The day my brother, Caleb Ashford, and the girl who stole my life came to collect me, I was out back, hacking through weeds for the hog feed. Caleb’s gaze landed on the raw, angry gash on my forearm, and his face twisted in disgust. "Get in the car." A flicker of triumph crossed the face of the girl, Chloe. She was already positioning herself for one of her signature, saccharine performances. But then, something shifted. Caleb grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly tight. His eyes, which had been clouded with a distant annoyance, suddenly sharpened with a shocking clarity. He bit out the words through a clenched jaw. "Who did this?" My blood ran cold. Oh god, this was it. In the novel I was trapped in, Caleb Ashford wasn’t just obsessively protective of his sister—he was a notorious clean freak. He wasn't going to look at this ugly, mangled arm and decide to just… get rid of it, was he? “My foster father,” I whispered. “He said I was working too slow… he used the scythe.” I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the searing pain of a severed limb. Instead, I heard Caleb’s voice, dangerously calm, directed at one of the men in black suits standing by the car. “Cut off the arm of my sister’s foster father.” Chloe and the bodyguards all stared at him, stunned. As for me? I could only think one thing: Did I get a bootleg copy of the book? 1 Caleb’s order—“Cut off the arm of my sister’s foster father”—hung in the thick, humid air. The bodyguards exchanged uneasy glances, hesitating. My foster father, however, did not hesitate. He dropped to his knees with a wet thud, his face hitting the mud. Chloe’s carefully composed expression crumbled. “Caleb!” she cried, rushing to his side. Her hand, delicate and soft, fluttered onto his sleeve. Her eyes instantly welled with tears, her voice a fragile sob. “Don’t be rash, I know you’re worried about our sister…” “But he did raise her all these years. Even if he made a mistake, we can’t just—” She never finished. Caleb’s gaze, as cold and sharp as splintered ice, fell on her. “You feel sorry for him?” Chloe flinched as if struck. Her hand dropped from his sleeve. “I… that’s not what I mean. I just think—” “Be quiet.” He cut her off without a shred of warmth. “Chloe, are you telling me how to handle my affairs?” he pressed, his voice dangerously low. “Or are you suggesting that my sister deserved to have her arm laid open with a scythe?” Chloe was completely thrown. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. I stared at Caleb’s profile, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was wrong. This was all wrong. In the book, Caleb was Chloe’s staunchest defender. He would have rained hellfire on anyone who dared to make her shed a single tear. Why would he ever speak to her with that tone? On the ground, my foster father was a sniveling mess of tears and snot, slamming his forehead against the gravel-strewn dirt until it bled. “Mr. Ashford, sir, have mercy! I was wrong! I ain’t human! I’ll never do it again!” Caleb finally tore his gaze away from Chloe, his eyes sweeping over my foster father as if he were a piece of trash on the roadside. His lips barely moved. “He can do it himself.” The head of security stepped forward. “Mr. Ashford?” “Tell him to destroy the hand that he used on my sister.” Caleb’s voice was flat, as if he were commenting on the weather. “Three fingers,” he added. “A bargain for his arm, I think.” A gasp escaped my own lips. That was worse, somehow. More personal. More cruel. My foster father’s wails choked off, replaced by a look of pure, hollow despair. The bodyguards, their faces impassive, dragged the man, now limp as a ragdoll, into the dirt-caked shack we called a house. A moment later, a raw, gut-wrenching scream tore through the air. The color drained from Chloe’s face, leaving it the color of paper. Caleb didn’t even flinch. He turned, his dark, intense eyes landing on me. Then he shrugged off his tailored suit jacket—a piece of clothing that was obviously handmade, impossibly expensive, and utterly spotless. He draped it over my shoulders, covering the girl who had just emerged from a pigsty, covered in filth and bits of straw. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice a fraction softer. I nodded, still reeling from the shock. Chloe, biting her lip so hard it had to hurt, trailed silently behind us, tears swimming in her eyes. In the back of the black Bentley, Chloe sat in the passenger seat, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. According to the plot I knew, this was the moment Caleb was supposed to notice her distress, pull her into a gentle embrace, and murmur words of comfort, maybe shooting a warning glance at me—the interloper—for upsetting his precious sister. But the Caleb in this car didn’t so much as glance at her in the rearview mirror. My confusion deepened. What version of the story was this? It had to be a pirated edition. 2 The Bentley glided to a stop before an ornate, wrought-iron gate. This was the Ashford estate. The book’s brief descriptions of its luxury were now my staggering reality. The second the car door opened, Chloe seemed to find her footing again. “Dad! Mom!” There, standing anxiously by the grand entrance, were our parents. My mother—my biological mother, Eleanor—swept Chloe into her arms. “Chloe, darling, why are you crying? Who upset you?” “Caleb… he was so scary…” Chloe buried her face in Eleanor’s shoulder, her sobs finally breaking free. My father, Richard Ashford, scowled. “Caleb, what’s the meaning of this?” Caleb ignored him, walking around the front of the car to open my door. “Get out, Maya.” I moved my stiff limbs, the heavy, expensive jacket draped over me, and stepped into the magnificent entryway of my new home. Instantly, every eye was on me, each gaze dripping with disdain. A bitter smile touched my lips. This, at least, was exactly as it was written. Next up was Chloe’s masterclass in twisting the truth, followed by my parents’ furious condemnation of the “feral girl from the countryside,” culminating in them demanding I kneel and apologize to her. After that, the endless torture would begin. I lowered my eyes, calculating my first move for survival in this house. Should I swallow my pride and endure it, or should I burn the whole thing down? Just then, Chloe lifted her head from Eleanor’s embrace, her eyes red-rimmed and brimming with a pitiful sorrow as she looked at me. “That man back in the country… he did raise our sister for eighteen years. He may not have been perfect, but he was there for her…” she began, her voice trembling. “When Caleb wanted someone to… to break the man’s fingers, all I did was suggest he reconsider…” She choked on a sob. “And Caleb… he told me to shut up.” Her tears spilled over again, as if she had suffered the world’s greatest injustice. “I know he’s just being protective of his sister now that she’s back, but we can’t be so unreasonable, can we?” It was a flawless performance. She painted herself as the victim while branding me as “unreasonable” and Caleb as cruel and impulsive. As expected, Eleanor hugged her tighter. “You poor thing. It’s not your fault, sweetheart.” She then turned to me, her brow furrowed in disapproval. “Maya, is it? I understand you’ve had a difficult life, but the Ashfords are a reasonable family.” “Chloe is your sister. She was only looking out for you. How could you let your brother treat her like that?” Richard let out a sharp, cold grunt. “No manners at all! You’ve been here five minutes and you’re already turning the house upside down! Apologize to your sister this instant!” I stood there, silent. Anything I said now would be wrong. “Apologize?” Caleb’s voice cut through the tension, cold as a winter wind. “Chloe, I’ll ask you again.” “You feel sorry for him?” Chloe flinched at his tone, shrinking back into Eleanor’s arms. “I… I just felt that…” “That he was right to take a scythe to my sister’s arm?” Caleb’s voice rose, sharp and dangerous. The expressions on Richard and Eleanor’s faces froze. “A scythe?” Eleanor whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at me. Caleb gave no one a chance to recover. He strode over to me, grabbed my wrist, and yanked up my filthy sleeve. The wound was laid bare for all to see—a jagged gash where the flesh was peeled back, the blood dried to a dark, grotesque crust. It was hideous. “Do you see it clearly now?” he demanded, holding my arm out as if for inspection. “This is what the man your ‘good daughter’ Chloe was defending did to her!” Eleanor’s breath hitched. She covered her mouth, her eyes filled with shock. Richard’s face went from stern to ashen. “Now,” Caleb said, his gaze locking back onto the terrified Chloe. “You tell me. Who should my sister be apologizing to?” Chloe’s lips trembled, but not a single sound escaped. I watched the hard line of Caleb’s jaw, my heart pounding in a wild, uncontrollable rhythm. Who was this man? This was absolutely not the Caleb Ashford from the book—the brother who would have burned the world down for Chloe. 3 Richard and Eleanor’s faces were a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions, the most prominent being a flicker of guilt—a shamefully late arrival for their biological daughter. Chloe was as white as a ghost. While I was still processing, Caleb pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Dr. Evans, I need you at the house immediately.” Less than ten minutes later, a silver-haired man carrying a medical bag hurried in. Dr. Evans sucked in a breath when he saw my arm. “This was made by a sharp blade. It needs to be cleaned and stitched at once, or it will get infected. It could even cause permanent damage.” Eleanor swayed on her feet, her eyes instantly reddening. Caleb guided me to the sofa and watched intently as Dr. Evans treated the wound. When the antiseptic wipe touched the raw flesh, my whole body seized with pain, but I clamped my jaw shut and didn't make a sound. This was nothing compared to the eighteen years I’d already endured. From the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of what looked like jealousy in Chloe’s expression. She couldn’t seem to grasp why the center of attention had suddenly shifted to me. At dinner, Chloe sat beside Eleanor, trying several times to start a conversation, only to be silenced by a cold glare from Caleb. Finally, she plastered on a bright smile, picked up the largest shrimp from a platter, and placed it in my bowl. “Maya, you have to try this. Mrs. Gable’s scampi is the best you’ll ever have.” Her smile tightened. “I bet you never got seafood this fresh… back where you were from, did you?” Before I could respond, Caleb set down his fork. He reached over, took my bowl, and swapped it with his own. “She’s allergic to shellfish.” The smile on Chloe’s face froze. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Maya, I… I didn’t know…” She immediately adopted a wounded, on-the-verge-of-tears expression and looked to our parents for sympathy. “I was just trying to make sure she ate well…” “You didn’t know?” Caleb’s laugh was devoid of humor. “Her file has been on my desk for a week. You looked at it yesterday.” The blood drained from Chloe’s face, leaving it completely colorless. For the first time, Richard and Eleanor looked at her with a glimmer of suspicion. After dinner, Caleb led me upstairs to the second floor. He pushed open the door to the largest room at the end of the hall. “You’ll stay here from now on.” The room was decorated in minimalist shades of black, white, and grey, dominated by a massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the estate’s gardens. It had the best view in the house. “Caleb, we haven’t had a chance to get Maya any clothes yet…” Chloe had followed us, her voice timid. “The dress I wore after my shower this afternoon was one of Chloe’s,” I added quietly. The dress was faded, the style was years old, and it fit me terribly. I knew exactly what Chloe was doing: reminding everyone that I was still the country bumpkin who had to wear her hand-me-downs. “If you don’t mind, Maya, you can wear some of my things for now. They’re all a bit old, but…” She didn’t get to finish. Caleb snapped his fingers. Several clerks in sharp uniforms appeared, pushing a long rack of clothing into the room. Louis Vuitton. Chanel. Dior. Everything from casual wear to evening gowns, shoes to accessories. All of it brand new. “It was all purchased in your size,” Caleb said, his gaze fixed on me. Then he glanced at Chloe. “Her old things can be thrown out.” Standing before a mountain of luxury goods, Chloe looked like she was grinding her teeth to dust. Later that night, as I was getting ready for bed, there was a knock on the door. It was Chloe, with Richard and Eleanor standing behind her. “Maya,” Eleanor began, her tone strained, “this room… Chloe has always wanted to turn it into her playroom.” Chloe’s eyes immediately filled with tears as she tugged on Eleanor’s sleeve. “Mom and Dad promised me. They said for my birthday they would fill it with presents just for me…” Richard frowned. “It’s just a room. You just got here, you can take the smaller one next door for now. Let your sister have this one.” There it was again. The casual, deeply ingrained favoritism. They still couldn't grasp who their real daughter was. I was about to speak when a cool voice came from behind them. “Fine.” Caleb was leaning against the far wall of the hallway, hands in his pockets. “She can have it.” A triumphant smirk flashed across Chloe’s face. “However,” Caleb continued, his gaze pinning her in place, “Maya will move into your room.” Chloe’s smile froze. “She is the true heir of this family. She deserves the best room in the house, after the master suite.” He didn’t give them an inch. “Since Mom and Dad already promised you this one as a playroom, I won’t interfere.” He lifted his chin slightly. “You,” he said to Chloe, “can move into the guest room.” Before anyone could protest, he spoke to the butler who stood silently down the hall. “Go and have all of Miss Chloe’s things removed from her room. Everything.” 4 The butler bowed his head. “Yes, sir.” He turned to carry out the order. Chloe finally broke. “Why?” she shrieked, tears streaming down her face, her swollen eyes locked on Caleb. “Tell me why, Caleb! Why have you been targeting me ever since I came back?” “You… you used to love me most of all!” Eleanor could no longer stay silent, her face a mask of disapproval. “Caleb, how can you treat Chloe this way? She’s your sister!” Richard’s face was dark with anger. “This is ridiculous! What has Chloe done to deserve being kicked out of her room?” I watched from the sidelines, a cold observer. Not a single one of them, not even now, saw me as part of this family. Seeing her parents rush to her defense, Chloe’s crying intensified. She stumbled forward and grabbed Caleb’s sleeve. “Brother, please tell me, did I do something to offend you? Tell me and I’ll change, I promise I’ll fix it, okay?” Caleb’s gaze slowly swept over the three of them. He ignored Chloe’s desperate pleas. “Dad, Mom. Is there something you’re failing to understand here?” Richard and Eleanor froze. “Who,” Caleb said, his voice dangerously quiet, “is your actual daughter.” The question was a knife, twisting directly into our parents’ hearts. Their eyes involuntarily darted toward me, toward the face that was a clear echo of Eleanor’s, the eyes so like Richard’s. Eleanor’s lips parted, her expression a war of guilt and internal conflict. Richard’s throat worked. Finally, he managed to force the words out. “But… but Chloe… we raised her for eighteen years. There are feelings involved…” “Feelings?” Caleb let out a short, sharp laugh. “So, your feelings trump blood? They trump justice?” He took a step forward, his presence overwhelming. “Have you ever stopped to think that if Maya hadn’t been stolen, the life Chloe has been living would have been hers? This house, these clothes, this very room—it was all meant for her!” His voice rose with each word. “And yet you stand here acting as if she’s the intruder, the one who doesn’t belong!” Every syllable he spoke drained more color from Richard and Eleanor’s faces, leaving them speechless and pale. Sensing the tide turning against her, Chloe panicked. She quickly wiped her tears, transforming into a picture of mature understanding and heartbreaking sorrow. “Caleb, don’t blame Mom and Dad. It’s all my fault.” She lowered her head, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I shouldn’t have fought with my sister over a room. I… I’ll move out right now.” She looked at our parents, pleading. “Please, just don’t send me away.” Then, she took a small step toward me and tugged on the sleeve of my shirt, fat tears plopping onto the floor. “Maya… I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry with me.” A brilliant tactical retreat. But I knew that in this moment, I couldn’t say a word. Caleb was fighting this battle for me. If I softened now, if I played the part of the magnanimous sister and gave the room back, I would be throwing his efforts back in his face. It would be a slap in the face to him, and it would put me right back in the position of being the family doormat. After just one day, I understood the landscape of this house perfectly. My parents’ affection was fickle, and Chloe was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The only person I could rely on to secure my place here was the cold, powerful man standing before me. So I dropped my gaze and said nothing. Seeing her olive branch rejected, a flicker of pure venom crossed Chloe’s eyes before it was drowned again in a fresh wave of sorrow. In the end, under Caleb’s unwavering pressure, the scene concluded with Chloe sobbing as she was moved to the guest room. That night, lying in a bed so soft it felt alien, I tossed and turned. For eighteen years, I’d slept on hard wooden planks under damp, mildewed blankets. This sudden comfort felt strange, unsettling. I closed my eyes, but one sentence echoed in my mind. “She is the true heir of this family.” I slept without dreaming. The next day, my body’s internal clock woke me at the crack of dawn. I put on a set of the new clothes Caleb had bought for me, the silk a foreign, luxurious sensation against my skin. I opened my bedroom door, planning to head downstairs. I never expected to find Chloe kneeling on the floor right outside, her face streaked with tears.
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