Damon in shocked disbelief. “Who the hell are you? Do you think you can interfere with Harrington family business?” “Who am I?” Damon gave a slow, chilling smile. He deliberately pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiped the hand that had touched Arthur. Then, he dropped the cloth into the waste bin. “Allow me to introduce myself.” “I’m Damon Blackwell.” “I am also the largest shareholder in this hospital.” “And I am… the ‘mysterious buyer’ who is currently acquiring, and about to dismantle, Harrington Corporation.”
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