When my stepmom moved out, she only took two things with her: me, and the kitchen trash. That’s when I found out she wasn't just some trophy wife. She was the daughter of the wealthiest man in the city. And just like that, I went from a trailer-park brat to the granddaughter of a billionaire. 1 Today is a day for celebration. My stepmom just served my dad with a lawsuit. Why? Because she’s suing for full custody of me. They finalized their divorce two weeks ago. When she moved out, she didn't take a single piece of furniture, not even a lamp. I’d tried to convince her to go after the house. I mean, they were married for years—she deserved something for her service. She just shot me a look, snorting, "Is there anything in that dump actually worth moving?" I was speechless. She was right. For the last two years, if she hadn't been paying the bills, my dad would have gambled away the roof over our heads. The house wasn't filled with valuables; it was filled with "investment stones"—expensive rocks my dad bought thinking they held hidden emeralds. Some were half-cut, some were whole. Every single one was a worthless piece of granite. To be fair, my dad used to be okay. Before the gambling took over. But now? Now I was motherless again. On the day she left, I sat on the porch, sighing. She didn't have any luggage, just her designer handbag. She looked radiant, radiating an old-money elegance I’d never seen before. "Bye, Mom," I muttered, head down. She snapped her sunglasses off. "What do you mean 'bye'? You’re coming with me." I froze. "I am?" She gave me a playful kick and grabbed the trash bag on her way out. "Goddammit, you’re the only thing in this house worth a damn. Who else would I take? Forget the junk. Let’s go. Don't make me ask twice." My heart soared. I grabbed her arm, grinning like an idiot. Best deal ever: Dad and Mom get divorced, and Mom takes me. 2 She drove me straight to The Highlands—the most exclusive gated community in the state. I tugged at her sleeve. "Mom, we can’t afford to look at houses here. Let’s go before security kicks us out." She just smirked. "This is home." This mansion was hers?! I found out pretty quickly it wasn't just the house. Her family built the entire neighborhood. As we pulled up, an older man in a crisp suit spotted us and shouted, "The Young Mistress is back!" A dozen security guards lined up along the driveway, bowing in unison. "Welcome home! Welcome home, Little Miss!" Little Miss? What kind of Victorian novel had I walked into? Before I could process it, an old man with a silver-topped cane walked toward us, eyeing me up and down. My heart nearly stopped. I knew that face. He was all over the news—Arthur Miller, the legendary venture capitalist. The richest man in the tri-state area. The old man huffed and pointed at me. "You. Come here." My stepmom gave me a firm nudge. "He’s talking to you." I walked over, trembling. I didn't know what to call him. After a long silence, I managed to squeak out, "Grandpa...?" To my shock, the old man burst into a booming laugh. "Hahaha! This girl’s got instincts! I like her!" "My dear granddaughter, say it again, and I’ll buy you a private jet." Suddenly, it clicked. Arthur Miller was my stepmom’s father. Holy crap. I was the granddaughter of a billionaire. My eyes lit up. I channeled every bit of energy I had and yelled, "Grandpa! Grandpa!" The old man couldn't stop grinning. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and led me inside. "Good girl! We’re buying you that jet!" I thought he was joking. But the next morning, I woke up to see a massive plane parked on the back lawn. A hot pink private jet. I watched, stunned, as someone walked down the stairs. A tall, handsome guy with charming eyes looked at me and smiled. "You must be Mia?" I nodded slowly. He chuckled and ruffled my hair. "Hey there. I’m the brother you never knew you had." 3 I never knew my stepmom had a son, and an older one at that. His name was Leo Sterling. My stepmom’s maiden name was Miller, but his was Sterling. Wait... was she married before my dad? Did she have another family? I felt a sudden sting of betrayal. I really loved my stepmom. She was beautiful. When my dad first brought her home, I thought he’d hit the lottery. She was in her early forties, but she looked like she was twenty. When they got married, she told me she’d treat me like her own daughter. That I’d be her only child. But now, this guy appears out of nowhere? My heart sank. "What’s up, Leo? You bothering your sister already?" My stepmom walked down the stairs. Seeing my expression, she pulled me to her side. Leo looked innocent. "No way. Grandpa told me to show her the jet, so I flew it over." "Oh, the jet. Come on, sweetie, let's take your new toy for a spin." She dragged me onto the plane, but I was still pouting. She felt my forehead. "What’s wrong, honey? Don't you like pink? You look miserable." "It's fine..." I mumbled. "You lied to me." "Liar?" She looked surprised. "What did I do?" "You said... you said I was your only daughter." She blinked, then let out a roar. "LEO! What kind of crap did you tell her?!" Leo held up his hands. "Nothing! I swear, Auntie, I didn't say anything." "Auntie?" I gasped. "Yeah," she said. "He’s my sister’s kid. He’s your cousin, but you can just call him your brother if you want." The weight lifted instantly. "I thought he was yours..." I whispered. She tapped me on the head. "Raising one little piglet like you is enough work for me." That was all I needed to hear. I flopped back into the leather seat and enjoyed the ride in my pink jet. 4 They say money changes people. They’re right. I wasn't just changed; I was borderline obnoxious. My stepmom was rich. My grandpa was rich. Therefore, I was rich. Grandpa gave me a black card. He didn't tell me the limit; he just said it was for "pocket money." My stepmom was heading out for tea with her friends. "If Grandpa gives you a card, keep it. If you run out, ask me. Also, the garage is full of cars. If you don't want the chauffeur to drive you, just pick one." I bolted for the garage. It was a sea of chrome and carbon fiber. Ferraris, SUVs, vintage muscle cars... I picked the smallest, cutest thing in there—a tiny, egg-shaped gray car. It looked like a high-tech toy. "You’ll do," I whispered. 5 Driving that car was an experience. People were staring, and other cars were practically swerving to give me space. I was feeling myself—until I pulled into the valet at the luxury mall and slammed right into the back of another car. I winced and climbed out. The owner of the other car jumped out, screaming, "Which idiot hit me?! Do you have any idea what this car costs—" He stopped dead when he saw my car. His eyes nearly popped out. "A... a Microlino?" Is that what this thing was called? "I'm so sorry," I said. "We can go through insurance or I can just pay you cash. Whatever you want." "Pay? You think you can afford this? Do you know what I’m driving? You bring a bubble car to the luxury mall and—" He couldn't even find the words. He was turning purple. "Stupid?" I offered. "Yes! Incredibly stupid!" "Clueless?" "Beyond clueless!" "Dumbass?" "Dumb—hey!" The guy was tall and handsome, but he was currently throwing a tantrum. "Are you making fun of me?" Probably because you look like a rich, handsome moron. I stayed sincere. "Let me make a phone call." He got defensive. "What, calling for backup? I’m telling you, that won't work." Backup? No. I was calling in a strike from my bank account. 6 I called my stepmom first. The background noise was weird—a lot of clicking and clacking. When I told her I was in a wreck, she shrieked. "A wreck?! Are you okay? Are you bleeding?" "I'm fine. The car isn't." "You totaled the bubble car?" "No," I said sheepishly. "I totaled the other guy’s car. I broke the little toy on his hood... wait, let me send you a video." I snapped a clip of the damage. She texted back two words: "Holy Shit." "Mia, out of all the cars in the garage, you picked the custom electric prototype. And that 'little toy'? That’s the Spirit of Ecstasy on a Rolls-Royce." A Rolls-Royce? This tacky-looking thing was a Rolls? My knees went weak. I texted back: If you sell me into slavery, will it cover the bill? She didn't reply for a minute. The guy was hovering over me like a ghost. I couldn't take the silence, so I asked for his business card. Quinn Parker. Quinn sat down on the curb, looking up at me. "Call your family. We need to figure out how you're paying for this." "I'm paying, I'm paying!" I stammered. Finally, my stepmom texted: I sent your brother. Then, like a god descending from Olympus, a black and white Ducati roared into the parking lot. Leo pulled a sharp turn, stopped, and tried to pull off his helmet with a cool flourish— But it got stuck. 7 Even through the visor, I knew Leo was dying of embarrassment. A second later, he finally yanked it off, acting like nothing happened. "Sorry I’m late." "It's—" Before I could finish, Quinn jumped up from the curb. "No worries! You’re right on time! Bro, don't stand in the sun, come over here in the shade." The speed of this guy’s personality flip was breathtaking. I couldn't help it. "Hey! You weren't this nice to me!" He glared at me. "So? Look at your brother. Pure class. Look at his gear—that’s custom. Look at the bike... Bro, can I touch the bike?" Leo waved a hand. "Go ahead." Quinn’s eyes sparkled. He practically hugged the Ducati. "Wow... titanium valves? The aerodynamics on this cowl... ah~ The smell of freedom!" Right there in front of the Gucci store, the two of them started debating the merits of a Kawasaki vs. a Yamaha. I didn't want to ruin the moment, but I saw red and blue lights flashing in the distance. "Hey..." "HEY!" Quinn snapped at me. "What?!" "I don't want to ruin the vibe, but the cops are here." Quinn shrugged. "So? Let them handle the report." "Right," I said. "One problem. My ID says I'm seventeen." Quinn: "?" Leo: "...?!!"
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