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.

Byron snapped out of his shock. He jumped back a full foot, trying to put physical distance between himself and the tiny girl pointing at him.

He waved both hands frantically in the air. "No way! Old man, don't listen to her! I can't even keep a cactus alive!"

Byron's chest heaved with panic. "I go to sleep at three in the morning! My apartment is full of empty bottles! She will starve to death if she lives with me!"

Alton saw his opening. He sneered, his chest puffing out again. "At least you know you are useless. Father, this is a circus."

Alton marched toward Cordelia. He dropped his fake smile and reached out with a large, aggressive hand, aiming to grab her wrist.

"You are coming with me. I will hire the strictest etiquette tutors to beat some sense into you," Alton snapped.

Before Alton's fingers could graze her skin, Cordelia moved.

She darted forward like a frightened rabbit. She threw herself at Byron. Her small arms wrapped tightly around Byron's thigh, her fingers gripping the expensive fabric of his tailored trousers. She pressed her entire body against his leg.

Byron froze. His muscles locked up. He looked down at the mop of yellow hair attached to his leg. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, terrified to touch her, terrified to push her away.

Cordelia buried her face deep into the fabric of his trousers, completely hiding her dry eyes. Her shoulders began to shake violently.

"I won't go!" Cordelia screamed. Her voice cracked, tearing through the room with raw, agonizing terror. "I don't want to go with him! He will kill me! Uncle Byron, save me!"

She did not shed a single tear, but with her face completely concealed, the sheer panic vibrating in her vocal cords stabbed into the eardrums of everyone in the room.

Alton's hand hovered in the empty air. His face flushed a dark, ugly purple. He felt the eyes of the servants burning into his back. His dignity was being shredded.

Glenwood watched the girl tremble. His disgust for his eldest son reached a boiling point. The old man slammed his cane into the floor again.

"Enough, Alton!" Glenwood barked. "You have disgraced yourself enough for one day."

Alton ground his teeth together. The muscles in his jaw popped. Desperate to save face, he forced his mouth into a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Cordelia," Alton said, his voice dripping with fake warmth. "I am your biological father. Blood is thicker than water. I was just upset. Come home, and Daddy will buy you new dresses."

Cordelia peeked out from behind Byron's leg. Her eyes were dry and lethal.

"You don't even know my favorite color," Cordelia said, her voice trembling perfectly. "You just want to turn me into a mute puppet so your fake daughter can have everything!"

The words acted like a scalpel, slicing Alton's fake mask right off his face.

Alton's eyes bulged. He lost his mind. "You ungrateful brat!" he spat.

Byron looked down at the tiny girl clinging to his leg. He felt the heat of her small body against his skin. He felt the violent tremors shaking her frame.

A strange, heavy sensation expanded in Byron's chest. The protective instinct he had buried under years of alcohol and parties suddenly clawed its way to the surface.

Byron slowly lifted his head. The lazy, playboy smirk vanished from his face. His blue eyes turned into shards of ice as he glared at his older brother.

"Did you hear her, Alton?" Byron's voice was dangerously low. "She would rather live with a degenerate loser than spend another second with you."

Byron reached down. He hooked his large hand under Cordelia's arm and lifted her off the floor in one smooth motion. He tucked her against his side, his arm wrapping securely around her waist. The hold was awkward, but fiercely possessive.

"I'm taking the kid," Byron announced. He lifted his chin, challenging anyone to stop him.

Alton shook with rage. He pointed a finger at Byron's face. "You will regret this! If you take that burden, I will make sure you never see another dime from the trust fund!"

Byron let out a harsh laugh. He raised his free hand and flipped his brother the middle finger.

"Keep your money," Byron sneered. "I keep the kid."

Glenwood watched the two brothers. A faint, calculating gleam flickered in the old man's eyes. He struck his cane on the floor one last time, sealing the deal.