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.

The echo of Glenwood's roar faded into the high ceilings. The silence in the living room was so thick it felt hard to breathe.

Glenwood pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked at his red-faced eldest son. Then he looked at his youngest son.

Finally, Glenwood's eyes bypassed them both. His gaze locked onto Cordelia, who was peering out from behind Byron's leg.

Glenwood's sharp eyes swept from Alton's barely concealed fury to Cordelia's feigned trembling. He saw not a family dispute, but a failure of his heir. A flicker of cold calculation crossed his face before he spoke.

"Cordelia," Glenwood said. His voice was calm now, but it carried the absolute weight of a dictator. "You said you wanted a new guardian."

Cordelia stepped out from behind Byron's shadow. She did not shrink under the old man's intense stare. She nodded her head once, a sharp, decisive movement.

Alton opened his mouth to scream an objection. Glenwood shot him a look so cold that the words died in Alton's throat.

Glenwood took a deep breath. "Fine. I agree. Consider it compensation for the years you spent in the dirt. I will grant you this privilege."

Antoinette covered her mouth. Her eyes gleamed with a frantic, desperate joy. She was finally free of the mistake.

Alton's face turned the color of wet cement. His stomach churned. This was not just losing custody. This was his father publicly stripping him of his dignity in front of the staff.

"But," Glenwood continued, his voice hardening. "Fitzpatrick blood does not live with outsiders. Your new guardian must be someone within this family."

The old man leaned on his cane. His eyes swept across the room. "Now. Tell your grandfather. Who do you choose?"

The air stopped moving. No one blinked. Every muscle in the room was tense, waiting for the filthy girl to make a decision that would alter the power dynamics of the house.

Alton crossed his arms over his chest. He let out a dark sneer. He did not believe for a second that anyone in this family would dare take the girl and risk his wrath.

Cordelia lowered her head. Her long eyelashes cast shadows over her cheeks, hiding the sharp, calculating gleam in her eyes.

She slowly raised her uninjured right hand. She extended her index finger.

Her finger moved through the air like the needle of a compass. It swept past Antoinette, who was holding her breath. It swept past Alton, whose sneer was frozen on his face.

The small finger stopped. It pointed directly at the broad, wrinkled back of the man standing right in front of her.

"I want him," Cordelia said. Her voice rang out, clear as a bell.

Every head in the room snapped toward the target of her finger. They stared at the man who smelled like a brewery.

Byron's jaw stopped moving. He choked on his own breath. He coughed violently, pounding his chest. He spun around and stared at Cordelia, then pointed a shaking finger at his own chest.

"Me? Are you kidding me?" Byron gasped, his blue eyes wide with absolute horror.

Alton stared for a second, and then he threw his head back and laughed. It was a harsh, barking sound.

"Him?" Alton mocked, pointing at Byron. "You choose a degenerate who can't even wake up before noon? A loser who lives in clubs?"

Antoinette frowned, stepping forward with fake concern. "Cordelia, do not be ridiculous. Your uncle doesn't even have a steady girlfriend. He cannot raise a child."

Even Glenwood looked taken aback. His thick eyebrows knitted together. He had assumed the girl would choose him, the patriarch, for ultimate protection.

"Cordelia," Glenwood warned, his tone heavy. "Are you certain? Byron is not equipped to be a father."

Cordelia ignored her parents. She ignored her grandfather. She tilted her head up and stared directly into Byron's panicked eyes.

"I am sure," Cordelia said. Her voice did not waver. "Because just now, he was the only one who stood in front of me."

The words hit Byron's chest like a physical blow. His heart gave a strange, violent thump against his ribs. The alcohol in his blood seemed to freeze.

Alton's laughter cut off instantly. His face contorted. The simple, brutal logic of his daughter's reason dragged his pride out into the open and slaughtered it.