Chapter 3

The man at the front of the group removed his sunglasses. His eyes, a startling shade of gray, were fixed on Kelsey, and for a moment, they seemed to glisten.

Ilda Hill, scrambling to her feet, recognized him instantly. Her voice was a choked whisper. "Wyatt... Wyatt Montgomery."

The name hung in the air, heavy with the weight of old New York money and untouchable power. The Montgomerys were not just rich; they were an institution.

Wyatt Montgomery's gaze didn't leave Kelsey. He stepped over the threshold, his expensive shoes crunching on the shards of the broken vase. He ignored Ilda's fawning attempts to greet him.

"Are you hurt?" he asked Kelsey, his voice a low rumble.

Kelsey took a half-step back, her guard instantly up. "Who are you?"

Wyatt took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling under his tailored suit. "My name is Wyatt Montgomery. I'm your cousin."

The statement dropped into the silent room like a stone. The Hills stared, their faces a comical blend of shock and disbelief. Kelsey, a Montgomery? It was impossible.

Addison's demeanor shifted in a heartbeat. The blustering rage vanished, replaced by a greasy, sycophantic smile. "Mr. Montgomery! What a surprise! We were just... settling a small family matter." He reached out a hand to clasp Wyatt's shoulder.

Wyatt sidestepped the gesture, his expression turning to ice. "My family's lawyers will be in contact with you regarding your 'family matters'. They are quite interested in the systematic abuse of a Montgomery heir."

Kelsey's mind was reeling, but her face remained a stoic mask. "I need proof."

Wyatt nodded, understanding. He produced a sealed envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. Inside was a DNA report, a legal document binding her blood to that of the Montgomery patriarch. Her blood. The same blood the Hills had treated as a disposable commodity. Her fingers trembled slightly as she traced her own name on the page.

Malia, still on the floor, let out a venomous hiss. "She's a fake! It's a trick!"

Before she could say more, one of Wyatt's bodyguards moved with silent, swift efficiency, placing a large hand over her mouth and hauling her unceremoniously to her feet. Ilda tried to intervene, but a single, dead-eyed stare from the bodyguard sent her stumbling backward.

Wyatt gently took the worn backpack from Kelsey's shoulder. "We should go."

Kelsey took a deep breath, the air tasting of freedom for the first time. She walked out of the Hill mansion and did not look back.

Outside, the expected fleet of black cars was nowhere to be seen. Instead, parked at the curb, was a battered, rust-colored Ford pickup truck. The kind of truck you'd see on a farm, not parked in front of a multi-million-dollar mansion.

Wyatt had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Sorry about this. The family... well, we're a little more down-to-earth than people think. This is all I could get on short notice."

From the doorway, the Hills watched, a flicker of malicious glee in their eyes. She wasn't being rescued by a powerful dynasty. She was being passed from one set of poor relations to another.

Kelsey, however, just smiled. A real, tired smile. "I've had enough of fancy houses and fancy cars to last a lifetime. A truck is perfect."

She climbed into the passenger seat without a moment's hesitation, her movements fluid and unpretentious.

Wyatt watched her, a flicker of approval in his eyes, before getting in and starting the engine. The truck roared to life with a deafening rumble.

As they pulled away from the curb, Kelsey rolled down the window, letting the cold New York air whip through her hair, washing away the stench of the last twenty years.

"So," Wyatt asked, his eyes on the road. "What's your plan now?"

Kelsey looked out at the city blurring past. "First, I survive. Then, I take back everything that was stolen from me."

Wyatt's hands tightened on the steering wheel. He would protect this girl. His cousin.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from an unknown number.

Be careful with your new family.

Kelsey's eyes narrowed. She deleted the message instantly, her expression not changing. The truck rumbled on, heading away from the manicured lawns of the wealthy and toward a regular, unassuming neighborhood in Manhattan.

This "down-to-earth" family, she thought, had secrets of its own. And she was going to find them.