Chapter 1

Andrew Blakely drove the car, glancing at the girl in the passenger seat.

This was Jocelyn Fuller, his biological sister.

She was the real heiress of the Blakely family, mistakenly swapped at birth and lost for twenty years.

When they found her, she was a mess of street-smarts and anger, a product of the foster system.

Then, she supposedly hired a gang to assault Stella, the girl who had been raised in her place.

So they sent her away.

Now, she was back from the high-security psychiatric facility, "reformed."

She wore a plain white dress, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her wild, defiant hair was now tied back in a simple, severe bun. She looked like a ghost of her former self.

"Andrew," she said, her voice soft and even, a stark contrast to the snarling defiance he remembered. "I want to apologize."

Andrew kept his eyes on the road. "For what?"

"For hiring those men to hurt Stella. It was a terrible thing to do. I was sick. I understand that now. The doctors helped me see it."

Her words were perfect, a rehearsed confession. It was exactly what they wanted to hear. A flicker of relief went through him. Maybe this was finally over.

As they pulled away from the facility, he saw the director, Mr. Duncan, standing on the steps.

The man was sweating, his face pale, and he wouldn't meet Jocelyn's eyes. He looked terrified of her.

Andrew dismissed it. The man was probably just glad to be rid of a difficult patient.

He didn't see Jocelyn' s small, hidden smile. She was thinking of her last conversation with Mr. Duncan, the one where she calmly detailed how she could use his gambling debts and his "special" arrangements with other wealthy families to ruin him completely.

He wasn't glad to see her go. He was praying she would never come back.

The Blakely mansion in Palo Alto was a world away from the rust belt foster homes Jocelyn grew up in. It was a world of glass walls, minimalist art, and suffocating silence.

Matthew, the eldest brother and CEO of the family' s tech empire, was waiting for them in the foyer. He was tall, cold, and his eyes were like chips of ice.

He didn't greet her. He just looked at her, his gaze sweeping over her demure dress with contempt.

"If you ever touch Stella again," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "I will send you back to that place and make sure you never get out. Do you understand?"

Jocelyn nodded, her eyes wide and docile. "Yes, Matthew. I understand. I won't hurt her."

Just then, Stella appeared, gliding down the grand staircase. She was beautiful, poised, and played the part of the fragile victim perfectly. She ran to Matthew, hiding behind his arm as if Jocelyn were a wild animal.

"Matthew, I'm scared," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"It's okay," Matthew soothed, stroking her hair. "I won't let her harm you."

Andrew felt a familiar pang of guilt. He looked at Jocelyn, standing alone and small in the massive hall, and then at Stella, wrapped in their older brother's protection. This was their home, but Jocelyn was the true stranger here.

At the "welcome home" dinner, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

The housekeeper served thick, juicy steaks. Stella, with a bright, false smile, placed a plate in front of Jocelyn herself.

"I remembered you like your steak well-done, Jocelyn," Stella said sweetly.

The steak was seasoned with rosemary and black pepper, ingredients Stella knew Jocelyn was allergic to from a file she' d demanded from the family's private investigator. It was a small, vicious test.

Jocelyn looked at the plate, then at her brothers. She didn't pick up her fork.

"May I eat?" she asked, her voice like a child's seeking permission.

The question hung in the air, awkward and unsettling. Andrew shifted in his seat. Matthew' s jaw tightened.

"Of course, you can eat," Matthew snapped, irritated. "You're not a prisoner."

"Oh. Okay."

Jocelyn picked up her knife and fork and began to eat, not with the refined manners of a Blakely, but with the ravenous hunger of someone who had been starved. She devoured the steak, the potatoes, everything.

She finished, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before catching herself and fumbling for the linen napkin.

"This is so much better than the slop at the hospital," she said with a sigh of genuine pleasure. "Thank you."

Matthew' s face darkened with rage. "Slop? I paid for the best private care. Top-tier. You were supposed to have gourmet meals."

Jocelyn just looked at him, her expression one of pure, uncomprehending innocence. "Oh. They must have forgotten to give them to me."