Catrina POV

I met Asher Gutierrez years ago, long before the Corbetts found me. I was just another anonymous kid in the foster system, scraping by, and he was the new arrival, arrogant and defiant, fresh from a public altercation with his wealthy, estranged father. His father, a prominent lawyer, had disowned him after a particularly spectacular act of rebellion, cutting off all funds and demanding he "learn the value of a dollar." Asher, proud and stubborn, had refused to grovel, ending up in the same temporary placement as me.

The day I found him, he was cornered in an alley, beaten and bloody, by a group of older kids. They were demanding the meager cash he' d earned from a day labor job. I, having just been kicked out of another foster home that morning for "insubordination," walked into the chaos. Without thinking, I bluffed. I pulled out my non-functional flip phone, held it to my ear, and loudly pretended to call the police, describing their faces and clothes in vivid detail. The bullies, startled, scattered.

Asher, bruised and wary, looked at me with a mixture of shock and grudging respect. He transferred to my high school a few weeks later, a scholarship student at the elite private institution the Corbetts would later send me to. He'd found me in the library, poring over physics textbooks, and declared, "I owe you. I'll pay you back someday."

He did, for a while. He' d sit with me in the dusty corner of the library, watching me work my part-time jobs, offering to carry heavy boxes for the bookstore owner. I tutored him in math and science, subjects he initially struggled with, but soon excelled at under my patient guidance. He'd stand up for me against the snobbish rich kids who mocked my thrift store clothes. Once, he even took a punch meant for me, ending up with a black eye. "No one messes with my sister," he'd said, his jaw set, his gaze fierce. He was my brother, my best friend, my shield.

Then the Corbetts found me. And everything changed.

The day they announced I was Cordell Corbett's biological daughter, Asher's face went slack. He was the first to hear the news, having been with me when the private investigator tracked me down. His initial joy, his genuine excitement for my newfound family, curdled into something cold and resentful.

"You never told me," he'd accused, his voice tight. "You're a Corbett. All this time, you were a freaking heiress."

"I didn't know," I'd argued, confused. "And it's not like that. They don't even want me. They want Angelique."

But he hadn't listened. His eyes, once so warm and understanding, had grown distant, critical. "You're going to upset Angelique," he'd said, his voice laced with judgment, "She's always been so delicate. What about her feelings?"

"What about my feelings, Asher?" I'd shot back, my voice trembling with a frustration I rarely showed him. "They swapped me out like a defective product, then treated me like a servant for three years! They starved me, they isolated me, they let Angelique-their fake daughter-torment me. And now you' re telling me I' m wrong for wanting what's rightfully mine? For wanting to be acknowledged? For wanting justice?"

He had seen the scars on my wrists from where Angelique had 'accidentally' pushed me into rose bushes. He had watched me work double shifts after school to pay for my foster care tuition. He had seen me wear the same threadbare coat for two winters because I couldn' t afford another. He knew. He of all people knew.

But the Asher standing before me now, on that driveway, was a stranger. His eyes were cold, devoid of the compassion I had once cherished. He scoffed, a nasty sound that scraped against my raw nerves. "You just want to destroy them, don't you? You want to tear their family apart. Angelique is terrified, Catrina. She's afraid of losing everything. She's innocent in all of this."

"Was I not afraid, Asher?" I whispered, the words catching in my throat. "Every single day, I lived in fear. Fear of their anger, fear of Angelique's next malicious prank, fear of being forgotten again. Where was your sympathy then? Where was your outrage for me?"

He ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair. "It's different, Catrina. They've admitted their mistakes. They're trying to fix things. You're being too extreme. Too... vengeful. Too greedy."

My heart, already a fragile thing, shattered into a million pieces. Greedy. That was their word. Their excuse for everything. He had adopted their narrative, their twisted logic. My fight for basic human dignity, for recognition, for justice, was simply greed in his eyes. My pain was an inconvenience. The boy who had once called me "sister" now saw me through the Corbetts' lens of contempt.

Every hope I had harbored, every tiny flicker of faith in human connection, was extinguished. A crushing emptiness settled over me. This city, this life, was tainted beyond repair. I couldn't stay.

I pushed the bitter memories aside, focusing on the future. A new city, a new school, a new life. MIT. I would dedicate myself to my studies, to my robotics. I would build a life so spectacular, so undeniable, that the Corbetts and their petty manipulations would shrink into insignificance. I would make them irrelevant. That was my new goal.

Weeks later, on a brisk autumn morning, I walked across the manicured campus of my new school, a small, independent private academy known for its STEM programs. My new friend, Maya, a bubbly girl with an infectious laugh, walked beside me.

"Catrina! Wait up!"

The voice, familiar and unwelcome, sent a jolt of ice through my veins. No. Not here. Not now. I had deliberately chosen a school far away, a place where their shadow couldn't reach. I closed my eyes for a brief second, wishing I could unhear it. But it was too late. I turned. Standing a few yards away, looking haggard and desperate, was Dozier Corbett.

Catrina POV

I turned, my jaw tight. Dozier Corbett stood there, a phantom from a past I had desperately tried to outrun.

"Who's that?" Maya whispered, nudging me playfully. Her brow furrowed then. "He looks... familiar. Is he famous?"

My expression remained cold, unyielding. "Who? Him?" I scoffed, forcing a laugh. "Never seen him before in my life. You must have me confused with someone else."

Dozier flinched as if struck. Before I could say another word, he closed the distance between us in a few hurried strides. "Catrina, please, can we talk? Privately?" His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale and drawn. He looked nothing like the arrogant Ivy League bully from just a few weeks ago. The usual sneer was gone, replaced by a desperate anxiety that made his features almost unrecognizable.

I turned away, annoyance bubbling within me. "I have nothing to say to you, Dozier." My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "What is it this time? Is Angelique feeling neglected again? Did she need another one of my projects to pass off as her own? Or are you here to frame me for another nonexistent crime?" I finally looked back at him, my gaze piercing. "Because I'm tired. I'm so incredibly tired of your games. Unless you're here to confess to the police, I suggest you leave."

My voice, though calm, carried across the quad. A few students nearby paused their conversations, their gazes shifting curiously towards us. Maya, my usually bright-eyed friend, looked from Dozier to me, her jaw slightly agape.

Dozier visibly recoiled, his face draining of what little color it possessed. "Catrina, please," he pleaded, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I'm so sorry. I... I messed up. I know I did. Just give me a chance to explain."

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Sorry? Sorry for what, precisely, Dozier? Are you sorry for abandoning me on that mountain? Sorry for calling me a thief, a liar, an ungrateful bitch? Sorry for ransacking my room and destroying my belongings? Sorry for standing by as Angelique tormented me, day in and day out? Which one of your myriad acts of cowardice are you apologizing for?" I needed him to grovel, not for my satisfaction, but for him to truly confront the depth of his betrayal. I wouldn't let him off the hook with a generic apology.

He stammered, his eyes wide and lost, like a fawn caught in headlights. "I didn't... I didn't know what you were going through. I just... Angelique told me things, and Mom and Dad..."

I finished his sentence for him, my voice devoid of warmth. "And you believed them. You always believed Angelique. The fragile, beautiful lie. You chose to believe a fabricated narrative over your own flesh and blood, over the girl you once called your sister. That tells me everything I need to know about your character."

I turned to Maya. "Come on. We'll be late for class."

As I started to walk away, a hand clamped around my arm. Dozier's grip was surprisingly strong. "Wait! Please! Mom and Dad... they're not doing well. The company stock is plummeting because of all the rumors. They want to see you. They want to fix this."

I stopped dead, my gaze slowly drifting down to his hand on my forearm, then up to his face. My eyes felt like shards of ice. He flinched, pulling his hand back as if burned. "Fix this?" I repeated, my voice dangerously soft. "You think this is about stock prices and rumors, Dozier? Eighteen years of neglect, of spiritual and emotional abuse, of being left to die on a freezing mountain, and you think a few dropped stock points are the 'problem'?" I shook my head, a bitter smile touching my lips. "You Corbetts are even more pathetic than I imagined."

I turned, leaving him standing there amidst the whispers of curious students. Maya, wide-eyed, hurried to catch up, her steps echoing mine. I didn't look back, but I felt his desperate gaze boring into my back. His regret was palpable, a tangible weight in the air. But it was too late. His apologies were meaningless. The damage was done.

A few days later, just as I was heading to my robotics club meeting, Ms. Goodman, my science teacher, caught up with me. "Catrina, the principal would like to see you in his office." Her voice was kind, but her expression held a hint of concern. "He said you have some family visiting."

Family. The word tasted like ash in my mouth. I knew who it was. They wouldn't give up so easily. They never did. They clung to power, to control, like a drowning man clings to a life raft. I steeled myself, plastering on a neutral expression. Let them come. I was ready. I pushed open the principal' s door.

Cordell Corbett, his face alight with a horrifyingly fake smile, lunged forward.

Catrina POV

Cordell Corbett, his face alight with a horrifyingly fake smile, lunged forward the moment I pushed open Principal Thompson's door. He moved so quickly, Dona barely had time to put a restraining hand on his arm.

"Catrina, darling! There you are! We've been so worried," he gushed, his voice oozing with a saccharine sweetness that made my stomach churn. He reached for me, his hands outstretched.

I recoiled before he could touch me, batting his hands away with a sharp, dismissive gesture. My gaze, cold and unwavering, swept past him, landing on Principal Thompson and Ms. Goodman, who stood by, looking uncomfortable.

"Principal Thompson," I began, my voice clear and steady, "correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't this school have a policy against unauthorized visitors on campus? Especially those who are not staff or registered family members?"

Ms. Goodman's eyebrows shot up. Her eyes, usually so sharp and perceptive, widened in surprise. "Catrina, honey, these are your parents," she started, her voice laced with gentle confusion.

I cut her off, my voice firm. "No, Ms. Goodman. They are not. I have no parents. I have been entirely on my own for quite some time now." I turned back to Cordell and Dona, my eyes narrowing. "Unless, of course, you can provide definitive proof of our parent-child relationship. A birth certificate with your names on it? A legal adoption decree? Perhaps a receipt for my dental work, or a record of my school tuition payments from the last three years?" I paused, letting the silence stretch. "Or, dare I ask, a single bill or expense that proves you have ever spent a dime on my upbringing since I was 'found'?" I met Cordell's gaze directly. "Can you provide any of that, Mr. Corbett?"

Cordell's face drained of all color. His outstretched hands, moments ago so eager to embrace, now hung uselessly in the air. His eyes, fixed on mine, flickered with a mixture of panic and raw humiliation.

Dona, her facade of calm completely shattered, stepped forward, her face a thundercloud. "That's enough, Catrina!" she hissed, her voice low and menacing. "We are your parents! Stop this ridiculous charade at once!"

I didn't flinch. I met her furious glare head-on. "Are you?" I challenged, my voice still dangerously calm. "Then prove it. The burden of proof is on you. Can you tell me my birthday without looking at a calendar? Can you name my favorite book? My favorite color? A single dream I've ever shared with you?" I paused, letting the questions hang in the air, heavy with their unspoken answers. "No. You cannot. Because you never cared to know."

Silence descended upon the room, thick and suffocating. Principal Thompson and Ms. Goodman exchanged a bewildered glance, their initial discomfort giving way to a dawning comprehension.

"We were teaching you independence!" Cordell stammered, finally finding his voice, though it was thin and reedy. "Tough love!"

I let out a short, cynical laugh. "Independence? You call abandonment independence? You call systematic abuse 'tough love'? What you inflicted upon me was neglect, plain and simple. And it was criminal." I turned to Principal Thompson, my voice gaining a steely edge. "They didn't just neglect me; they actively sabotaged my future. They tried to keep me from entering the National Robotics Championship, claiming my project was 'too dangerous' and 'a distraction from my studies.'"

Ms. Goodman gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her expression, which had been one of concern, now twisted into pure indignation. Principal Thompson's face hardened, his gaze fixed on the Corbetts.