Finding Love In A Scripted Betrayal

I was the black sheep of the wealthy Jenkins family, the villain in my adopted sister Jami's perfect story. Everyone adored her, the sweet, innocent heroine. I was just the difficult one.

Then, a system uploaded itself into my brain, showing me the script of my life. It wasn't just a story where I was the bad guy-it was a detailed blueprint for my entire family's destruction, all orchestrated by Jami.

The script showed how she would drive one brother to suicide, frame another for a crime he didn't commit, and leave me for a gruesome "accidental" death, making her the sole heir to their fortune.

My family saw her as an angel. They were completely blind, worshiping the very monster who was plotting to bury them all.

But the system that showed me this horrifying future also gave me a weapon. It let me hear their thoughts.

And then, at the family gala, I realized something even better.

They could hear mine.

Chapter 1

Chloe Jenkins POV:

The world, as I knew it, shattered into a million pieces the day the system uploaded itself into my brain. It wasn't a whisper. It was a roar, a blinding flash of data that downloaded a complete narrative, a script for my entire life. And I, Chloe Jenkins, the estranged biological daughter of the wealthy Jenkins family, wasn't the protagonist. I was the villain, the catalyst for the rise of Jami Scott, the adopted "heroine" beloved by all, destined to ruin everything.

My life was a lie. A carefully constructed tragedy, meticulously plotted, and I was just the bad guy.

I stared at the glowing screen of my phone, the "system" – a rogue data stream pulsing directly into my consciousness – displaying the cold, hard facts. Years of feeling like an outsider, years of biting my tongue, years of being dismissed as "difficult" or "troubled" by the Jenkins family, suddenly made brutal, logical sense. It was all part of the script. My pain, their adoration for Jami, every single injustice – it was all leading to my inevitable downfall.

I remembered the countless dinners where Jami' s sweet, innocent remarks would implicitly highlight my sharp tongue. The charity galas where her graceful presence overshadowed my awkward attempts at conversation. Even my attempts to excel in investigative journalism were twisted in the narrative as "rebellious" or "attention-seeking." My family, the Cristophers and Carlottas of the world, never saw me. They saw the role assigned to me by the narrative: the villain.

And they ate it up. Every perfectly rehearsed line, every saccharine smile from Jami. They were blind. So utterly, hopelessly blind.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. For years, I' d yearned for their acceptance, their love. I' d fought against this invisible current, trying to prove myself worthy. But the script was clear. My efforts were futile, my destiny sealed. A profound sense of release washed over me. The fight was over. I was tired of swimming upstream when the river itself was rigged.

I' d play my part then. For now. My newfound ability to hear thoughts – to access this system of "narrative truths" – was still raw, still a mystery. But it was also a weapon. And if I was to be the villain, I might as well be a damn good one.

The family gala. My grand return. The perfect stage for Jami to shine, and for me to confirm my role as the black sheep. I checked my reflection in the car window. My usual sharp, cynical gaze met me. Good. No cracks in the armor.

The gilded gates of the Jenkins estate loomed ahead, an oppressive monument to their wealth and my estrangement. My heart did a familiar clench, not from anticipation, but from a habit of resentment. I stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching under my heels, a sound too loud in the manicured silence.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in."

Cannon Jenkins, my eldest brother, stood at the imposing front door, arms crossed, a sneer twisting his perfectly sculpted features. Beside him, Joel, the sensitive musician, looked torn, while Brady, the hot-headed athlete, just glared, his fists clenched.

Oh, how original. Did you rehearse that line, Cannon? It' s almost as stale as your corporate presentations.

Cannon' s eyes widened slightly. His sneer faltered, replaced by a flicker of confusion. Joel shifted uncomfortably. Brady' s glare intensified, but it also held a hint of bewilderment.

"What did you just say?" Cannon demanded, his voice tight.

I blinked, feigning innocence. "Good evening, Cannon. I said nothing. Just admiring the new landscaping." The lie tasted like ash.

His face. It's truly a work of art when confusion warps that arrogant mask. They' re so used to me reacting, reacting angrily. This must throw them off.

Cannon' s jaw tightened. "Don't play innocent, Chloe. We know why you're here. Always stirring up trouble, always looking for a handout."

Right, the standard villain monologue. It' s like they have cue cards. How many times have I heard this tired accusation? It' s almost boring.

"I' m here because Mom and Dad invited me," I replied, my voice smooth, devoid of the usual bite they expected. "Family gala, remember?"

Brady scoffed. "As if you care about family. You just come back to make Jami feel bad, don't you?"

Poor Brady. Always the hothead, always so easily manipulated. He'll be the first to fall, just like the script says. Such a predictable tragedy.

Brady recoiled, his face paling, as if I' d slapped him. Joel, startled, took a step back, bumping into Cannon.

"What did you say?" Brady stammered, his eyes wide with a fear I'd never seen him direct at me.

"I said 'Good evening, Brady'," I replied, my tone deliberately calm. "Is something wrong? You look a little... green."

Joel, suddenly agitated, stepped forward. "You always do this, Chloe! You always twist things, make us feel like we're the bad guys!" He lunged, grabbing my arm, his grip surprisingly strong. "Just leave Jami alone!"

"Joel! Let go of your sister!" Carlotta Jenkins, my mother, swept into the foyer, her voice a whip-crack. She wore a pristine emerald gown, her face a mask of elegant disapproval. Close behind her, Cristopher, my father, his silver hair perfectly coiffed, his expression more weary than angry.

Cristopher gently pulled Joel back, then turned to me. "Chloe, my dear." He offered a practiced, slightly stiff embrace. His cologne, expensive and familiar, filled my nostrils.

Funny, how his eyes crinkle just like mine when he smiles. A shame it' s usually for the cameras. And this hug... it' s so perfunctory. Like checking a box on his social calendar.

His body tensed against mine for a fleeting second, a subtle tremor that spoke of discomfort. He pulled back, his smile strained. "We're so glad you could make it."

Carlotta, meanwhile, was already focused on her sons. "Honestly, the three of you! Can't you behave for one evening? It' s a gala, not a wrestling match."

They're still playing their part. Blind to the truth, blind to Jami's venom. They'll pay for it, eventually. All of them. The script is clear on that.

Suddenly, the entire foyer went still. Cannon, Joel, and Brady froze, their eyes wide, directed at nothing, yet everything. Cristopher, his arm still loosely around my shoulder, visibly flinched. His hand, resting on my back, tightened into a painful vice, his knuckles turning white. I could feel the sharp edges of his wedding band digging into my flesh.

"Dad?" I asked, genuinely confused, my voice laced with a concern I didn't entirely feel. "Are you alright? You're squeezing my arm."

He blinked, releasing me abruptly. He cleared his throat, his gaze distant. "Perfectly fine, Chloe. Just a sudden cramp, old age, you know." He forced a laugh, a hollow sound.

I rubbed my arm. "Right. Well, I' m fine, if you were wondering."

Honestly, their acting skills are pathetic. They hear my thoughts, don't they? This is getting interesting. Their brains must be short-circuiting trying to process the dissonance between my polite facade and my inner monologue.

"What was that, Chloe?" Cannon barked, stepping forward, his face flushed. "What did you just say?"

"I said I'm fine, Cannon," I replied, a small, innocent smile gracing my lips. "Did I perhaps miss something?"

Cristopher stepped between us. "Enough, Cannon. Let's not make a scene. Dinner is being served." He turned to me. "Come, Chloe. Join us."

I nodded, following them into the cavernous dining room. The table was laden with crystal and fine china, a feast fit for kings. I chose a seat near the end, away from the immediate family circle, a familiar spot.

"Chloe," Cannon said, his voice clipped, "Jami's had a rough week. Try not to... well, don't stir anything up."

I simply nodded, picking up my fork. "Understood. Wouldn't want to upset the delicate balance of the universe, would we?"

The delicate balance of Jami's carefully crafted victim narrative, more like. She's only 'fragile' when it suits her. And they fall for it every single time. It's infuriating, really. How can they be so blind to her manipulation? Or is it that they want to be blind? Guilt is a powerful anesthetic.

Cannon flinched, his eyes darting around the room, as if checking for hidden cameras. Joel looked downright ill. Brady just stared at me, his mouth slightly agape.

The double doors at the far end of the dining room swung open. A soft, ethereal light seemed to emanate from the doorway. Jami Scott stepped in, a vision in a flowing ivory gown, her hair glistening, her eyes downcast, as if burdened by her own beauty. A collective sigh went through the room.

Carlotta clutched Cristopher' s hand, a silent plea for peace. I remained impassive, watching the show unfold.

And here she is, the star of the show. Cue the dramatic music. The poor, misunderstood angel, gracing us with her presence. Too bad this particular performance ends in a bloodbath, and she's conducting it.

My thought felt loud, echoing in my own head. Jami, halfway across the room, stumbled. Her eyes, wide and suddenly furious, locked onto mine.

"Chloe," she whispered, her voice a silken threat that only I could hear. "You won't ruin this for me."

Chloe Jenkins POV:

Jami' s whispered threat, a venomous hiss meant only for my ears, hung in the air. For a fleeting second, her sweet, vulnerable facade cracked, revealing the sharp edges beneath. Then, like a chameleon, she forced a dazzling smile, her eyes sparkling with an artificial warmth.

"Chloe! You're finally here!" she chirped, her voice saccharine sweet, instantly drawing all attention back to her. She glided towards me, her arms outstretched, clearly aiming for a hug.

My instincts screamed. The system, still humming in the background of my mind, flashed red. Danger. Immediate threat detected.

She's not just going for a hug. She's going for a tactical strike.

I instinctively sidestepped, a move so fluid it felt pre-programmed. Jami, caught off guard by my evasion, stumbled. Her outstretched hands, instead of embracing me, flailed wildly, trying to regain balance.

Good. That was close.

As she pitched forward, a glint of silver caught my eye. My internal system zoomed in, processing the image in a fraction of a second. Item identified: small, ornate silver brooch, sharpened point. Intended target: Chloe Jenkins's bare arm, likely to cause a visible, painful scratch.

If that had hit me, a small cut, a theatrical gasp from Jami, tears, accusations... The family would instantly believe I' d attacked her, or at least caused her to injure herself. I'd be cast out again, just like the script dictates.

The scenario played out in my mind with chilling clarity.

They'd rally around her, furious. "How could you, Chloe?" "She just wanted to welcome you!" I'd be the villain, again. Expelled, no questions asked. She' s truly a master manipulator.

Jami, failing to catch herself, collided with the edge of the dining table. A crystal vase, filled with an elaborate floral arrangement, toppled over. Water, flowers, and a half-eaten dessert cascaded onto her pristine ivory gown. She landed with a muffled thud, looking up, her eyes brimming with theatrical tears.

She certainly knew how to stage a scene.

"Oh, Chloe!" she wailed, her voice trembling, exaggeratedly clutching her arm. "I just wanted to hug you! Why do you always... why do you always push me away?"

A stunned silence filled the room. All eyes, brimming with concern, rushed to Jami's side.

"Jami!" Joel cried, rushing to her first, his face a mask of anguish. He helped her up, his gaze instantly hardening as he turned to me. "Chloe, what is wrong with you? She was just trying to be nice!"

Joel, my sweet, gullible brother. Always the first to fall for her theatrics. She could stab you with that brooch, and you'd apologize for bleeding on her.

I blinked slowly, my expression calm. "It was an instinct, Joel. She came at me quite fast. I merely moved out of the way."

Jami, now leaning heavily on Joel, dabbed at her wet dress with a linen napkin, trying to look pathetic. "I just wanted to make amends, Chloe. I thought... after all these years, maybe we could be a family again." Her voice broke, a perfect sob.

"Amends?" Cannon growled, stepping forward, his eyes burning with fury. "You think you can just show up and ruin everything? Jami has been nothing but kind to you, even after everything you put her through!"

Oh, here we go. The "Chloe is a menace" speech. I've heard this one before. It's almost as tired as Cannon's "CEO-in-training" sermons.

Cannon continued, his voice rising, "You left this family to pursue your 'journalism' - glorified gossip, if you ask me. You write scandalous stories about anyone and everyone, all for a quick buck. And now you expect us to believe you care?"

Jami, nestled securely in Joel' s arms, flashed me a quick, triumphant smirk. She knew exactly what she was doing. Waiting for me to snap. Waiting for me to play the villain.

Journalism, Cannon, is about uncovering the truth. Something you and this family wouldn't know if it hit you in the face. And it often does. My 'quick buck' journalism kept me alive when your 'family' fortune left me to starve. At least I earn my own living, unlike some 'influencers' who climb to the top on the backs of others, by stealing their content and fabricating drama.

My system pinged. New narrative insight: Jami Scott has been systematically undermining Chloe Jenkins's public image, subtly leaking fabricated stories to rival tabloids while simultaneously positioning herself as a victim of Chloe's "ruthless investigative tactics." Jami's social media career is built on a foundation of stolen ideas and carefully staged "vulnerable" moments, many of which involve fictional conflicts with Chloe.

She' s a fraud. And they worship her. The irony would be hilarious if it wasn't so utterly pathetic.

"That's enough, Cannon!" Cristopher interjected, his voice firm, though his eyes still held a lingering bewilderment. "Let's not air our dirty laundry at the dinner table."

"But Dad, she's-" Cannon started.

"She' s what, Cannon?" Jami snapped, suddenly finding her voice, her eyes blazing with an uncharacteristic fury. "She's always lying! Always making things up! I never did any of that! It's all... it's all just her trying to hurt me!"

I tilted my head, feigning confusion. "Did I say something, Jami? My apologies. I must be having an internal monologue moment."

Because I actually didn't say any of that out loud. Did they hear my thoughts, or is she just reacting to her own guilty conscience? This is getting bizarre.

Jami' s eyes darted around, her jaw working furiously. "You... you said... you said I was a fraud! That I stole content! That I made up stories!" Her voice was shrill, close to breaking.

Joel, standing beside her, looked utterly baffled. "She didn't say any of that, Jami. She just said she was having an internal monologue."

Suddenly, Brady gasped, clutching his head. Cannon' s eyes narrowed, a vein throbbing in his temple. Carlotta looked like she' d seen a ghost.

Are they... hearing me? Oh, this is going to be incredibly inconvenient. Or incredibly useful. Hard to tell yet.

Is the whole family having a collective mental breakdown? Did the system infect them too? Maybe it's contagious. The Jenkins family goes mad, driven by the unfiltered truth. What a headline that would make.

A dark thought, cold and calculated, filled my mind. If they can hear, this could be my ticket out. How badly do I need to provoke them to get myself disinherited? To truly break free?

Cristopher, seeing the escalating chaos, took charge. "Joel, take Jami upstairs. She needs to rest and change. Brady, Cannon, calm down."

Joel, still looking shell-shocked, gently led a sniffling Jami away. As they ascended the grand staircase, Jami shot me a glare filled with pure, unadulterated hatred. Her fingers, still clutching the small brooch, tightened.

Suddenly, Jami gasped, her face turning scarlet. She clutched her throat, gasping for air, her eyes wide with terror as she stared at me. Her usually perfect complexion was blotchy.

Did I just... choke her with my thoughts? This power is stranger than I thought. Maybe I really am the villain.

"Can I just... annoy people without speaking now?" I murmured, more to myself than to anyone else, a wry smile touching my lips.

Carlotta, recovering quickly, ushered her sons. "Go! All of you! This instant!"

The brothers, still looking utterly bewildered and deeply shaken, followed Jami upstairs, their angry murmurs echoing down the hall.

I sighed, picking up my fork, which had been abandoned during the commotion. The steak on my plate looked lonely. "Well, that was certainly a lively start to dinner." I examined the now-shattered crystal vase on the floor. "Such a shame about the flowers. And the dessert."

Cristopher, who had been watching me with an unreadable expression, cleared his throat. "Are you... hungry, Chloe?"

"Starving," I replied, cutting into my steak. "I missed lunch. And then there was all that... excitement."

He offered a small, hesitant smile. "We'll have the staff prepare a fresh plate for you. And for Jami."

"No need for me," I said, waving a hand dismissively. "This is perfectly fine. Unless you're implying I'm too much of a villain to enjoy a good meal?"

Cristopher flinched. He opened his mouth, then closed it. "No, of course not. We just... wanted to make sure you were comfortable."

He paused, then switched gears, his gaze softening, almost too much. "Your mother and I were discussing something earlier, Chloe. About your future. We thought perhaps a good match would be beneficial. The Ayers family, you know them? Damon Ayers, the CEO of Ayers Industries. A brilliant young man."

My fork clattered against the plate. Damon Ayers. The name hit me like a physical blow. The system hummed, a new data stream instantly flowing into my mind. I knew that name. And not just from the financial section of the papers.

The entire table, what was left of it, fell silent again. An expectant hush. Carlotta, still looking flustered from the earlier incident, nervously adjusted a stray strand of hair. Cristopher watched me, his eyes wide with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher.

Damon Ayers? The ruthless, brilliant CEO who was rumored to be consolidating power, buying out struggling tech companies, including some of the Jenkins' more vulnerable subsidiaries? The man who was currently the subject of a very juicy, very dangerous rumor mill?

I nodded slowly, putting my fork down. "Damon Ayers. Yes, I've heard the name."

The tension in the room seemed to visibly deflate. Cristopher let out a soft sigh of relief. Carlotta actually smiled. The remaining brothers, who had started to creep back down the stairs, paused, their expressions easing.

Oh, they think I'm agreeing to the arranged marriage. The dutiful daughter, finally falling in line. How quaint. They have no idea what they're actually agreeing to. And frankly, neither do I, yet.

They think I'm eyeing a husband. I'm eyeing a goldmine of corporate espionage and family drama. This is going to be far more entertaining than I anticipated.

Chloe Jenkins POV:

The clatter of a fork hitting the polished marble floor echoed through the dining room. Brady, who had just returned, stood frozen, his eyes wide, looking like he'd swallowed a lemon. He quickly bent to retrieve the utensil, his movements stiff and jerky.

I watched him, a slow, calculating assessment forming in my mind. Poor Brady. So easily startled, so transparent. He's always been the family's simple muscle, not their brains. A pawn, really, in Jami's twisted game.

My immediate priority was still to escape this family, to sever all ties. The thought clung to me, a desperate hope. But Cristopher and Carlotta, for all their past neglect, seemed unusually invested in my immediate future, at least tonight. Their gazes, when I caught them, were laced with something akin to worry. It was a new, unsettling development.

Carlotta, her eyes softening to an almost maternal warmth – a rare sight directed at me – smiled. "Chloe, dear, have you ever met Damon Ayers? He' s quite the catch."

"No, I haven't," I replied truthfully, "but I've certainly heard enough of him."

Enough, in fact, to know that he' s currently embroiled in a scandal that would make the Jenkins family' s petty dramas look like a kindergarten playdate. And the juicy part? He' s rumored to be engaged to... Jami' s closest friend, Tiffany. The irony is almost too perfect.

Tiffany, poor, sweet Tiffany. Damon Ayers's supposed fiancée. And Jami' s closest ally in her web of deceit. What a tangled mess.

My system, ever helpful, provided a fresh burst of data. Narrative Insight: Tiffany, Damon Ayers' s fiancée, is secretly pregnant, but the father is not Damon. It' s Joel. Jami orchestrated their affair, knowing it would destabilize the family if discovered, further empowering her. The 'arranged marriage' with Damon Ayers was Jami's desperate attempt to keep Tiffany quiet and to use Damon's influence for her own ends.

Joel's child. My sweet, naive brother, about to become an unsuspecting father to a baby conceived in manipulation. And they want me to marry Damon Ayers? The father-to-be of a child that isn't his, with a woman who's Jami's puppet? This is a train wreck in slow motion.

And they call me the villain. They're about to make my brother a cuckold. Bravo, Jami. Truly a masterpiece of destruction.

Brady, who had just picked up his fork, suddenly squeezed it with such force that it bent in his hand. His face contorted, a silent scream of disbelief.

"Perhaps," Cristopher began, his voice surprisingly firm, "we should... reconsider the Ayers alliance for now. There's no rush, right?"

Brady nodded vigorously, almost frantically. Carlotta, seeing her son' s distress, quickly agreed. "Yes, darling. Let's not make any hasty decisions. It's a big step."

I frowned, internally baffled. They just agreed to back out of a potentially lucrative alliance, just like that? Because of Brady' s bent fork? My inner monologue must be hitting harder than I thought.

Still, it won' t stop them. The original script has this marriage happening eventually. Jami always finds a way to spin things in her favor. She' ll just push Tiffany harder, make her play the victim. Or perhaps, the system has a different twist in mind.

New Narrative Insight: Tiffany isn't just secretly pregnant; she' s also secretly in love with Chloe. Jami, in her twisted manipulation, showed Tiffany Chloe's photos-not to scare her off, but to subtly suggest Chloe's vulnerability, hoping it would make Tiffany feel superior. Instead, Tiffany developed a dangerous obsession with Chloe, viewing her as a 'prize' to be won. The pregnancy with Joel was an accident, a desperate attempt to feel loved, but her true obsession remains Chloe.

Joel, who had silently returned to the dining room, suddenly sprayed a mouthful of water across the table, narrowly missing a priceless Ming vase. He choked, his face scarlet.

Oh, good lord. Not Joel too. Is this family going to spontaneously combust every time I think something scandalous?

Tiffany loves me? That' s... a new level of disturbing. And she' s pregnant with Joel's baby but obsessed with me? Jami's web is far more intricate and frankly, disgusting, than I imagined. I have enough problems without a pregnant, manipulative ex-fiancée-to-be developing a crush on me.

No, thank you. My type is definitely not 'obsessive, secretly pregnant, manipulated by my adopted sister, about to ensnare my brother's future, with a side of dangerous stalker vibes.' Hard pass.

"That's enough!" Cristopher roared, slamming his hand on the table. The crystal glasses jumped, and a few pieces of cutlery clattered to the floor.

I looked up, confused. He never raised his voice, not like that. Cristopher, usually a master of composure, looked utterly distraught.

He quickly pulled his hand back, wincing slightly, then cleared his throat. "Apologies. I... just had a very sudden thought. About... the future of the company." The lie was transparent, even without my system.

The rest of the family, however, seemed strangely calm, their recent flinches and gasps replaced by a quiet, subdued air.

I decided to double-check. System, any more intel on this Tiffany situation? Is there a reason Cristopher just screamed like that?

Narrative Insight Update: Damon Ayers, Tiffany's supposed fiancé, has a dark secret. He's not just a ruthless CEO; he' s a notorious underground black market dealer, specializing in priceless artifacts and, occasionally, human trafficking. He has several 'trophies'-people he' s illegally detained-hidden in his private estate. Tiffany discovered this and was trying to escape when Jami used it to blackmail her into the fake engagement to Damon, securing his protection for her own schemes against the Jenkins family.

Human trafficking? Good god. No wonder Cristopher screamed. This isn't just gossip; this is actual criminal activity. And Jami is in league with a man like that? She' s worse than I ever imagined.

This changes everything. This isn' t just about my personal narrative anymore. This is about real lives. I can' t just stand by.

My heart pounded. I need to call the police. Immediately. But how do I do it without tipping off Jami or Damon? And without making it look like I'm the one 'stirring trouble'? They' ll just blame me, of course. The villain always gets the blame.

I pushed my chair back, the scrape a harsh sound in the tense silence. "Excuse me," I said, my voice urgent. "I just remembered I need to make a very important phone call. Urgent journalistic inquiry."

Cristopher looked up, startled. "Chloe, where are you going?"

"Bathroom," I muttered, already halfway out the door, not waiting for a response. I practically ran up the grand staircase, my mind racing.

"Always running away, aren't you, Chloe?" Brady's sneering voice followed me. "Can't handle the truth?"

I paused, turning to fix him with a glare that felt like pure ice. "You have no idea what the truth is, Brady." Then I rushed into one of the guest bathrooms, locking the door behind me.

I quickly dialed an anonymous tip line, my fingers flying across the keypad. I described the general location, hinted at the scale of the operation, and the extreme danger involved. The operator assured me they would dispatch units immediately. It was done. The cavalry was coming.

I returned to the dining room, a strange sense of unease creeping up my spine. The family was huddled together, whispering furiously. As I approached, I overheard Carlotta' s hushed, horrified voice.

"...and Jami said she didn't want to be part of this family anymore. She said she wanted to be set free..."

Carlotta, you poor, foolish woman. 'Set free'? From what, her own web of lies? You think she wants to escape? No, she wants to conquer.

Narrative Insight Update: Jami's "not wanting to be part of the family" was a calculated move. She knows Cristopher and Carlotta are too guilty over my past to fully disinherit me without a major scandal. Her plan isn't to leave, but to marry into the family in a different way, specifically, to become Joel's wife, gaining control of his shares and ultimately, the family fortune. She manipulated Tiffany to get close to Joel, then used Tiffany's pregnancy as leverage against Joel, coercing him to propose. Her ultimate goal is to remove both me and my other brothers from the line of succession.

My jaw dropped. She wants to marry Joel? My sweet, naive, easily-gaslighted brother? That manipulative snake! She's not just trying to steal the fortune; she's trying to steal my family, piece by piece, from the inside. And Joel, bless his oblivious heart, would walk right into it.

This was worse than I thought. Much, much worse.