During a crucial conference call, my sister kept calling. When I answered, she was sobbing—someone stole her exchange program spot. I rushed to her university. There she was, cornered in a professor’s office, while a girl in designer clothes sneered: "You thought you could compete? I’m a Sinclair. My dad donated a science wing!" The professor added, oily: "Be reasonable, Hannah. Don’t make trouble." I froze. A Sinclair of New York? Since when did our father have a third daughter? I called him, voice icy sweet: "Dad, when did you have another daughter behind Mom’s back?" … "What are you talking about, Freda?" On the other end of the line, my father, Arthur Sinclair, sounded genuinely baffled, caught between exasperation and amusement. "Stop pulling my leg. Besides you and your sister, what other daughter could I possibly have?" His denial was so firm, so absolute, that the suspicion in my heart evaporated. It made sense. In the elite circles of New York, my father was famous for being a "model husband," the gold standard against which all other husbands were measured. His devotion to my mother, Eleanor, was the stuff of legend, a thirty-year testament to unwavering love that was the envy of every socialite and heiress. In our world, news of a man having an affair was hardly news at all. But everyone, and I mean everyone, was certain that Arthur Sinclair would be the last man on earth to do such a thing. "You'd better be right," I said icily, and hung up. I looked up at the arrogant, pink-haired girl. The smoky makeup couldn't hide her youth, and the brand names plastered all over her body screamed new money, a desperate, tacky kind of wealth. I smoothed the anger from my face and adopted a mild tone. "You just said you're a Sinclair?" "Oh, look, she brought in backup," the girl scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, I'm Sienna Sinclair. Got a problem with that?" She let out a short, sharp laugh. "Oh, I get it. You're trying to kiss up to me now, right? Too late! Besides my family, what other Sinclair family in New York even matters? God, you're clueless." Then, she turned back to my sister, the venom in her voice practically overflowing. "So what if you have good grades, Hannah? So what if you spent a whole year preparing for this? One word from my dad, one building donated, and all your hard work is worth nothing. Absolutely nothing!" My sister shrank under the verbal assault, her head bowed low, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. Watching her, so accustomed to being bullied, a sudden, sickening realization dawned on me. This girl, Sienna, had probably been tormenting my sister at school for some time. My mother always valued humility and wanted us to succeed on our own merit. So, both my sister and I have always been incredibly low-key, never flaunting our family name or wealth. Hannah, with her introverted nature and single-minded focus on her studies, had taken this to heart. I never imagined that our quiet discretion would be seen as weakness, an invitation for others to trample all over her. My heart ached. I gently pulled Hannah behind me, my gaze locking onto Sienna's face again. My voice was cold now, sharp as glass. "As far as I know, all the applications for the exchange program, including the final review by the partner university, have already been processed. To swap out a candidate at the last minute… that's against the rules, isn't it?" 2 "Rules?" Sienna shrieked with laughter. She smugly pulled a thick file from her designer bag and waved it in my face. "You mean this? Hannah's application? Oops. I had it held back. It was never even submitted." Her smile was dazzling, but her words were pure acid. "So, you see, the final list the university sent out only ever had one name on it: Sienna Sinclair. It doesn't matter how perfectly she prepared, does it?" And then, right in front of me, she tore the stack of paper—a testament to my sister's countless sleepless nights and tireless work—clean in half. "Freda!" Hannah cried out, the sound ripped from her throat as fresh tears streamed down her face. I watched the shredded paper flutter to the floor, and the smoldering anger in my chest erupted into a raging inferno. I’ve met shameless people before, but I’ve never seen a display this brazen, this utterly devoid of decency. "You—!" The fury was so intense that my vision started to tunnel, the hand I pointed at her trembling. "Me what?" Sienna tossed the scraps of paper to the ground and ground them under the toe of her expensive heel, a sick, triumphant pleasure dancing on her face. "You got a problem with it? Go on, why don't you get your dad to donate a building to the school? Oh, right. I forgot." She looked us up and down with disdain. "People like you could never afford it." My blood ran so hot I thought I’d pass out. I clenched my fists. Beside her, the professor, a Mr. Wallace, immediately jumped to her defense. "Ma'am, the situation is quite clear. Miss Sienna Sinclair's father has generously donated an entire experimental research wing to our institution, a monumental contribution to our scientific advancement." "After careful consideration," he continued, his face a mask of sycophantic sincerity, "the university has decided to award the exchange program spot to the more suitable candidate, Miss Sinclair." The sight of his fawning, obsequious expression made my stomach turn. "Mr. Wallace, is it?" I turned on him, my gaze like a physical force. "My sister, Hannah, earned this spot. She has the highest GPA in her year, her research project won a national gold medal, and her TOEFL score is near-perfect." "So please, tell me," I pressed, "what exactly does your 'more suitable candidate,' Miss Sienna Sinclair, have to her name?" Mr. Wallace was struck dumb, his face flushing a deep, mottled red. Sienna, however, burst into exaggerated laughter. "What do I have? I have my dad! My dad is Arthur Sinclair, the chairman of Valkyrie Industries! Having money is enough! Get it?" Valkyrie Industries? Chairman Arthur Sinclair? Each word that tumbled from her mouth sent a fresh wave of chilling amusement through me. Because the real power behind Valkyrie Industries… isn't Arthur Sinclair. "Valkyrie Industries... the Sinclair family?" I raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise and a hint of confusion. "I think I've heard of them. A very powerful family. But… I don't recall there ever being a Miss Sienna Sinclair." My calm questioning clearly threw her off. In her world, the names Valkyrie Industries and Sinclair were meant to inspire awe and submission, not scrutiny. She stared at me for a second, her confusion quickly morphing into indignant rage. "Who the hell are you to question me? The affairs of my family are none of your business!" Mr. Wallace, seizing the opportunity to regain his footing, puffed out his chest and scolded me. "Miss, please watch your tone! Miss Sinclair's identity has been verified by the university. It is not for you to stand here and make baseless, disruptive accusations!" "Verified?" I laughed. "And how was it verified? Based on her word alone?" "Of course not!" Mr. Wallace pushed his glasses up his nose, his expression arrogant. 3 "Miss Sinclair's father, Mr. Arthur Sinclair himself, spoke with our university president personally. He confirmed both the donation and Miss Sienna's arrangements. Are you suggesting that Mr. Sinclair's own words are a lie?" Hearing my father's name from this man's lips felt like a punch to the gut. The denial from Arthur on the phone just moments ago had seemed so genuine. But now, the school was adamant that he had personally confirmed everything. What was going on? Where was the disconnect? Could it be… was my father really lying to me? I looked at my sister's pale, tear-streaked face. She was clutching my sleeve, her body still trembling. I pushed the spiraling thoughts from my mind. This wasn't the time for speculation. No matter what, I couldn't let Hannah be subjected to this humiliation. I took out my phone and dialed the direct line to the Board of Trustees. "I don't care who you think you are," I said, my eyes fixed on Sienna, my voice low and steady. "Today, you didn't just tear up an application." I paused, letting the weight of my words sink in. "You tore up your own future at this university." "I'm calling the Board of Trustees right now and having them deal with this. Let's see what they think is more important: your so-called donation, or this school's integrity." The color drained from both Sienna's and Mr. Wallace's faces. They had clearly not expected a seemingly ordinary person to have the direct number for the Board. The trustees were powerful, influential figures, far removed from the day-to-day world of students and faculty. Beads of sweat formed on Mr. Wallace's forehead. He looked like he wanted to snatch my phone but didn't dare. Sienna was a mixture of fury and fear. Used to getting her way by brandishing her family name, she had never been challenged like this. "You wouldn't dare!" she shrieked. "Who do you think you are, threatening me? Just you wait!" She shot me a venomous glare, fumbled for her own phone, and furiously stabbed at the screen. The call connected, and she immediately burst into crocodile tears. "Mom! I'm being bullied! Here, in the professor's office! You have to come down here! There are these two nobodies trying to steal my spot, you have to come and back me up!" Hanging up, she seemed to regain her confidence, planting her hands on her hips and tilting her chin up defiantly. "Just wait. My mom's on her way. When she gets here, I'm going to make you both get on your knees and beg me for forgiveness!" Mr. Wallace wrung his hands, looking nervously between us and Sienna, too afraid to intervene. I, on the other hand, watched the spectacle with cold detachment. That flicker of trust I had for my father was beginning to waver again. If this girl truly had no connection to our family, where did she get this unshakeable confidence? Someone powerful was pulling the strings. I'd bet my life on it. Hannah tugged on my sleeve. "Freda, maybe… maybe we should just let it go," she whispered. "I don't want to cause any trouble for you." I squeezed her hand, my voice firm. "This is not your fault, and it's not trouble. What belongs to us, no one can take away." Just as I finished speaking, the office door burst open and a woman dripping in jewels and designer clothes stormed in. Despite the expensive facade, there was a hard, grasping look in her eyes, a sense of entitlement that radiated from her. "Sienna! My darling baby girl! Who's bullying you?!" The woman rushed to Sienna's side, fussing over her as if she'd suffered a mortal wound. 4 The moment her backup arrived, Sienna pointed at me and Hannah, launching into a dramatic, exaggerated tale. "Mom! It's them! This Hannah girl tried to steal my exchange spot, and her sister here is backing her up, saying our family has no class!" The woman's eyebrows shot up. "The nerve! In New York City, someone actually dares to accuse the Sinclairs of having no class?" She looked me up and down, her expression a mask of pure disdain. "My daughter taking an interest in this spot is the best thing that could happen to you. Do you have any idea who we are? What our family stands for? And who are you? What gives you the right to even compete with us?" She paused for effect, her voice rising in a crescendo of arrogant pride. "Do you know who I am? I am the wife of Arthur Sinclair, the chairman of Valkyrie Industries, one of the wealthiest men in this city! My daughter is his one and only princess! If you dare to bully her, you're making an enemy of the entire Valkyrie corporate empire! I suggest you think long and hard about whether you can afford that!" "The wife of the wealthy Arthur Sinclair?" I stared at the completely unfamiliar face before me, the knot of confusion in my stomach tightening. I had never seen this woman in my life. My mother, Eleanor, came from a distinguished family of old money and intellect. Her grace was understated, her style classic and refined. She despised flashy displays of wealth and would never, ever speak in such a shrill, common manner. Could it be? Had my father really been keeping a mistress all these years? The thought sent a chill down my spine. The woman continued her tirade, her voice sharp and vicious. "Let me make one thing crystal clear!" she declared, pointing a diamond-encrusted finger at my sister before turning to command Mr. Wallace. "This exchange spot belongs to my daughter, Sienna! Anyone who says otherwise is declaring war on the Sinclair family!" "And you two," she snar американка at us, "are going to apologize to me and my daughter. Immediately!" Sienna clung to her mother's arm, her face a mask of vindictive glee as she added fuel to the fire. "Mom, just apologizing isn't enough! After how arrogant they were, they need to get on their knees and beg." The woman nodded, stroking her daughter's hair. "Sienna's right. On your knees. Or this isn't over." "In your dreams!" my sister retorted, her body trembling with rage. For all her quiet nature, Hannah possessed a core of unyielding pride. "Fine! You want to be tough, do you?" Enraged, Sienna grabbed her phone and made another call. "Dad! You need to get to the university, now! Mom and I are being ganged up on! If you don't get here soon, your wife and daughter are going to be trampled underfoot!" She hung up, a look of absolute certainty on her face. About ten minutes later, the office door was thrown open with force. When I saw who it was, both my sister and I froze. It was our father, Arthur Sinclair. His eyes met ours the moment he walked in. For a split second, I saw it clearly—a flash of pure shock, then panic. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a mask of cold, hard indifference. He walked straight past us as if we were strangers, heading directly to Sienna and her mother. "Brenda, Sienna, are you alright?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. Brenda immediately threw herself into his arms, sobbing theatrically. "Arthur, you're finally here! It's these two! They accused us of being fakes, they even threatened to get violent!"
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