The elevator doors opened not into a hallway, but directly into a breathtaking, glass-walled penthouse that seemed to float above the Manhattan skyline. A lush indoor garden flowed into a living space so vast and elegantly furnished it looked like a museum.
Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Okay, so... the whole 'down-to-earth' thing was my grandparents' idea. A test."
Kelsey looked around at the priceless art on the walls, the panoramic views, the sheer, unapologetic wealth. "Testing me with a rusty pickup truck. How original."
"They were afraid you'd be like... well, like the people you just left," Wyatt explained, his voice earnest. "They wanted to be sure you weren't just after the money."
"And if I had complained about the truck?" Kelsey asked, her voice flat. "Would you have just left me on the curb?"
Wyatt's silence was answer enough. The Montgomerys were just as ruthless as the Hills, only with better taste.
At the far end of the room, a set of large double doors swung open. A woman with silver-streaked hair and eyes the same gray as Kelsey's stood there, her hands twisting the fabric of her expensive dress. Beside her, a man with a stern, powerful face watched Kelsey with an unnerving intensity. Her parents.
Eleonora and Reginald Montgomery.
Kelsey felt a strange detachment, like watching a scene from a movie. There was no swell of emotion, no tearful reunion. Just a cold, wary observation.
Eleonora took a hesitant step forward, her hands outstretched as if to embrace her, but she stopped, afraid. "Kelsey..."
Kelsey gave a slight, formal nod. "Mrs. Montgomery. Mr. Montgomery."
The polite, distant titles struck Eleonora like a physical blow. Tears welled in her eyes and began to stream down her face. "Oh, my baby," she sobbed. "Can you ever forgive us?"
Reginald cleared his throat, his composure unwavering. "We will spend the rest of our lives making this up to you."
"I don't need a lifetime of apologies," Kelsey said, her voice cool. "I just need a place to sleep."
Suddenly, the sound of a cello filled the room, a sad, beautiful melody. In a corner of the living room, a young woman with a gentle, angelic face was playing, her eyes closed in concentration.
She finished the phrase, lowered her bow, and stood up gracefully. "Welcome home, Kelsey," she said, her smile warm and inviting.
But Kelsey saw it. A flicker of pure, unadulterated jealousy in the girl's eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared.
The girl glided over to Eleonora and linked her arm through hers. "Mom, you must be so happy."
The word "Mom" was a territorial claim, a subtle reminder of her place in this family.
"Kelsey," Reginald said, his voice formal. "This is Clare Burton. We adopted her from an orphanage years ago."
Kelsey looked from Clare's haute couture dress to her own worn jeans and faded sweater. She understood everything perfectly.
"The staff can show you to one of the guest rooms," Clare suggested, her tone dripping with false sweetness. "You must be exhausted after your... ordeal."
Before Kelsey could respond, Eleonora cut her off, her voice sharp. "Nonsense. Her room is ready."
She pulled her arm away from Clare and took Kelsey's hand. Her touch was trembling, but firm. She led Kelsey down a long hallway to the largest set of doors. "We've kept it for you. All these years."
She pushed the doors open. The room was a princess's fantasy, filled with brand new designer clothes, jewelry boxes, and every luxury a girl could dream of.
It was a gilded cage. And Kelsey felt the cold metal of the bars already closing in around her.