The clicking of the high heels stopped abruptly.

Antoinette Webb stood at the top of the stairs. She gripped the fabric of her silk robe, her knuckles white. Her face was twisted in absolute fury.

A second later, Alton Fitzpatrick stepped out of his home office. He was adjusting his expensive silk tie. His eyebrows were pulled together in a deep scowl as he looked down at the chaos in the living room.

Antoinette did not even glance at Cordelia. She rushed down the stairs, her robe flying behind her. She threw herself onto the floor and pulled the sobbing Hallie into her chest.

"Oh, my sweet girl," Antoinette cooed. She pulled a lace handkerchief from her pocket and frantically dabbed at Hallie's dry cheeks.

Alton walked down the stairs. His leather shoes crunched over the shattered ceramic pieces. The sound was like bones grinding together. He looked down at the mess, his upper lip curling in disgust.

Finally, Alton's eyes landed on Cordelia.

He took in her dirty T-shirt, her messy hair, and the dust on her shoes. His stomach physically recoiled. The disgust in his eyes was raw and unfiltered. He did not ask if she was hurt. He did not look at the blood dripping from her sleeve.

Alton turned his glare on Leland. "I pay you to manage my affairs, Leland. Not to drag trash into my main house."

Leland bowed his head, his shoulders shrinking. "Sir, I apologize. But Miss Hallie threw the-"

"Shut up!" Antoinette shrieked from the floor. She glared at Cordelia. "You just walked through the door and you are already bullying your sister! You have absolutely no manners!"

Hallie buried her face in Antoinette's neck. Over her mother's shoulder, Hallie shot Cordelia a vicious, triumphant smile.

Cordelia stood perfectly still. Her breathing was slow and even. She did not rush forward to explain. She did not drop to her knees and beg for forgiveness like she had in her past life.

She slowly raised her uninjured left hand. She casually wiped the blood off her right hand before it could drip onto the expensive rug. The gesture was careless, almost bored.

Alton saw the movement. His blood pressure spiked. The veins in his neck bulged against his collar. To him, her silence was an act of extreme defiance.

Alton marched across the room. He stopped inches from Cordelia, towering over her. He pointed a thick finger right between her eyes.

"Listen to me," Alton hissed, his breath hot against her face. "This is the Fitzpatrick estate. I will not tolerate your trailer park rules in my home."

Cordelia slowly tilted her head up. Her blue eyes-the exact same shade as Alton's-locked onto his. There was no fear in her gaze. Only a freezing, bottomless void.

She opened her mouth. Her voice was high and childish, but her articulation was razor-sharp.

"Are the rules of the trailer park to throw heavy cups at people's heads?" Cordelia asked.

The logic was flawless. The question sliced straight through Hallie's lie.

The living room plunged into a suffocating silence.

Alton's jaw dropped. For a split second, he was stunned by the girl's razor-sharp articulation. Then, the humiliation of being outsmarted by a seven-year-old child turned his face a dark, angry red. His chest tightened.

Antoinette's voice shattered the silence. "How dare you talk back to your father! Apologize to Hallie right now!"

Cordelia let out a short, breathy laugh. It was a cold sound. She looked at the two adults standing in front of her. She looked at them the way a person looks at a corpse.

In her chest, a heavy chain snapped. She mentally deleted them. The biological connection was dead.

Hallie realized her parents were losing control. She kicked her legs against the rug and screamed louder. "Make her leave! Send her back to the orphanage! I hate her!"

Antoinette's eyes watered. She looked up at Alton, her hands clutching Hallie. "Alton, please. Get this jinx out of here."

Alton yanked at his tie, loosening it. He opened his mouth to order Leland to drag the girl out.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

A heavy, rhythmic pounding echoed from the dark hallway leading to the east wing. The sound hit the floorboards like a hammer.

The air in the room instantly froze.

Glenwood Fitzpatrick stepped out of the shadows. The patriarch of the family leaned heavily on a black ebony cane. His face was a map of deep wrinkles, set in a permanent scowl.

Alton and Antoinette instantly dropped their shoulders. They lowered their heads.

"Father," Alton said, his voice suddenly weak.

Hallie stopped screaming. She sucked in a breath and shrank behind Antoinette's back, her fingers trembling.

Glenwood ignored them. His sharp, predatory eyes swept over the broken cup, the spilled coffee, and finally landed on the tiny, skinny girl standing in the middle of the room.

Cordelia did not look away. She held the old man's gaze.

She placed her left foot slightly behind her right. She pinched the sides of her oversized, dirty T-shirt. She bent her knees and lowered her body into a flawless, textbook-perfect curtsy.

Glenwood stared at the girl. His cloudy eyes widened a fraction. The muscles around his mouth twitched in surprise.

He leaned his weight onto his cane and slowly walked forward. The rubber tip of his cane crunched over a piece of broken porcelain. He stopped exactly one step away from Cordelia.

Glenwood looked down. His eyes locked onto the dried blood smeared across the back of her small hand. His thick white eyebrows slammed together.

"What happened here?" Glenwood's voice was a low rumble that vibrated in the floorboards.

Alton jumped forward, his hands waving in panic. "Father, she is clumsy. She knocked over the coffee and broke the cup, and then she had the nerve to talk back to-"

BANG.

Glenwood slammed his ebony cane against the marble floor. The noise cracked like a gunshot.

"Shut your mouth, Alton," Glenwood barked.

Alton's jaw snapped shut. He swallowed hard, stepping back.

Glenwood turned his attention back to Cordelia. The harsh lines on his face softened just a millimeter. "What is your name, child? And who taught you to curtsy like that?"

Cordelia did not look at her parents. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the old man.

"My name is Cordelia," she said. Her voice was steady, completely devoid of the tremor a normal child would have.

She paused, letting the silence stretch for one second. "It means 'daughter of the sea' in Latin. The woman who picked trash out of the dumpsters to feed me gave me that name."

A sharp, wet gasp ripped from Antoinette's throat. She slapped a hand over her mouth. Her face turned the color of ash. The shame of hearing the word "trash" associated with her biological daughter felt like a physical slap to her face.

Glenwood's eyes darkened. A complex mix of guilt and intense curiosity swirled in his gaze.

"Do you not know that Antoinette is your real mother?" Glenwood asked softly.

Cordelia slowly turned her head. She looked at Antoinette. Her blue eyes were completely hollow. There was no longing. No sadness. Just ice.

"She is not my mother," Cordelia said. The words dropped from her lips like heavy stones. "She only cares about the sister who throws cups at people."

Antoinette staggered backward. Her knees buckled slightly, and she had to grab the wooden banister of the staircase to keep from falling. Her chest heaved as she struggled to pull air into her lungs.

Hallie saw her mother falter. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced out a loud wail. "She's a liar! Grandpa, she's lying!"

Glenwood slowly turned his head. He shot Hallie a single, lethal glare.

Hallie's mouth snapped shut. She choked on her own saliva, swallowing her fake sobs instantly.

The living room fell into a deathly silence. Everyone waited for the patriarch to pass judgment on the disrespectful girl.

But Cordelia was not finished.

She took a half-step forward. She deliberately closed the physical distance between herself and the old man, entering his personal space. She tilted her head up.

"Grandpa," Cordelia said, using the title with surgical precision. "I know the law says I have to return to this house."

She kept her voice low, but the acoustics of the room carried every syllable. "But the law does not say I have to be their punching bag."

Alton's face turned purple. The blood rushed to his head so fast his ears rang. He pointed a shaking finger at Cordelia. "You ungrateful little animal! I will teach you-"

Glenwood lifted his cane horizontally, blocking Alton's path. He did not look at his son. He kept his eyes on Cordelia. "Go on."

Cordelia took a deep breath. She let the air fill her lungs, preparing to drop the bomb she had calculated since the moment she woke up in this timeline.

"The law says I have to live here, but can I choose who takes care of me?" she stated.

The bold question hung in the air.

Leland choked on his own breath. He stared at the seven-year-old girl as if she had grown a second head.

Antoinette pressed both hands over her mouth. Her eyes widened, but a sick thrill of joy shot through her stomach. She thought she was finally going to be free of this embarrassment.

Alton felt his stomach drop. The humiliation burned his throat like stomach acid. His own flesh and blood was firing him in front of the head of the family. It was a direct attack on his authority as the heir.

Glenwood's grip on his cane tightened until his knuckles turned white. The shock in his eyes melted into a fierce, burning admiration.

The old man narrowed his eyes. "Do you even know what you are asking for? Who do you want to be your new guardian?"

Cordelia did not answer immediately. She slowly turned her head and dragged her gaze over to Alton. She looked at him from head to toe, her eyes filled with quiet, clinical judgment.

Alton felt the heat explode in his chest. His sanity snapped. He felt like this filthy child was laughing at him.

Alton shoved Antoinette out of the way. His heavy body lunged forward like a rabid dog breaking off its leash.

"Who do you think you are? !" Alton roared. Spit flew from his lips. "You do not make demands in my house!"

"Stop!" Glenwood shouted.

But the old man's body was too slow. His cane hit the floor a second too late.

Leland twitched, wanting to intervene, but Alton shot him a look so murderous that Leland's feet glued themselves to the marble floor.

Cordelia stood perfectly still. Her feet were planted firmly on the rug. She did not blink. Her brain rapidly calculated the distance between Alton's hand and her face. She prepared to shift her weight to minimize the impact.

Alton closed the gap. He raised his right hand high into the air. The force of his swing tore through the air, aiming straight for Cordelia's small, pale cheek.

Antoinette let out a short shriek and squeezed her eyes shut. Hallie's eyes widened with sick excitement.

The palm was two inches from Cordelia's skin.

CRASH.

The heavy oak front doors of the estate were thrown open with a deafening bang, slamming against the interior walls.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stormed into the foyer, bringing a gust of humid summer air and the sharp stench of alcohol.

The man moved with terrifying speed. He crossed the marble floor in three long strides. A large hand, wrapped around the wrist by a million-dollar Richard Mille watch, shot out like a steel trap.

The hand clamped down hard on Alton's wrist in mid-air.

The sheer kinetic force stopped Alton's swing dead. The sudden halt jerked Alton's shoulder forward, nearly pulling his arm out of its socket.

The wind from Alton's stopped hand blew Cordelia's bangs across her forehead. She slowly turned her head to look at her savior.

The man was wearing a wrinkled Armani dress shirt. His silk tie hung loosely around his neck. His blond hair was a messy, unstyled disaster.

It was Byron Fitzpatrick. The notorious black sheep of the family. The youngest son who spent his life in clubs. And the only person in Cordelia's past life who had ever shown her an ounce of mercy.

Byron let out a loud hiccup. He squinted his playboy eyes, but the look he gave his older brother was absolute ice.

Byron twisted his grip and shoved Alton's arm backward. Alton stumbled on the marble, his arms flailing as he barely caught his balance against the coffee table.

Byron let out a dry, mocking laugh. His voice was lazy, dripping with sarcasm. "Wow. The great heir to the Fitzpatrick empire. Starting your morning by beating a seven-year-old girl?"

Alton regained his footing. He recognized his brother, and his face twisted with pure hatred. "Back off, Byron! You worthless piece of trash. This is family business!"

Byron shrugged his broad shoulders. He stepped casually in front of Cordelia. His tall, muscular frame acted like a solid brick wall, completely hiding her from Alton's view.

"Family business?" Byron dug his finger into his ear, pretending to clean it. "All I see is a pathetic coward picking on a kid."

Alton's chest he heave. The veins in his forehead throbbed. "You do nothing but drain your trust fund! You are a disgrace!"

Byron did not flinch. He reached into his slacks, pulled out a peppermint, and popped it into his mouth. He crunched down on the hard candy. The loud cracking sound echoed in the room, a blatant display of disrespect.

Behind Byron's back, Cordelia stared at the wrinkled fabric of his shirt. She smelled the heavy mix of expensive cologne and cheap whiskey. Suddenly, her throat tightened. Her eyes burned.

In her past life, when she was thrown out onto the streets, it was this exact man who had secretly shoved a credit card into her pocket.

Glenwood watched his two sons. His patience evaporated. He lifted his cane and smashed it against a marble pillar.

The deafening crack silenced the room instantly.

"Shut your mouths!" Glenwood roared, his chest heaving with exertion. "Have you not embarrassed this family enough?"

The living room fell dead silent. Every pair of eyes snapped back to the old man, waiting for the final verdict.