1 The day the Winters family banquet topped social media, I realized my entire family had gone without me. On the giant screen, my mother fastened my birth heirloom locket around Fiona’s neck. My father faced the cameras, emotionally announcing her as the long-lost daughter. Meanwhile, I, the true daughter confirmed by three paternity tests, wasn’t even allowed past the gates. I packed my orphanage backpack in silence. Gavin blocked my door. “Fiona marries into the Harringtons soon. Once the merger is final, we’ll acknowledge you.” He frowned. “You’ve waited twenty years, Ruby. What’s two more days?” That night, the broken toy watch in my bag vibrated. Its blue screen showed seven-year-old me on an orphanage bench. The director called our home. My mother’s voice was cold. “Today is Fiona’s party. Do DNA tomorrow.” My father’s silence agreed. Young Gavin added, “Don’t tell Fiona. It’ll upset her.” As the call ended, a kind couple entered with a strawberry cake. The woman knelt. “Ruby, come home with us first?” But the little girl stared at the silent phone. “Sister, will Mommy and Daddy come tomorrow?” I gripped the vibrating watch, my knuckles white. “No,” I whispered. “Take the hands in front of you. Choose the parents who actually want you.” … The video feed on the tiny screen flickered, the static distorting the image for a brief second. The seven-year-old me was clutching a stuffed rabbit with a missing ear, her eyes still fixed on the heavy iron gates of the orphanage entrance. The couple, Mr. and Mrs. Abbott, didn't push her. Mrs. Abbott carefully set the strawberry cake on the wooden bench, then knelt down so she was at eye level with the little girl. "We are just a temporary foster family, Ruby. You can come stay at our house for a few days first. If you don't like it there, you can come back here whenever you want." The little girl didn't touch the cake. She was terrified that if she ate their food, her biological parents would think she was greedy and disobedient when they finally arrived. Before I could speak to her again, my bedroom door creaked open. My mother walked into the room carrying a bowl of hot soup, with Fiona trailing quietly behind her. "Did you skip dinner again?" Mother asked, setting the bowl down on my desk. "I made sure the kitchen didn't use any peanut oil. You can drink this." I stared at the soup, a strange, numb sensation creeping over me. In the three years since I had returned to the Winters' household, this was the very first time she had remembered my life-threatening peanut allergy. But my quiet realization was shattered the next second when she opened a velvet jewelry box. Inside lay a stunning, heavy ruby necklace left behind by my late grandmother. "You're going to accompany Fiona to her final bridal fitting tomorrow," Mother said, her tone completely matter-of-fact. "Take this to the jeweler and have the chain shortened for her." I closed the lid of the box with a soft click. "Grandmother made it very clear that this necklace was to be passed down only to the biological granddaughter of the Winters family." Fiona’s eyes welled with tears instantly. Mother immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her from my gaze. "The Winters and Harrington families agreed to this alliance years ago. Elder Harrington is on his deathbed, and after the wedding, he will transfer a significant portion of his corporate shares to whichever grandson fulfills the marriage contract. The contract specifies that the bride must be the biological daughter of the Winters family. Fiona and Garrett have been in love for five years. Do you really have the heart to ruin her life's happiness?" I looked up at her, my voice quiet. "So, to keep the contract valid, you used my blood sample to forge a paternity test under her name?" Mother averted her gaze, unable to look me in the eye. I had been kidnapped at three and rescued at seven, retaining only the memory of my name and the gold heirloom locket. Two years after I went missing, the Winters had adopted five-year-old Fiona, registering my exact birth date as hers to fill the void. For the grand reunion banquet, they had used my biological blood sample but printed Fiona’s name on the official report. "Once she’s married, gets pregnant, and secures her position in the Harrington family, we will announce that the two of you were actually twins separated at birth," Mother said, her voice turning pleading. "You’ll be able to claim your rightful place then." Three years ago, my genetic profile had matched their family database. At the time, Mother had held my hands, weeping as she begged me to wait three months because Fiona was suffering from severe clinical depression. Three months became six, six months became a year, and now, it had been three years. And now, I was expected to wait for her to marry, get pregnant, and find her footing in another family. "And what about my life?" I asked. Fiona gently reached out, tugging on my sleeve, her voice trembling. "Ruby, I’m only borrowing your identity this once. Once the marriage is secured, I swear I’ll return everything to you." I pulled my arm back, breaking her grip. "The locket around your neck, the necklace you're wearing tomorrow, and the parents you call yours, which of those actually belongs to you?" Fiona’s face went entirely pale. Mother slammed her hand onto the desk, her voice rising in anger. "Ruby! Are you only going to be satisfied when you’ve torn this entire family apart?" On the screen of the toy watch, the little girl flinched at the sound of her voice. "Sister, who is that angry lady?" I looked at my mother’s protective stance over Fiona, and then down at the bowl of soup on my desk. "Someone who knows exactly what I can't eat, but never remembers to choose me." I hoisted my canvas backpack onto my shoulder and walked out of the room. The small leather name tag on the backpack had been hand-stitched by my father when I was a child. But just this morning, he had ordered the housemaids to hide the bag in the attic. He wasn't blind; he simply didn't want any of our high-society guests to see the worn-out relic of my past. On the watch screen, the candles on the small strawberry cake had nearly burnt down to the wax. "Ruby," I whispered softly to the little girl. "Blow out the candles first. Don't miss your own birthday waiting for people who aren't coming." The little girl hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward and blew out the tiny flames. Mrs. Abbott didn't rush to hug her. She simply sliced a piece of the cake and placed it gently next to her hand. "Eat slowly, sweetheart. We're right here." The couple walked over to the far end of the hallway, sitting down quietly to give her space. On the morning before the wedding, Gavin tracked me down to my hotel room. The moment the door opened, he shoved a warm cup of soy milk into my hands. "Your stomach has been acting up lately. Don't drink coffee on an empty stomach." In the past, whenever I worked late into the night on my jewelry designs, he would show up at my desk with the exact same breakfast. But before the warmth of the cup could even reach my fingers, he tossed a legal document onto the table. It was an official public statement. It declared that the paternity test circulating online was a malicious forgery, and that Fiona was, and had always been, the sole biological daughter of the Winters family. Both my father and mother had already signed their names at the bottom. "Gavin," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Do you also believe that I’m an imposter?" Gavin looked away, refusing to meet my eyes. "This is just to satisfy the Harrington family for now. Once Fiona is pregnant, we'll announce the twin story. You’ll still get to come home." "So, to protect her, I have to publicly sign a paper declaring myself a liar?" He frowned, his expression tight with frustration. "Why must you always focus on your own petty grievances? The family has provided you with an apartment, a high-paying job, and a comfortable lifestyle. Why can't you just make this small sacrifice for Fiona?" The final clause of the statement specified that by signing, I would also waive my rights to pursue any legal action against the Winters Group for intellectual property theft regarding my latest designs. I set the soy milk down on the table, untouched. "The apartment you gave me is a company dorm. I’ve been working at the Winters Group for three years, and the three jewelry collections I designed brought in over two hundred million in revenue, while my salary is less than half of the industry standard. Who is really supporting whom, Gavin?" Gavin’s face darkened significantly. "Ruby, family shouldn't keep score like this." "Every single time you take something that belongs to me, you tell me that family shouldn't keep score," I said, looking at him. "But the moment it's my turn to be acknowledged, you calculate the cost more ruthlessly than anyone else." Suddenly, the toy watch on the table lit up again. The seven-year-old me was sitting at a small kitchen table in the Abbotts' home, a steaming bowl of birthday noodles in front of her. Mrs. Abbott placed a perfectly fried egg into her bowl. "We didn't have much time to prepare today, Ruby. The gifts will have to wait, but I promise I’ll make it up to you every single year." The little girl stared at the egg, her fork hovering in the air. "Mrs. Abbott, if I eat your noodles, am I still allowed to wait for my real parents tomorrow?" A look of deep pain flashed through Mrs. Abbott's eyes, but she smiled warmly, smoothing back the little girl's hair. "Of course you can, sweetheart. It’s your choice to wait for whoever you want. We are nice to you because we care about you, not to make you feel like you owe us anything." A sudden lump of emotion caught in my throat. True family doesn't hand you a warm drink only to force you to sign a document that strips away your identity and your hard work. Gavin noticed my gaze and looked down at the glowing toy watch. "What on earth are you looking at?" "A real family having dinner," I said quietly. He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "The family dinner with the Harringtons is tonight. If you sign that statement, you can attend. But you will only be introduced as our head jewelry designer. Don't say anything stupid." I picked up the statement from the table and, right in front of his eyes, tore it down the middle, and then tore it again. Gavin jumped to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Are you out of your mind?" "For three years, you didn't allow me to tell anyone who I really was," I said, tossing the shredded paper into the wastebasket. "And now, you want me to sign a paper declaring who I am not. I'm done playing your games, Gavin." He snatched his coat from the sofa, his chest heaving with anger. "Fine. If you think you're so independent, then don't ever bother coming back to this family." The door was slammed shut with a deafening bang. On the screen of the watch, the little girl finally lowered her head and took a bite of the noodles, her tears falling quietly into the broth. "Mrs. Abbott, is the reason my real parents aren't coming because I'm not a good girl?" Mrs. Abbott didn't offer any cheap platitudes. She gently pulled a tissue from the box and wiped the broth from the corner of the little girl's mouth. "No, sweetheart," she said softly. "When you were rescued, you couldn't remember your address, and the police had to rely on DNA samples to find your family. They sent multiple notifications to your parents, but they kept asking to delay the meeting." She pulled the weeping little girl into a tight, warm embrace. "It’s not because you aren't good. It’s because they failed to protect you." I sat in my quiet hotel room, staring at the screen. That single sentence was something I had waited twenty long years to hear. And in the end, it was spoken by a complete stranger. On the morning of the wedding, I was awakened by a frantic phone call from my assistant. "Ruby, you need to look at social media right now. You’re trending." An edited video had been leaked online. It showed me standing in the VIP lounge of the reunion banquet, holding my paternity test results, demanding my shares of the Winters Group. The video was edited to cut out all context, leaving only my sharp, demanding words. "Everything that belongs to me, you will return. Not a single thing less." Fiona had already posted a response, begging the public not to "use biological ties to hurt my beloved parents." The comment sections were filled with thousands of users calling me a greedy, heartless gold-digger trying to extort a wealthy family. I drove straight to the Winters Group headquarters, where my father was already waiting for me in his office. He slid a studio transfer agreement across the desk, along with my favorite left-handed drawing tablet. "The studio on the top floor has the best light, and I had the desk customized specifically for your left hand. You'll have your own independent creative space now, so you won't have to answer to anyone else." I flipped open the contract. The studio and its intellectual property would remain under the Winters Group. All future design collections would be credited to Fiona as the lead designer, and I would receive a mere ten percent of the design royalties. Father poured me a cup of warm water, his tone soft and paternal. "Ruby, it's not that I don't love you." I looked up, meeting his eyes. "So, you built me a desk that fits my left hand, only to use it to tie both of my hands behind my back?" The gentle smile on his face froze. Before he could respond, the door burst open. Fiona ran into the room, sobbing hysterically as she cradled a damaged bridal tiara in her hands. "The central blue diamond has been removed, and the Harrington family representatives are arriving in an hour to inspect the final piece!" That blue diamond was a rare, raw stone left to me by my grandmother as a personal inheritance. I had removed it from the piece the night before. Father’s voice turned stern and commanding. "Put the diamond back, Ruby. Once the wedding is over, I’ll buy you an even larger stone to make up for it." I didn't answer him. I packed my drawing tablet and my tools into my bag and walked out of the office. At the hotel’s grand ballroom, the two families were gathering to take their formal pre-wedding portraits. The photographer, seeing me walk past with my gear, paused. "Is this young lady also a daughter of the Winters family?" Gavin immediately stepped in front of me, blocking the lens. "No. She’s just our contracted designer." I walked past them and entered the private bridal dressing room. The tiara lay on the vanity table next to a registration form for the International Jewelry Design Awards. The name in the "Lead Designer" slot had already been filled in: Fiona Winters. The collection I had spent four agonizing months designing was being handed over as part of her dowry. Fiona slipped into the room, her eyes red and puffy. "Ruby," she whispered. "The Harrington family requires a prestigious daughter-in-law with an artistic pedigree. Once I win the award, I’ll split the prize money and the recognition with you fifty-fifty." "Do you honestly believe I care about the prize money?" I asked, packing my tools. "But you already have the talent, Ruby!" she cried, her voice rising. "I have absolutely nothing. Can't you just let me win this one time?" "No." As I reached out to grab the tiara, Gavin suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip incredibly tight. My wrist slammed against the sharp edge of the marble vanity, and blood immediately began to seep through my skin. His face paled, and he instantly let go, pulling a sterile adhesive bandage from his suit pocket. "Your hands are your livelihood, you can't let them scar." He wrapped the bandage around my wrist with extreme care. For a brief, foolish second, my heart softened at his gentleness. But then, he held out his open palm to me. "Give me the blue diamond, Ruby. Fiona’s been crying outside for half an hour." That late, sweet tenderness was nothing more than a poison-tipped blade wrapped in sugar. On the screen of my watch, the seven-year-old version of me was shivering in a hospital bed, her face flushed with a dangerous, high fever. Mr. Abbott was drenched in rain, having run three miles to carry her to the emergency room, while Mrs. Abbott stood by the bed, her clothes soaking wet. The orphanage director was holding a phone, her voice filled with quiet anger. "The Winters family just called. They said their adopted daughter got incredibly hysterical when she heard that the biological child had been found. They want to delay the DNA verification for a few more days." Mr. Abbott’s face was dark with fury. "The child is burning with a hundred-and-four-degree fever, and they still refuse to come?" The little girl lay on the pillow, her eyes half-closed as she whispered, "Will my real daddy come to see me?" I reached into my bag, pulled out my laptop, and unplugged the flash drive containing the design authorizations. Then, I unlocked my phone and started a live broadcast. "Ruby," I whispered to the little girl on the screen. "Remember the people who are holding your hand tonight." With a single tap, I posted a formal legal notice from my attorneys. We are officially revoking all design and copyright authorizations granted to the Winters Group for the 'Homebound' collection and all associated bridal jewelry. The wedding was scheduled to begin in exactly two hours. Within ten minutes of the post going live, the hotel’s security team blocked all the exits of the bridal suite. My phone was confiscated on my father’s orders, and Gavin personally escorted me back into the dressing room. Fiona sat in front of the vanity in her magnificent white gown, her face streaked with tears. My mother walked over, carrying a tube of soothing ointment, and gently took my injured hand. "Does it hurt, sweetheart?" She applied the ointment, blowing softly on the cut just as she used to do when I was a toddler. As a child, I had spent countless nights wondering if my mother would ever comfort me like this if I got hurt. But the moment the ointment was applied, she pushed the tiara toward me. "Ruby, I’m begging you. Put the blue diamond back. Don't ruin your sister's entire life." I pulled my hand out of her grasp. "And what about my life?" Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away, unable to answer. Fiona stood up, her silk train rustling against the floor. "It’s not my fault you were kidnapped! I’ve been the one taking care of our parents for the last twenty years! When Mom was sick, I was the one who stayed up all night in the hospital. When Dad had surgery, I was the one who signed the consent forms. When Gavin was in that car accident, I was the one who refused to leave his side! Are you really going to strip away my name, my parents, and my marriage the second you return?" For the first time, she didn't hide behind our mother. Her eyes were flashing with anger. "So," I said, looking at her. "You were the one who leaked that edited video of me?" Her face paled, but she didn't deny it. "I only did it to protect my wedding. Once I'm married into the Harrington family, I will compensate you for everything." I reached into the secret compartment of my bag and pulled out my backup phone. Father’s voice boomed across the room. "Turn that off immediately!" "This phone has been broadcasting a live stream to my legal team’s secure cloud server since the moment I walked in," I said, holding the device steady. "The security footage of your team blocking my exit has already been saved. My lawyers are preparing charges for identity theft, document forgery, copyright infringement, and unlawful detention." Gavin’s voice was hoarse as he stepped in front of the door. "Ruby, do you really have to drive everyone in this family to a dead end?" "You chose this road yourself," I said. "But this time, I won't be the one paying the price for your choices." Suddenly, the toy watch on my wrist began to vibrate violently. On the tiny screen, the orphanage director was kneeling beside the seven-year-old version of me. "Ruby, Mr. and Mrs. Abbott are willing to take you in for permanent foster care. Your biological family says they will come for the verification once Fiona’s emotional state stabilizes." Outside the orphanage windows, the rain was pouring down. Mr. and Mrs. Abbott stood under the wooden eaves, holding a pair of bright yellow rain boots they had bought for her, waiting patiently without pushing her to make a decision. The little girl clutched her stuffed rabbit, her eyes fixed on the empty iron gates. "Sister, if I leave with them, what if my real daddy and mommy come tomorrow and can't find me?" The tears finally spilled over my eyelashes. "They know exactly where you are, Ruby. But they are still choosing to make you wait, over and over again." The little girl looked down at her worn-out shoes. After a long, quiet moment, she dropped the stuffed rabbit onto the bench, ran out into the pouring rain, and threw her arms tightly around Mrs. Abbott's neck. "Mommy," she sobbed, her voice cracking. The tiny screen of the toy watch suddenly shattered into a web of fine cracks, the light fading into black. In the dressing room, the crystal chandeliers suddenly flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness. A massive flood of warm, beautiful, and completely unfamiliar memories rushed into my mind, making my head spin. At the exact same moment, my mother's smartphone on the vanity table lit up with an automatic notification. A text message sent twenty years ago from the orphanage database appeared on her screen. Mrs. Winters, Ruby has officially entered the permanent foster care program with the Abbott family. Are you absolutely certain you are not coming for the identity verification today? Directly below it was her own reply from twenty years ago. Yes, we are certain.
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