Three days after my father’s death, I was home, planning his funeral. A woman and a group of bodyguards stormed in.

She shoved me, hard. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she screamed. "Get out of my house! Now!"

I froze, stunned. A new housekeeper? Maybe my brother Liam hired her.

I kept my voice calm. "This house is mine. Liam knows that. If you have a problem, take it up with him."

Her face twisted into a mask of rage. Then she slapped me.

"Yours?" She scoffed, looking me up and down with disgust. "This is my boyfriend Liam's house. And you look like you don't belong here. I don't know if you're the new maid or the cook, but I don't care. Get the hell out. Now."

My blood ran cold. I pulled out my phone and texted my assistant.

[Tell Liam to get home and handle his girlfriend. Now. Or he won't see a dime of the family money.]

Three days after my father’s death, I was home, planning his funeral. A woman and a group of bodyguards stormed in.

She shoved me, hard. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she screamed. "Get out of my house! Now!"

I froze, stunned. A new housekeeper? Maybe my brother Liam hired her.

I kept my voice calm. "This house is mine. Liam knows that. If you have a problem, take it up with him."

Her face twisted into a mask of rage. Then she slapped me.

"Yours?" She scoffed, looking me up and down with disgust. "This is my boyfriend Liam's house. And you look like you don't belong here. I don't know if you're the new maid or the cook, but I don't care. Get the hell out. Now."

My blood ran cold. I pulled out my phone and texted my assistant.

[Tell Liam to get home and handle his girlfriend. Now. Or he won't see a dime of the family money.]

...

"One hour!" she shrieked, pointing at me. "Pack your shit and get out! Stop squatting in my mansion!"

Her mansion? The whole thing was absurd.

"This house is in my name," I said, my voice pure ice. "Please leave. Immediately."

"In your name?" Amber snorted. "Hah! You've got some nerve!"

She spun around and ran out the front door, onto the manicured lawn.

"Everyone, get a load of this!" she shrieked, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. "We've got a squatter pretending she owns the place!"

A lady stopped walking her dog.

A man looked up from his roses.

A few kids on bikes circled closer, curious.

"Look at this trash!" Amber shrieked, jabbing a finger in my direction. "She trespassed in my house, and now she refuses to leave!"

Every eye in the neighborhood was on me.

I watched, speechless. This woman was putting on a show for the entire neighborhood. Murmurs and whispers rippled through the onlookers. I didn't have time for this circus.

I pulled out my phone to call my brother, Liam Sterling. I tried a dozen times. No answer.

Dad had just died. I didn't want a huge scene.

I put my phone away and looked at the woman preening on my lawn. "I’m Liam’s sister, Stella Sterling." I tried to be patient. "I’ve been away on business trip, so it makes sense you haven't met me. Don't make this a bigger deal than it is. I just want my father to rest in peace."

My name should have shut her up.

But she moved in close, like a shark that smells blood.

"You think I don't know?" she hissed, her eyes narrowed. "My boyfriend, Liam, is the sole heir. He doesn’t have a sister!"

She lunged forward, grabbing my arm so hard her nails dug into my skin. "I know exactly who you are," she hissed, her voice a venomous whisper right by my ear. "You're the little slut from Liam's social media."

"You hovered around him while his father was dying, crying those fake tears."

"It was all a pathetic performance, wasn't it? Trying to play the victim so he'd feel sorry for you. So he'd make you his little kept woman and you could get a piece of the Sterling fortune."

I winced and yanked my head back.

I stared at her caked-on makeup. Then it hit me. This was Liam’s mysterious girlfriend. The one he’d always refused to let me meet.

It seemed he knew he had terrible taste.

She was here for me, and I needed to get rid of her. Fast.

"My ID is in my car. I'll go get it—"

I turned toward my Mercedes in the driveway. Before I took two steps, two burly men grabbed my arms from behind.

"Not so fast, pretty girl," one of them sneered, his face covered in tattoos. "The lady isn't finished with you."

The neighbors just watched the show. More phones came out to record.

"Let go of me!" I struggled. "This is private property! You're trespassing!"

"Shut up! What trick are you trying to pull, bitch? Trying to run?" Amber followed us back inside, slamming the front door behind her.

Her eyes scanned the grand foyer I had designed myself, glowing with greed. The marble floors. The crystal chandelier. The custom Italian furniture.

"Nice place," she licked her lips. "No wonder you don't want to leave."

Her gaze finally landed on the shimmering crystal piano in the middle of the room.

My heart seized.

That was my piano. The one I’d played my whole life.

A gift from my father on my sixth birthday.

Custom-made by a master German craftsman. The only one in the world.

My name was engraved on it.

"Wow, a crystal piano?" She sauntered over and dragged a blood-red fingernail across the keys.

It made a jarring, ugly sound.

"Pretentious bitch," she sneered. "Got all the nice toys, don't you?"

She scanned the room. Her eyes locked onto a heavy brass sculpture by the fireplace.

A flash of insane malice glinted in her eyes. She snatched the sculpture, hoisting it high above her head.

"I bet this was expensive," she taunted.

"No—!" The word tore from my throat, shaking with terror.

CRASH!

She brought the heavy brass sculpture down with all her strength. Right onto the delicate crystal lid of the piano.

A sickening crunch echoed through the room.

A gaping hole shattered the piano's perfect, transparent surface.

Countless shards of crystal exploded outwards, along with splintered keys.

Each fragment caught the light, a blinding glare. Just like my heart, shattered into a million pieces.

"Oops," Amber said, her face a mask of fake shock. Then, the mask dropped, replaced by a triumphant, cruel smile. "My bad," she cooed.

She closed the distance between us and yanked my head back by the hair. Her sharp nails dug into my scalp.

Pain exploded behind my eyes, and my vision swam with black spots.

"Now," she sneered, "time to put you back to where you belong."

The two men dragged me toward the basement. My knee slammed against a stair, a dull, throbbing pain shooting up my leg.

They shoved me into the cold, dark wine cellar.

The heavy door boomed shut. It sealed me away from my world.

Amber stalked toward me, holding a bottle of red wine like a weapon.

I recognized it. Dad’s prized 1947 Romanee-Conti. A fifty-thousand-dollar bottle.

"Wow, a real treasure trove in here," she said, her eyes gleaming as she scanned the walls of vintage wine. "The old man really knew how to live."

"Those were my father's," I said, struggling to my feet. "Don't touch them."

"Your father?" Amber’s laugh was a screech. "Stop pretending, you whore!"

She raised a wine bottle high, her eyes locking onto the hand I had planted on the floor for support. She aimed for my fingers.

"These are the hands you play the piano with, right?" she sneered. "The same hands you use to play the whore and seduce men."

"No..."

CRASH!

The bottle slipped from her grasp, shattering on the floor right next to my hand.

Dark red wine splashed everywhere. Shards of glass flew like tiny daggers.

A razor-sharp piece sliced across the back of my hand. A deep gash instantly split the skin open. Blood welled up, dark and thick.

"Ah!" I gasped, yanking my hand back on pure instinct. The searing pain made my vision tunnel to black.

"Look at that color. So pretty," Amber cooed, crouching down to dip a finger in the puddle. "Just as red as the blood you’re spilling."

She stood up and waved at her goons.

"You two, have some fun. Smash it all."

"No!" I lunged for the wine racks. "Those are priceless!"

The tattooed man shoved me back. I hit the wall, hard.

They went on a rampage. A 1982 Lafite. A 1990 Dom Pérignon. The bottle of Screaming Eagle Dad had bought to celebrate my award.

Every crash was a knife in my heart.

The wine pooled on the floor, a dark red sea mixing with the smell of my own blood.

"Stop!" I scrambled to get up. "I'm telling you, Liam is my brother! Call him right now if you don't believe me!"

Amber walked over and stomped on my hand. Her sharp heel dug into my skin.

"Still talking tough?" she sneered, looming over me. "I know your type."

I curled into a ball, blood seeping from the wound on my hand.

"Thinking Liam's going to ride in and save you?" She knelt, patting my cheek. "Not a chance, little bitch."

Her fake nails left red marks on my face.

"I'll give you two choices," she said, her voice turning cold. "Either you give me eight hundred thousand dollars right now as a 'breakup fee,' and you disappear from Liam's life forever."

"Or..." She pulled out her phone. The flash blinded me again and again as she snapped pictures. "I post these online. Then I call the cops and tell them the sugar baby attacked me."

"You've been a sugar baby long enough to get a house out of it," she sneered. "Eight hundred thousand dollars should be pocket change for you."

I gritted my teeth against the pain.

Blood dripped from the gash, pooling on the floor and mixing with the spilled red wine.

I had to give in, just for now, to stop this from getting worse.

My hand shaking, I pulled out my phone.

I called my best friend, Chloe.

"Chloe..." My voice was hoarse. "I need a million dollars. Cash. At my house. As fast as you can."

"Stella? What's going on? You sound—"

"Please, just trust me," I cut her off. "Just come. Don't ask why."

I hung up.

Amber's eyes lit up. A starving wolf staring at a steak.

"A million?" She licked her lips, surprised I'd offered more than she asked. She figured I was scared and trying to buy my way out for good.

She smiled, patting my cheek again. "Now you're being smart."

Twenty minutes later, the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway broke the silence.

Chloe was fast.

She's one of the top lawyers in the country, and my only true friend.

The cellar door creaked open. Amber swaggered out, a greedy smirk on her face.

"Money's here?"

I followed close behind, my good hand clutching my injured wrist to keep it steady.

Blood seeped from between my fingers.

Each beat of my heart sent a wave of searing pain through the wound.

The front door opened and Chloe strode in. She was wearing a black Armani suit, flanked by two professional bodyguards.

Her eyes scanned the wine stains on my clothes, the blood on my lip. Her entire face turned to ice.

"Stella?" Her voice was low and dangerous. "Who did this?"

I gave her a slight shake of my head, a silent warning not to react yet.

"Do you have the money?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.

Chloe took a deep breath and pulled a tablet from her briefcase. "Will a wire transfer work?"

"Yes, of course!" Amber practically salivated, rushing over.

A few minutes later, the transfer was done. Amber stared at the confirmation on her phone, her eyes wide as dinner plates.

A million dollars. She'd never seen that much money in her life.

"Hahaha, yes!" She spun in a circle, clutching her phone. "I'm rich!"

She waved at her thugs. "Let's go! Time to celebrate!"

The three of them swaggered out, leaving a trail of destruction behind them.

The front door slammed. The house was finally quiet.

Chloe rushed to my side, inspecting my injuries.

"God, your hand..." Her voice was laced with fury. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

"No," I said, sinking onto the sofa. "Call a private doctor. Here. I want a full medical report."

Chloe understood immediately.

"Evidence," she nodded. "I'm on it."

She pulled out her phone. "Dr. Martinez? It's Chloe. I need you at Stella Sterling's home, immediately..."

She then gestured to her bodyguards. "Get all the security footage. Interior and exterior."

I closed my eyes, focusing on the dull, throbbing ache in my injured hand.

Every pulse was a reminder of the humiliation. But what I felt more than pain was rage.

Half an hour later, the doctor had cleaned and dressed my wounds and left.

I picked up my phone and called my family's lawyer.

"Mr. Richardson, it's Stella," I said. My voice was cold and flat. Devoid of all emotion. "I want to sue a woman named Amber Lynn."

"The charges are: breaking and entering, assault, extortion, and malicious destruction of property."

His voice was grim on the other end. "I'll need all the evidence."

"The medical report, security footage, bank transfer records, and a list of damages," I said, enunciating every word. "I want her to rot in prison."

After dealing with the legal matters, my assistant finally located Liam.

[Skybar, 1755 Sunset Blvd. Top floor VIP room.]

A cold smile touched my lips.

One of the most expensive members-only clubs in LA. My useless "brother" was still living it up.

"Chloe, come with me."

"You need to rest," she protested.

"No. It's time I paid my dear brother a visit."

We could hear the music and laughter before we even got to the door. Through the massive glass windows, I saw him. Liam had his arm around Amber, surrounded by his pack of worthless friends.

"...that woman was unbelievable!" Amber was sobbing, tears streaming down her face. "I just wanted to pay my respects to your father, and this random woman just attacked me!"

"She said the house was hers!" she cried. "And she had these scary bodyguards threaten me!"

Liam pulled her closer. "Baby, don't worry. I don't know who that woman was, but nobody messes with me on my own turf. She's dead."

"I'm the sole heir to the Sterling fortune," he announced, raising a glass of champagne to his friends. "When I find that bitch, I'll make her get on her knees and apologize to Amber!"

His friends cheered, raising their glasses.

"Yeah! Make her kneel!"

"Liam, you're a billionaire now!"

"You could crush someone like that with one finger!"

I listened from the doorway, a bitter laugh caught in my throat.

The sole heir?

My poor, clueless adopted brother.

You still have no idea you're not a Sterling by blood.

Whether you inherit anything—and how much—is entirely my decision to make.

I smoothed my clothes and pushed the door open.

My voice cut through the noise, cold and sharp.

"I'm right here, Liam. Who did you want to put on their knees?"