ALEX’s POV

I watched as several numbers flashed through the screen on top of the elevator door. It felt like we’ve been inside the lift for five minutes already and the doors still haven’t opened. The numbers went on from 2s to 3s but it still kept going.

I stuffed one hand in my pocket, fishing out a muffin I had wrapped neatly inside a table napkin. The old man’s gaze immediately landed on me.

“Where did you get that?” he asked through his neatly combed mustache.

“From the plane?” I said and took a bite. I fished another one from my other pocket. “You want one?”

“Just how many muffins do you exactly have?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

I shrugged. “Just the two.”

He raised another eyebrow.

“I also took the chocolate truffles.”

He kept waiting.

“And the wafers… and the bread… and the bagels.”

He sighed sharply at this and extended a hand. “Give it here.”

“What, why?” I complained, immediately backing away from him as I stuffed the rest of the muffin into my mouth.

He huffed, “Because there is no way I will present you to the Harringtons with your pockets filled with food. I promise you, you will have plenty more once we’re in there.”

I was left with no choice once the doors finally opened to reveal the top floor. I gave up every single one of the food I had stuffed into my jeans and jacket. I could’ve saved one of the cookies but the loud crinkling once I started to walk gave it away.

The floor we were in, surprisingly, looked nothing like the rest of the building. If the Harrington Group was heavy on polished marble floors and glass walls, whoever was in the topmost floor had a different idea.

The walls were lined with dark wood paneling, polished to a shine, and heavy crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling at even intervals. A dark red carpet ran the length of the floor, muffling out our every step. Towards the end of the hallway, two massive doors awaited.

As we walked down the corridor, my eyes landed on all of the paintings that flanked the room.

“Who are these people?”

“Your ancestors.”

My head whirled towards the old man. “My what now?”

The old man gave me a knowing smile, the kind of smile that you would give to someone if you know something and you’re taunting them with it.

“You’ll know soon enough.”

The guards that were with us opened the double doors and we stepped into the room. It was exactly what you would expect with the kind of hallway this office had. Dark opulence, crystal chandeliers, and leather furniture. But it was empty.

The old man led me to another set of doors on the right of the room. And when it opened, the sound of hushed talking immediately filled the room. Until they noticed me, that is.

Everyone fell silent, their heads turned to me completely. I gulped and adjusted myself, suddenly overwhelmed by how sharp their gazes were.

“Is that her?” a drawl sounded and I turned towards the person who spoke. He looked about the same age as me, only a little older.

The old man that was beside me nodded. He then urged me to take a seat on any of the empty conference chairs. I sat there, still confused and absolutely terrified by the people in this room.

I mean, I’ve had my fair share of scary people. Criminals, mean adults, meaner teenagers—but it’s nothing quite like this. Each one of them look like they could destroy my life without even batting an eye or remembering my name.

A man in a suit at the other end of the table cleared his throat and said, “Should we begin?”

There was a chorus of comments. Some of them saying that this should’ve been over months ago already. Heck, I don’t even know what I’m doing in here. Was this some kind of mistake?

No, wait.

Are they going to throw me back into the slammer if they find out they got the wrong person? Nah. I’ll just run.

The man, who looked to me like a lawyer, adjusted his glasses and rested a black briefcase on top of the table. He opened it, took a couple of papers from inside, and then took a seat.

The lawyer cleared his throat again, shuffling the stack of thick papers before him. His voice carried easily across the room, clipped and precise.

“This is the last will and testament of Reginald Alexander Harrington. Dated the 5th of May, 2024. As per the wishes of the late Chairman, the following allocations shall be made.”

He adjusted his glasses, eyes flicking briefly toward the old frail woman seated nearest the window. She was just staring out into the cityscape below, probably not even aware what was going on inside the room.

“To my beloved wife, Margaret Harrington, I leave the right to remain in the Harrington Estate for the rest of her life. She shall occupy her own wing of the mansion, and all her needs—medical, personal, and otherwise—will be met without restriction.

In addition, I provide an annual allowance of ten million dollars to be placed in a trust, administered by her physician and nurse, to ensure her continued comfort and care. These funds shall not be interfered with, diverted, or withheld under any circumstances.”

Quiet nods in agreement circled the room and the lawyer continued the reading of the will, turning his attention to the woman with the slicked-back blonde hair on his right.

“To my eldest daughter, Claudine Harrington-Davenport, I leave a portfolio of blue-chip stocks valued at fifty million dollars, along with minor real estate holdings in Geneva. I also grant her a cash settlement of five million dollars, and a stake of two percent in Harrington Group.”

The woman, Claudine, looked like she was still expecting to hear more of her inheritance. But her face darkened when the attorney turned to someone else.

“Wait!” she said, and the lawyer turned to her. “Is that it?Just fifty?!”

My eyebrows immediately furrowed. ‘Just’ fifty million dollars? Damn. I’d be happy to take that if she doesn’t want it.

The lawyer checked the paper and nodded. “Apparently.”

Claudine looked like she’d been stricken. The lawyer did not care though as he continued the reading of the will. “To her husband, Hugh Davenport, I leave no direct assets, though Davenport Shipping & Trade will remain under favorable contracts as previously negotiated.”

The husband who was beside Claudine was aghast, too. Looks like they were all expecting more from the dead billionaire, huh? Whoever this Reginald Harrington was, he must really hate this family.

“To my youngest daughter, Cassiopeia Harrington-Fitzroy, I leave the Harrington luxury fashion subsidiaries, including Harrington Couture and Maison de Lys, with a combined valuation of seventy-five million dollars, and a cash settlement of three million dollars. To her husband, Peter Fitzroy, no direct allocation is made, though Fitzroy Holdings shall continue to benefit from minor joint ventures.”

Cassiopeia’s reaction was even worse. If she smiled at the reading when she heard about what was apparently a ‘small’ share her older sister got, she was now near to fainting when she heard hers.

Was I just brought in here to watch a live soap opera? If yes, I think the ten grand is worth it.

A woman dressed in corporate attire went around with a food tray, offering the people some food. None of them could even look at her, their faces all ashen.

I waved a hand at her and smiled when she offered me the food. I took the entire tray, much to her surprise, and thanked her. I just sat there eating food while the lawyer continued.

“To my eldest grandchild, Percival Davenport, I leave a seat on the Harrington Group board, and a trust tied to the company’s development fund, valued at thirty million dollars, to be accessed fully on his thirtieth birthday.”

The blond guy from earlier who spoke when I arrived had his mouth wide open. I rolled my eyes. Their reaction was over the top. They’re all acting like they’ve been given spare change. What were they expecting exactly?

“To my first granddaughter, Henrietta Fitzroy, I leave a full trust of forty million dollars, half of which is to be directed to any charitable ventures of her choosing.”

Henrietta’s face paled, embarrassment seeping through her face. “Charity?” she whispered, her voice croaking at the word like it was something disgusting. “You want me to do… charity? Seriously?”

The lawyer carried on. “To my youngest granddaughter, Blaire Fitzroy—”

She was already practically shaking in her seat, her eyes closed, probably praying relentlessly for a different result of their grandfather’s cruel joke.

“—I leave a lifetime stake within the Harrington fashion royalties, estimated at ten million dollars annually.”

Blaire blinked, clearly not comprehending the insult until she saw her mother’s glare.

“And to George Davenport, my youngest grandson, I leave an educational trust of ten million dollars, unlocked in full at his twenty-first birthday, with yearly stipends provided until then.”

Hugh’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing toward Claudine. “Ten? He leaves my son ten?” he hissed under his breath but nearly everyone in the room could still hear him. The mother immediately ran to George, who looked like he was just about four years old.

“To Mr. Harold Greene, who has served faithfully as the groundskeeper of the Harrington Estate for over four decades, I leave a cottage house within the estate grounds, situated by the southern lake, along with a lifetime stipend of one hundred thousand dollars annually for upkeep and personal needs.”

Alistair’s weathered hands folded in his lap, his jaw tight with emotion. His wife, seated beside him, dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. They both smiled at each other—the very first ones who actually appreciated what was given.

“To Mrs. Eleanor Greene, his wife and my dear wife’s best friend, I leave a trust of one hundred thousand dollars, to be drawn upon freely, as thanks for her years of devotion in maintaining the estate’s household and gardens.”

The room shifted uncomfortably; some of the cousins are glancing at each other, the insult of comparison already burning through their eyes.

“To Mr. Thomas Hale, head of security, I leave a personal trust of five hundred thousand dollars, in recognition of his loyalty to myself and my family, with the instruction that he remain in service should my wife, Margaret, or my granddaughter, Ivy Alexandria, wish it.”

Everyone turned to me at the mention of my name.

I stiffened and nearly choke on my croutons.

Granddaughter? What?!

ALEX’s POV

Everything appeared to be swirling. I dropped the food on the table and grabbed a glass of water, drinking it all in one go. When I still wasn’t satisfied, I asked the lady handing them out for more. She gave me another.

It was useless. Everything just seemed to get caught in my throat.

“Can we get on, now?” Percy said impatiently when even after a full beat has passed and the attorney still hasn’t said anything, he was just staring at me choking.

When my lightheadedness finally left, I looked around at the table. No one, not even the old man who had taken me here appeared to be shocked by the words. They all knew… I think. And they… just don’t care?

The old man offered me a handkerchief and I took it, wiping my mouth. I don’t know what to think of this. I just sat there for the next five minutes staring down at the oak table. I didn’t even listen to the rest of the will, apart maybe from all the sharp objections once the part about the charities were read.

“…Children’s Hospital, and the Harrington Foundation for the Arts, I leave endowments totaling twenty-five billion dollars—” A chorus of outraged objections sounded throughout the entire room. “—to be divided among them as specified in the attached documents. It is my wish that these institutions continue to thrive long after I am gone.”

“We get a measly five million while some lousy charity gets billions?!” Claudine’s outburst rang through the room and she stood up, her chair clattering on the floor behind her.

Cassiopeia was the next to react. “Well, at least you get five! I only have three!”

“Goddamn that old man.” Hugh gritted his teeth, putting out the cigar he’d been holding on the wooden table. “I knew he’s going to fucking screw us up. He’s crazy, that’s what he is!”

“Are you sure, attorney, that this is final? I’m sure he has an old draft somewhere with even better conditions.”

The lawyer looked up at Claudine, a polite smile on his face. “I’m not done yet. There are still a few lines I have yet to finish reading.”

“Well, then, get on with it!” Percival yelled, slamming his fist into the table.

The lawyer looked startled. He scrambled for the paper and fixed his glasses, clearing his throat for the nth time. “Where was I… uh, right.” He straightened. “To Mr. Henry Caldwell, my trusted advisor and the newly appointed Chairman of the Board of Harrington Group, I leave a personal trust of five million dollars annually, as well as the legal guardianship of my grandchild, Ivy Alexandria, until such a time as she reaches the age of twenty-one and is deemed capable of managing her inheritance.”

There goes my name again. And there goes all of their heads and piercing looks. Among everyone in the table, only four of them didn’t give me any dirty looks.

Claudine stood up again, interrupting the attorney. “You mentioned that…” She turned to me, “…the girl gets an inheritance?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

Everyone seemed to lean in apart from Henry. Even I was curious. I mean, I ain’t expecting much anyway—if I was even expecting something. Maybe a couple grand and I would happily go back to Chicago. I wouldn’t be rich but hell, I’d survive.

The attorney flipped to the next page. He gulped. ““And now, we have come to the final provision of this will — the matter of my granddaughter, Ivy Alexandria Carter. Although you have not spent much time with this family, Ivy, know that I have always intended you to inherit more than a name.”

I looked away. Everyone in here seemed to be anxious about something. They all looked like they could bounce off the walls at any minute. Even Cassiopeia who didn’t seem like a nail-biter to me was near to cutting off half her nails with all the nervous biting.

“Accordingly, after the allocations already specified in my previous statements, the residue and remainder of my estate, which is calculated at approximately four hundred seventy-two billion dollars, shall vest solely in you. This inheritance includes all remaining assets: liquid and illiquid, controlling interests, accounts, and properties not otherwise specified.

By this provision, you inherit the greater part of my estate, along with the privileges and responsibilities it carries. And to the family gathered here, know that while the distributions differ, my intent has always been the same — that each of you find purpose beyond what wealth alone can provide.”

The attorney finished reading and closed the folder with Reginald Harrington’s will and testament in it. Everyone was silent. No one even dared move.

If earlier, there were loud objections from the family, now there was only silence. And it wasn’t even a good kind of silence. It was heavy, almost charged.

“You mean…” It was Henrietta who broke the silence. “…this girl, whoever she is… she’s getting it all?”

The attorney nodded. “Yes. And this is supposed to be effective immediately.”

More silence followed. The vein on Hugh’s neck looked like it was about to explode. Cassiopeia was just staring blankly at the table. Claudine snatched the paper from the attorney and started reading feverishly across pages.

When I looked directly in front, Blaire was already staring at me.

“Did you do this?” she asked.

My eyebrows immediately creased. “What?”

“The will. Admit it,” She stood up and circled the table, “when my grandfather was on his deathbed, you conned your way into his will.”

“What are you talking about?”

Henrietta’s head shot up. “Yes! Blaire could be right. I mean, we’ve never even met this girl. What if she’s a con artist? Is Ivy Alexandria even her real name?”

“Now, now!” The attorney tried breaking it up. “We have documents that prove her identity. She couldn’t have been a con artist—”

“But wasn’t she just arrested?” It was Percival who said that. “How are you all so sure she wasn’t conning you?!”

I stood up, pulling away from Blaire who looked ready to pounce. “Listen, alright?! I didn’t even want to be here. You were the ones who dragged me into this mess.”

Claudine stood up, too, and was about to come near me but one of the guards barred her.

“What are you doing?” she asked the men. “Get out of my way!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. But we’re here to protect the heir.”

“The heir?! HA!” Percival burst out of his chair, too, his finger pointed at me. “You’re calling this girl an heir?! She’s from an orphanage for fuck’s sake! I’m sure one of you messed up big time and switched the documents or something.”

Hugh shook his head at this, running his hands through his hair multiple times. “That’s it. I’m calling my attorney. I’m sure there’s some way we can change this.”

“There isn’t,” Henry said.

The room went silent again.

“What do you mean there isn’t?”

The attorney stood up. “Mr. Caldwell is correct. The firm was directed to run a thorough review of the will and it doesn’t have any loopholes.”

“But my poor father could be sick when he wrote this!”

“Or he could have been blackmailed.”

The attorney smiled at both Claudine and Cassiopeia’s attempts. “He made this himself a year ago in the entire firm’s presence. Before doing so, he was subjected to a full psychiatric and medical evaluation. I assure you, he did not have any sickness when he wrote this.”

“But—”

“If you have any objections to the document, feel free to contact your attorneys. I, myself, will assist them willingly if they do turn up at the firm.” And with that, he closed his briefcase and left.

I was ushered by the head of security, Thomas Hale, out of the room where his men still struggled to keep the rest of the family away from me. Blaire almost got ahold of my arm but Peter, her father, managed to drag her away.

We went through the same hallway again. I glanced at the portraits. My supposed ancestors stared back.

“Let’s go,” Henry said when he noticed that I was slowing down, staring at the last portrait.

I turned to him. “Where are we going now?”

“To your estate.”

The moment we walked out of the building, a crowd of reporters with their microphones and cameras boxed us in. There was so much flashing lights that I’m pretty sure my eyes were closed in every single one of their photos.

“Miss Carter! Miss Carter! Here! Look here!”

“Is it true that you’re Reginald Harrington’s grandchild?”

“The reading of the last will was today. What can you say about it, Miss Carter?”

“Miss Carter! Is it true that you got arrested?”

Hale immediately blocked the cameras facing toward me, his men pushing the paparazzi to the side, making way for us. Once we descended the stairs leading to the sidewalk below, I was steered into a black SUV. Henry sat beside me and ordered for the driver to drive away.

I was still in shock.

“Good,” Henry said and I turned to him.

“What was?”

“Your response to the media.”

I blinked, my lips pulling into a slight frown. “But I didn’t respond.”

“Exactly. That’s what you need to do when facing these people. Do not speak unless absolutely necessary.”

Now, my attention was pulled into what just happened. “How did they find out that fast?”

“About your arrest or about the will?”

“Both.”

“They’re the paparazzi, dear. They’ll slither their way into the tiniest crevices if it means they’ll get the story out first. Nothing ever truly stays a secret around here.”

I just nodded at Henry’s explanation, my eyes wandering down the street. I’ve had a lot of questions about why I was dragged here in the first place but now that I’ve got my answers, it feels like I’m forming a million more.

Who exactly was Reginald Harrington and why did he leave me everything he owned? He couldn’t even do that for his own family whom he’s known for years. And if he knew that he had a granddaughter out there that’s an orphan, why didn’t he come sooner? Was I that hard to find? It’s not like I changed my name or anything. Or was I just irrelevant? Some pawn he’s using to get back at his family that he probably hates?

My head was pounding with questions. I pressed a hand on my temple and Henry turned to me.

“I understand you have a lot of questions.”

I sighed, forcing my eyes shut. “I don’t even know where to start.”

ALEX’s POV

The drive to Manhattan felt quicker when you have a million questions running around inside your head. The car drove past a suburb and then headed straight for the hills. I frowned.

“The Harrington Estate is on a mountain?”

Henry turned to me. “A hill. But yes.”

“Why didn’t Reginald Harrington build one at the suburb. There are lots of space there.”

Henry just smiled, his eyes trailed on the wrought-iron gates that were approaching. “This house was built long before any of the other houses in Manhattan existed. If you’re going to ask a question, it should be ‘why they didn’t build one near the estate’?”

“So, why didn’t they build—”

“Because all of this is private property.”

“The hill?”

“Yes. The hill.”

I looked out the window. It shouldn’t even be called a hill. It’s massive. Though it wasn’t much of a slope, it totally towers over the suburb.

“Where does the private property start?” I tried to press my face against the glass to get a better look.

“Five minutes ago,” came Henry’s reply.

My eyes widened. Five minutes ago we were still at the bottom of the hill. “You mean Reginald Harrington owns an entire mountain?”

“Yes. And now, it’s yours.”

I felt bitter. I should be happy because now I’m filthy rich but… for some reason, I felt bitter. It’s like something is stuck in my throat, some thought is just beyond reach. It was unpleasant. I feel like vomiting.

The car entered the automated gates and we drove off through a forest lined with pine trees. This would’ve been marvelous any other day if it weren’t just for the fact that I’m way too distracted to take it all in.

After a few short moments, the long winding road finally gave us a glimpse of the house. If you can even call it a house.

The Harrington Mansion loomed ahead like something torn from a storybook, its pale stone walls lined with tall windows and elaborate carvings, its roof bristling with chimneys and turrets.

A wide drive curved into a roundabout at the front of the mansion, its center marked by a stone fountain crowned with a marble statue. It was the Archangel Michael, his wings spread wide, sword lifted toward the sky. Beyond it, broad stone steps led to double doors, the kind that seemed built to make visitors feel small.

We pulled up at the roundabout and I got out of the car. Looking up at how massive it was, if I hadn’t known any better, I’d think a European royalty lived here.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Henry said as he stood beside me at the foot of the stairs.

I looked around, taking in the vast grounds, the garden maze, and all the trees that lined the property neatly. “I think impressive is an understatement.”

He smiled. “Come. I’ll show you to your room.”

If the outside of the mansion was already intimidatingly beautiful, the inside was even more spectacular.

The doors opened into a vast marble foyer. A sweeping grand staircase curved upward on either side, leading to a mezzanine that overlooked the hall. The chandeliers of cut crystal hung overhead, scattering light across the walls paneled in pale cream and gilded gold.

Paintings of stern-faced Harrington ancestors also lined the gallery above. As we passed them, I couldn’t help but think that maybe Claudine and her sister was right. The dead billionaire might’ve really gone crazy.

Imagine leaving all of your fortune and legacy to some orphan. If what Henry said was right and this house was already here long before any of the other houses were, then their legacy must’ve spanned a few centuries. Hell, maybe even more.

So, why leave it to someone like me? Because I’m a long lost granddaughter? He can’t even be bothered to go to Chicago and pick me up. With his money and resources, if he did a quick google search, he will probably find me in the website of the orphanage.

So, why now? Was this just his way of cleaning out his conscience before he leaves the world forever? Because if it is, it’s fucked up.

“We’re here.” Henry’s voice cut through my thoughts.

I looked up. We were standing in front of the room at the farthest end of the hallway. It was a double door with gold trimmings and had the initial H in the middle. He opened it and the room inside looked like it belonged to a French chateau.

I walked in, my hair getting caught in the breeze from the opened balcony doors. “This is my room?” I asked.

Henry nodded. “But there are other rooms, of course. If you want the master’s bedroom, you can have it.”

“Reginald Harrington’s bedroom?”

“Your grandfather’s bedroom, yes.”

My jaw tightened for a bit at the mention of the word ‘grandfather’. Seems really foreign to me. I’ve never even known I had one. And then now, all of a sudden, I have it all.

“Do you want to settle in first? Or should I have the chef start serving dinner?”

I scoffed. “Of course there’s a chef.”

“Yes. He’s been instructed to cook every meal you desire to eat.”

I rolled my eyes and sat down on the bed. It was soft. Too soft in fact that I’m scared if I lie down long enough it might consume me. “So, what now?” I turned to him.

He raised both eyebrows. “I’m sorry, come again?”

“I said, what now? What do I do now?”

Henry smiled at this. “You can do whatever your heart desires, Young Lady. Everything is at your disposal.”

“Even you?”

That question seemed to catch him off guard. “Er, not exactly. But I am here to serve you. I will be the chairman of the board until you are ready to assume the role. I will also be your guardian until you are of age. So, for now, you will need me.”

I stared at him for longer, my eyes not even focused on him. I was just thinking about what he said. “You mean, he’s dumping all of his responsibilities on me?”

He blinked, his smile wavering. “Unfortunately—”

“Did any of you even think that maybe I just want to live in a way that I wouldn’t have to think about starving the next day?”

“Well—”

“Look, I’m like any other starving orphan, alright? I’m just happy to get money, or even eat something delicious. I don’t wish to become the chairman of some company or become a slave to someone else.”

“You’re not a slave. You’re going to be the boss.”

“Really?” I stood up, facing him. “You really think that? A poor orphan with little to no education would be a boss? My chances here are slim, Henry. At best, I’d be a puppet to those rich bastards running the company.”

Henry sighed, his eyes trailing elsewhere. “You may be right. But I assure you, that will never happen.”

“Yeah, right. Every single one of his family hates me—”

“Your family.”

“—and even though I hate them back, it still stings.” I gritted my teeth. “All my life, I thought I had no one. And now that I do know that I actually had family elsewhere, somehow, it hurts even more. It would’ve been better if they were dirt poor and didn’t have any means of looking for the four year old kid that was orphaned when her mother shot herself dead.”

Henry didn’t look at me. He swallowed, his eyes distant.

I sat back on the bed, the corner of my eyes stinging. “I am not a chess piece, alright? If the dead bastard wanted me here to teach his ungrateful family a lesson, sorry, but I don’t want to be a part of it.”

“You can have everything you want.”

“Well, this isn’t what I want.”

Henry finally met my gaze. I sniffled, trying to blink away the tears that were forming.

He gave me a sad smile. “I promise you, from now on, no one will look down on you ever again. You will receive my assistance in every step. We will start with giving you the best education there is.”

I rolled my eyes again. “Let me guess, you’re throwing me away into a boarding school full of rich snobs?”

“Exactly.”

A laugh escaped me. Henry chuckled, too.

“Don’t worry, Young Lady. Before I became an attorney and financial advisor to the late Mr. Reginald Harrington, I was just like you.”

“Orphaned?”

“No, not exactly. I had family but let’s just say they were incapable of giving me a decent life.”

“At least you had one.”

“Having one isn’t always the best.” He looked out at the balcony again, his eyes wandering like he’s remembering bad times. “And I think you got lucky, too, Miss Carter.”

I scoffed, kicking my shoes off so I could lay on the bed. “Lucky isn’t a word that anyone could use to describe what I’ve been through.”

“Maybe. But I think you’re lucky you didn’t grow up with this family.”

“Were they that f*cked up?”

Henry looked around, making sure no one else was with us to hear him say, “They are.”

My head perked up. “Yeah? How f*cked up?”

Henry gave me another one of his knowing smiles. “You’ll find out soon enough. At least now, though, you’ll have a fighting chance.”

My eyebrows knitted together at what he said. I mean, from what I saw earlier at the office, with the way they reacted and all that, I know they were f*cked up. But how f*cked up exactly are we talking about?

Henry straightened from where he was standing and put on a professional expression. “I’ll leave you alone now to gather your thoughts. Oh, and by the way, next week you will be leaving for the school.”

“What school?”

“Montfort Academy for the Elites. Don’t worry though, I will make sure you are well taken care off while in there. Also, you will have a chance every once a month to come home. I will be there personally to see you off.”

My face soured and I pushed myself up. “You’re seriously chucking me into a boarding school with snobs?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t I like… just go to a normal school?”

“A normal school will not suit you, dear. Besides, if you are anything at all like your mother, you will be brilliant. Nothing to worry about in terms of academics.”

“Academics maybe but—”

“No buts. I will be heading off now. I still have a lot left to arrange for you.”